Closing his eyes and rubbing his nose bridge, Mateo let out a deep, calm sigh. It helped, and he held back, stayed silent. And staying silent was not easy! The analysis of the selection round in the Iron rank bracket by the third eldest disciple of the "Rising Dragon" school was, to put it mildly, superficial. Yes, formally, he was correct, but his analysis evaluated only the external without delving deeper, and accordingly, the conclusions made by the Third Disciple were hollow. But, since no one asked Mateo's opinion on this matter, he kept quiet.
Mateo understood local etiquette and behavioral rules, but sometimes he found it hard to stay within established boundaries. Having worked for many years at CERN, he was used to a much freer expression of thoughts and opinions. Here, however, if a senior did not ask a question or otherwise showed interest in your opinion, it was best to keep it to yourself.
For the umpteenth time that day, the former physicist-engineer surveyed the bowl of the Tries Arena. Its stands could easily accommodate more than fifteen thousand spectators. And if the numerous VIP boxes were replaced with regular benches, this capacity could be increased to a full twenty thousand. The enormous building, erected over two thousand years ago, did not at all give the impression of an ancient architectural monument. On the contrary, it was teeming with life. Especially now, when after a short break, people began to flock back to the stands in anticipation of the start of the Bronze selection round.
Unlike the bulk of spectators, the delegation of the "Rising Dragon" school did not leave their places during the nearly two-hour break between the two selection battles. There was no need for it. A private box purchased by the school many years ago offered a sufficient level of comfort and service to stay put during the breaks between competitions.
The tournament, organized by one of the Great Guilds, was quite a big event, even for such a large city as Tries. The last time, according to locals, something similar happened eleven years ago, but then the Artifactors' Guild was the organizer.
Of course, such a spectacle attracted a large number of viewers. And it couldn't be overlooked by such a connoisseur of martial arts as Sanshi Vaul. The founder of the "Rising Dragon" school not only decided to personally attend the tournament but also brought with him five senior disciples and two masters.
Mateo himself was in this privileged group because he was to participate in the Tournament, albeit on the main stage. As he was presented as a fighter by such a respected school, he was immediately listed among the seeded, and there was no need for him to participate in the selection round. But watching his potential future opponents was beneficial; all the senior disciples believed so and were not surprised by his presence in the VIP box.
Having finished his light breathing meditation and finally overcoming the urge to speak out, Mateo smiled and immediately caught the curious gaze of the School Head directed at him. An adept of martial arts as experienced as Sanshi Vaul easily read Mateo's emotions stirred by the Third Disciple's superficial account. And as Mateo understood, the School Head was also not very pleased with what he had heard, but he did not let it show and dismissed the Third Disciple with a light wave of his hand.
In their relatively short acquaintance, Mateo, however, had already gotten to know Sanshi Vaul well enough to understand that this simple hand gesture would later lead to certain conclusions. Not the most pleasant ones for the Third Disciple. But that will come later, not here, not in public, but behind the school walls. Nevertheless, Mateo didn't care about the future fate of the Third Disciple; he had never liked this young man. He was too arrogant and haughty. And his talent in swordsmanship wasn't great enough to justify this arrogance.
However, today Mateo could understand the Third Disciple. What they saw during the Iron Selection wasn't something interesting. At such a low rank, the participants don't have a great variety of skills and abilities yet. Iron fights really aren't very spectacular. And in pure weapon mastery, those who stepped onto the Arena sand this morning were far from masters. But still, if the School Head asks you about what you've seen, the Third Disciple's approach to answering so formally was a big mistake.
Turning his head, Mateo shifted his gaze to the Arena bowl. Unlike the locals, it was his first time here, and he was interested not only in watching the fights but also observing the spectators. The earthling had been brought to Ain quite recently, and many things intrigued him. His gaze slipped to the neighboring box for the umpteenth time. Unlike all the others, it was empty today. The balcony, capable of easily accommodating a dozen of the most fastidious spectators, was vacant. Given the excitement caused by the tournament, this emptiness looked a little strange. Even those VIP box owners who didn't intend to be spectators themselves today preferred to lease their places to those interested. Against the backdrop of today's full house, such a demonstrative emptiness of one of the central boxes seemed somehow unnatural and out of place.
Noticing the thoughtful gaze of the earthling, Xian Wain, the junior master of the "Rising Dragon" school sitting next to him, leaned in and quietly said:
"That box belongs to the Righteous Elevation Sect. They say it was very influential several centuries ago and almost single-handedly ruled the entire city! But about two hundred years ago, the sect decayed, gradually lost its influence, and then disappeared altogether."
