"Koji, Melvin, and the rest give it your best!" Allen shouted to the children from Group A who were currently departing to enter their respective arenas.

Koji gazed at Allen from a distance. He said “I will”, but his voice was low and was inevitably unheard due to the obstruction caused by the loud chatter of the crowd. Nevertheless, Allen was able to view his fiery countenance. As they had spent many years in the Orphanage together, their conveying could be more or less understood without direct communication.

Melvin, who was currently entangled with his routine huddle up, turned his head to Allen and gave him a brief determined nod.

"Melvin, go out there and make big sister proud! I know with your amazing skills you will be able to reach the top!" Stilla exclaimed as she raised a fist up-high with her available arm.

(To the top?) Melvin was slightly startled, but her words brought forth an immense boost of confidence.

"—Naturally I will rise to the top. Thank you big sister Stilla." He shot a menacing glance to Hayate from the corners of his eyes. (I will start by crushing the ignoramus so-called “prodigy” unfortunate enough to be stratified into my bracket.)

Dalis had yet to utter a word. However, this was not for long. While observing the interaction between the two, Dalis noticed Melvin arrogantly glancing towards his hated enemy.

"Trash. Underestimating your opponents will lead to your downfall."

Taunted by a word he hadn't heard for quite a period, Melvin immediately followed up on his beckon.

"Insect, my brilliance today will have your diapause end a tad bit sooner than expected. Your concern is unnecessary. Simply marvel at my performance as you obtain benevolent benefits."

Dalis expressed a silent sigh, but seeing that his arrogance was tempered down, he could be said to be satisfied.

"Okay okay, it's time to go. Melvin go out there and fight!" Stilla cheered and removed her arm from the huddle.

***

"By the way, where is Elliot? Wasn't he going to come to watch our performances?" Allen asked Jessica.

"Yeah that's what I've been wondering too. He should be back from his village."

"Ah he's probably busy helping his family out. Mother Michelle was kind enough to let him come along so he can visit his hometown in the first place. He wouldn't have been able to visit the Cresuilge Kingdom since he couldn't get in," Sienna guessed.

"Then it can't be helped. I hope he will be able to visit at least one of our matches," Allen hoped.

"Hey if he doesn't come, he knows what's coming to him!" Jessica stated in a pert manner.

"Umm . . . guys, look, the first round is going to begin," Sun Hee interjected.

The rules of duelling were nothing out of the norm and were tantamount to other large competitive duels.

A match ended when a participant was unable to continue fighting. Oftentimes, this occured from the defeated having fainted or being injured to a grave extent. As fights are solely competitive, there should never be an instance where a participant attempts to claim a life of another. If there are such instances, they would be disqualified and be punished by law. Thus, grievous maiming and lethal blows are prohibited. Forbidden techniques or arts were also not allowed to be used. They did not wish for the participants to pay the price soley for a competition. Those techniques should only ever be used at the most critical times.

Any kind of toxic, noxious means is strictly regulated in use in battle, and an antidote must be provided to the judge pre-battle. Potions, pills, and beneficial ailments were also not allowed.

Channelling mana or casting spells/techniques/arts before entering the stage was also banned.

Generally, all types of weapons and equipment are permitted, and there were no limits to how many one may bring along. However, once entering their respective arena, a participant is unable to take anything else from the outside even after winning a duel. This is to prevent participants from obtaining instruments that may place them at an advantage for the next duel. Hence, it is advised that participants do not heavily rely on instrumental means. Besides, those who have overused equipment to unbearable levels are often subject to being criticised and condemned by the masses, including the authorities.

Unfortunately for the Orphanage children, they were only allowed to bring equipment on the training level range or a little above that. Essentially, the usual equipment they use regularly back at the Orphanage. This was an intentional move by the authorities of the Orphanage to prevent the internship students from taking powerful equipment from their families to borrow. After all, the purpose of the children participating in the tournament was to train themselves and see how far they can go much like the Pre-Soldier Exam.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

"Next match. Melvin Serven vs Mike Batnel. Participants, please enter the stage."