Mateo raised his left eyebrow in a questioning gesture - he didn't quite understand why he was being told this now. Catching the earthling's mood, the junior master continued his story:
"But this box in the Arena still belongs to that sect. I heard that the issue of this box once even reached the city senate! But the senate couldn't do anything either. Someone is still paying for this box. And it has been standing empty for two centuries! You could say it's a local landmark. Moreover, according to the paid contract, the Arena continues to maintain the box in cleanliness and order."
This was indeed somewhat mysterious and interesting, and Mateo slightly tilted his head in gratitude for the story he had heard.
In recent days, many in the "Rising Dragon" school, realizing that their Head's interest in the newcomer didn't fade, started trying to curry favor with the earthling. Xian Wain was one of them. Therefore, feeling the insincerity in his interest, Mateo tried to stay away from the junior master as much as possible. But today, it was impossible, as they ended up next to each other.
"I've seen you training," the junior master changed the subject, "and I had to observe today's Iron selection participants. And I can confidently say, among all those who stepped into the Arena this morning, there is no competitor for you."
Despite the fact that the earthling himself agreed with this conclusion, such blatant flattery was frankly unpleasant to him. Once again, Mateo was glad that most of his face was covered by a mask, and his interlocutor didn't notice the slight grimace that twisted the lips of the former physics engineer.
The entrance of a group of attendants clad in the colors of the Alchemists' Guild onto the Arena sand saved the earthling from a formal reply. From Mateo's point of view, the Bronze qualifying round started just in time!
The words of the main tournament organizer, enhanced by an air spell, easily spread throughout the stadium bowl and could be heard even on the most distant bench. The organizers' formal speech didn't last long, about five minutes, no more. During this time, the rules were explained, and there was a small presentation of new pills from the Alchemists' Guild, as the earthling called it. This small advertising integration surprised Mateo a bit, as it remarkably stood out from the largely archaic approach locals have towards business.
"Now! Sixty-nine contenders will step onto this sand! But only the last sixteen who remain fit to fight will be admitted to the tournament!" The deep, well-articulated voice of the organizer skillfully whipped up the crowd in the stands. "Sixteen out of sixty-nine! I hope you've already chosen your favorites and placed your bets! Because I'm announcing the start of the Bronze selection now!"
The organizer waved his hand, and the trumpets solemnly sounded. A group of organizers hastily left the arena, the gates around which began to open simultaneously.
"Ten! Nine!" The voice still echoed throughout the bowl, even though the organizer was no longer visible. "Eight! Seven! Six!"
At the count of five, the crowd of spectators began to "help" the organizer.
"Five!"
"Fi-i-i-i-ive!!!" The roar of several thousand throats made Mateo's ears pop for a second.
"Four!"
"Fo-o-o-o-ur!!!" The crowd echoed again.
For the second time today, the earthling caught himself thinking that he liked it! The feeling of being part of a huge crowd – there was something attractive about it.
And when the crowd roared:
"Tw-o-o-o-o!!!"
The earthling's lips silently repeated the count after it.
And when a multivoiced:
"O-o-o-o-one!!!"
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Sounded, he had to squeeze the armrests of his chair tightly. The former engineer-physicist was surprised to find that he himself, right now, wanted to jump onto this sand and feel the attention of the raging crowd. He had always considered himself more of an introvert, and this emotion was new to him. But he didn't have time to analyze his new feelings because a hurricane-like cry flew over the bowl:
"Start!!!"
As if at the click of an invisible switch, the earthling's emotions instantly calmed down. First and foremost, he loved fencing, and everything else was secondary to this passion. And now he was preparing to watch as sixty-nine people would fight each other in a free-for-all. In a battle where every man was for himself!
By the time the word "Start!" sounded in the bowl, all the participants of the Bronze selection had already entered the sand. Once again, in such a short time, Ain managed to surprise the earthling. Out of almost seventy fighters who entered the Arena, just over two dozen were women! And there was no "women's league" here; every participant was equal to another regardless of age or gender - only the rank mattered! And as Mateo understood, this equality was not for show or some formal tradition. In the world of Ain, the development of the Core, starting from Bronze, fully compensated for men's initial advantage in physical strength.
"I would recommend paying attention to three participants," declared Taranq Brug, the senior master of the school, sitting to the right of the Head. "Mati Shuus, his colors are green with blue. Luin Hasaar, yellow with pink. Paravi Malik, blue with red - it nicely highlights her lovely figure."
Having carefully listened to the senior master, the Head slowly tilted his head, then uttered just one word:
"Four…"
It fell like a hundred-pound stone, and an awkward silence lingered in the "Rising Dragon" school's box.
Mateo quickly found those that the senior master had recommended paying attention to. And he became curious, wondering who else in this crowd Sanshi Vaul would pick out as the fourth.
As soon as he asked himself this question, one of the participants attracted his attention. Most likely, this fighter caught the eye of not just Mateo but the entire audience. He stood out significantly from the rest. No, not by height, although he was tall by local standards, but there were taller people on the sand right now. Not by obvious physical strength - he looked fit and athletic, but no more. Not by his weapon - in his hand, a standard short spear with its tip still sheathed swung in time with his steps. The first thing that drew attention to him was his unusual for this place appearance. Clearly born to the west of the Great Ridge. With hair black like the sky on a moonless night and facial features so sharp it seemed like if you touched his cheek, you might get cut.
As if a predatory bird had taken human form for a moment.
But most importantly – this person emanated such an aura of Superiority that even Mateo could feel it. The bird-headed man was utterly calm. Absolutely! Inhumanly calm and confident in himself. As if a master of the Mithril Rank had decided to step out his gate with Bronze participants.
The first confrontations had already started. And a couple of participants had already been eliminated, having received serious injuries. And Mateo could not take his eyes off the black-haired one. But he didn't fight. He didn't even remove the sheath from the tip of his spear. The bird-headed man just walked forward. Silently. Steadily. Calmly.
No one attempted to attack him.
On the contrary.
All the participants, sensing the aura of superiority emanating from him, hurried to get out of his way. A group of five fighters huddled in a tight scrum. Each of them was out for themselves, and each was trying to pierce whoever was closest. It seemed like there was no time to look around in such a melee. But! As soon as the black-haired man approached these five, they immediately stopped fighting, silently let him pass, and resumed their clash as soon as the bird-headed man had walked past them.
It seemed that this man came here not to fight but simply to perform a very tedious formality that was imposed on him. He apparently considered himself so superior to all the other participants that he didn't pay any attention to them.
But it only seemed that way. The experienced gaze of the fencing master noticed the details almost imperceptible to most people. The bird-headed man was not indifferent, as it might have seemed at first; he was keenly responding to everything happening in the Arena's sand! His body reacted to every step towards him, to every interested look turned at him. These were minor reactions: a foot placed differently on the sand than in the previous step, a slight turn of the head, or an almost invisible elbow movement. For a moment, Mateo thought that if all the other selection participants stopped their duels now, united, and threw themselves at the bird-headed man in a crowd, then...
They would lose!
Of course, it was only an illusion. A hallucination caused simply by the impossible calm of the black-haired man. He acted as if he was not a human but a machine made of plastic and steel, not a living organism. His inhuman calm was terrifying. It frightened even him, a spectator, not a participant.
"The uncanny valley effect" - the physicist's mind recalled the term suitable to describe the bird-headed man.
And his behavior only exacerbated this impression of "wrongness." Having calmly walked to the center of the arena without ever engaging in a fight because everyone yielded to him, the black-haired man simply sat down on the sand. He settled in a lotus pose, placed his spear on his lap, and started to meditate.
Around this man, a real battle was raging. So merciless that some of its participants lost limbs and were carried out of the arena. And he, it seemed, didn't give a damn about everything happening around him. He just sat in the center of this bloody melee.
Just sat!
It was wrong. Completely wrong!
Even the most hardened and reckless selection participants felt this wrongness. And it frightened them; they not only did not attack the black-haired man, but they did not even look his way an extra time, as if not daring to provoke him.
What struck the earthling particularly was one moment. The bird-headed man, who had been sitting calmly for a couple of minutes, suddenly jerked his head sharply, and this gesture stopped the fierce fight between two contenders battling a dozen meters from the center of the arena. Only after making sure that the incomprehensible man was just sitting did the two fighters clash again.
The melee was in full swing, and already nearly half of the participants were eliminated when two fighters, without collusion, finishing their duels, targeted the black-haired man. Both simultaneously approached him in a wide arc from behind. But noticing how the bird-headed man's spear swayed in their direction, they preferred to fight each other rather than risk attacking the meditating.
And...
The one who called himself Ronin in the new world, a man who had devoted more than two decades of his life to fencing, understood them. This bird-headed man was dangerous.
Extremely dangerous!
Mateo caught himself thinking that if he were down there in the arena's sand, he probably wouldn't dare to attack the black-haired man. Especially under the conditions imposed on the selection participants. To advance further in the tournament, they needed to be among those sixteen who could still wield a weapon. And under such victory conditions, attacking such a confident fighter, whom everyone else avoided, seemed like a bad idea. Now, if someone else took a risk and allowed him to gauge the bird-headed man's actual skill level, then... But... Nobody dared to be the first.
The more the earthling watched and analyzed, the more clearly he concluded that, no, he would not be the first to approach the bird-headed man. The uncertainty was too great. The outcome of the duel was too unclear. It was easier to defeat those who behaved ordinarily. Understandable. Even if they had demonstrated apparent skill in handling a weapon. What threw him off was not so much the unusual and brazen behavior of the black-haired man but the inhuman calmness with which he acted.
In meteorology, there's a term called "Eye of the Storm." It's when in the center of a tropical storm or hurricane, which wipes out everything in its path, a zone of relative or even complete calm and tranquility forms. The bird-headed man seemed like such an "Eye of the Storm" now.
And this was no con artist's game.
Thanks to many years of fencing experience, guided by the subtle movements and unique, smooth like sea wave motor skills, Mateo Schmeichel sensed in the black-haired man a master who, perhaps, surpassed him.
It seemed that if someone dared to disturb the "Eye of the Storm," the arena would explode in a bright and quick flash. A flash after which the daredevil would be carried away on a stretcher with a cracked skull. And it wasn't even certain they'd be carried out alive. Nonetheless, fighting, even in an arena, is about emotions, adrenaline, tension! And the moment came when five of those who had already proved themselves as good fighters simultaneously moved toward the center of the Arena. The fire of battle burned in the eyes of each.
The five made their first step.
They noticed each other.
But they didn't engage with each other. No.
On the contrary. They nodded to each other and circled the bird-headed man.
The five fighters moved in sync, and the black-haired man's hand went to the sheath of his weapon's tip.
Another step - and the bird-headed man's fingers tugged at the tie of the sheath.
Mateo himself hadn't noticed when he got up from his chair.
In another ten seconds, five would attack one.
The one who had just sat through the whole fight and hadn't even unsheathed his weapon!
The tension was such that even the previously shouting and chanting stands fell silent. The gazes of thousands of spectators converged on the five brave men. Just a little more, just a tiny bit, and everyone would know how good this foreign upstart is!
The bird-headed man's left palm lay on the sand - he was clearly ready to get up quickly.
Five weapons rose into battle position. Three swords, one mace, and one axe.
One more step of the five brave ones, and if the dark-haired man doesn't stand up, no matter how great a master he may be, he won't be able to repel all five attacks from a seated position. But before that happens, the commanding voice of the main announcer, amplified by air magic, echoes over the arena:
"Stop!!! The Bronze qualifying round is over! Only sixteen capable of wielding weapons remain in the Arena!"
Four of the five braves lower their weapons, but the fifth is clearly unhappy. He takes a swift step forward, the axe in his hand flies upward, but a sharp click rings out, and he freezes, bound by the magic of the bracelets on his wrists.
"I repeat!" - The annoyance is audible in the dispatcher's voice. - "The qualifying round is over. Everyone drop your weapons!" - After a short pause, the announcer continues, but with a more cheerful and exciting voice. - "Arena! Welcome! Sixteen who passed the selection! Here are their names! Disciple of the prefect of the southern district of Tries, Paravi Malik, seven victories!" - The crowd responded to this name with roaring cheers of support. - "Guardian of the West Gates Luin Hasaar, six victories…"
The reaction from the stands to this name was not as passionate. The announcer named the ones who passed on while Mateo kept looking at the dark-haired man. He got up, walked over to the man who was still standing, frozen with his axe raised, looked him in his eyes, and then shook his head contritely, like a wise father disappointed by his mischievous son's behavior. Then, the bird-headed man calmly, even somewhat lazily, took his place in the line of those who advanced.
When the announcer called out the sixteenth name, the whole Arena was silent:
"And lastly, with a score of zero, nonetheless standing, advances... the disciple of Sheriff Unudo Ender, Raven from Seattle!"
The response to this introduction was complete silence.
The Arena was silent.
And in this absolute silence, like thunder, unexpected applause sounded.
Turning his head to the left, Mateo was surprised to find that the VIP box, which had stood empty for two hundred years and belonged to the long-lost Righteous Elevation Sect, was no longer empty. On its parapet, with her legs dangling down, dressed in a stunningly tight dress, sat a breathtakingly beautiful woman, clapping her hands.