Mike Batnel hurriedly jumped onto the stage. Although he had taken part in three Knights of Kingdom tourneys before, it was his first time standing in the arena alone. It exhilarated him as it felt like the whole world was about to watch his performance. He was short, youthful and was dying to battle with his opponent.

(Ooof! I shouldn't be in such a hurry. It was because of this I failed to get out of the preliminaries last tournament.)

Inspecting his duty attire, he found there were no problems with his heavy brass armour.

(Ok. No problems here or there.)

He removed his light grey eyes from his armour and stared across the stage. His opponent had arrived in perfect time.

(What the hell?)

The person standing before him was not one would consider a man or a woman, but rather, a suave young boy. He was clad in a long, white, collared shirt, resembling a half-robe imprinted with golden embroidery on the sleeves. On his chest, one can see that the shirt is buttoned up and following downwards beige tunic is strapped underneath with small amounts of leather. His grey pants are worn tight, and his overall attire is bizarrely very clean.

(Someone from a village? But he's too young . . . )

Mike was too preoccupied with inspecting the rare attire that he had failed to point attention to his infamous bearing. Melvin was content at first as it was natural to scrutinise their facing opponent, but then felt as though something was wrong.

There were no words of exchange.

There was no reaction to his Feeria bearing.

There were no words filled with malice nor insults daggered at him.

Heck, he has yet to even look at him eye to eye!

All of this infuriated him. This knight named Mike was fortunate enough to be standing before HIM! Melvin Serven! His pride was being damn mocked each passing second.

Melvin sharply glared at the judge. (Commence the fucking duel post-haste!) He had a burning desire to open his mouth and “appropriately” converse with his opponent. However, that would be beneath him. Hence, he could only seek the judge to free himself from this misery.

The judge felt indignation from the arrogant child's provocation. Snorting reproachfully, he turned a blind eye. (Lucky Feeria wretch. Adult or not, Kingdom or not, Orphanage or not, if it weren't for the fact that I had to get things moving, you would be here all day.)

"Participants, the duel will now begin!"

" . . . Oh crap, we are starting!"

" . . . " The floodgates were reaching their limit.

"So are you one of the kids from the Caleyar Orphanage?" Mike casually asks while steadily walking to Melvin.

"Internship student from Feeria. Melvin Ser—"

Suddenly, Mike briskly bolted towards Melvin, grasping his silver longsword low in the air. It was hanging from his back right leg, gathering momentum for a pre-emptive strike.

"You!—"

"Ever heard the phrase? He who strikes first wins!" Mike guffawed as he continued to charge faster. The heavy armour he wore was not an impediment at all to his dashing speed. Likewise, the long sword he wielded had barely moved an inch. He was aiming for one decisive straight swing. Melvin quickly realised he was likely up against a knight with a body mana seed—a body consolidator!

He relentlessly charged at his unprepared foe, ignoring the light, cold fog, seeping through the floor. As if this fog would whittle his movements! Perhaps this incoming aerosol would be an impairment to his eyes, but he was far too late. The prey was in plain, stark view. Nine more meters and he was done for!

Seven meters . . .

Five meters . . .

Three meters . . .

"Back to the Orphanage you go kid! This is not a place for the young ones." At last, the powerful swing was brought onto the battlefield, cutting the fog like a hot knife through butter and slicing towards Melvin's abdomen just above the hips. He can already envision the helpless kid go flying from his mighty force.

However . . .

Mike's eyes widened as he saw the kid elegantly dodge the swing with surging, speedily maneuver. He failed to notice a gust of wind swirling by the kid's legs. The kid spun once with the rotation of his body to place himself directly behind him. Consequently, not only did he swing thin air but he also slew across a couple of meters to a halt. In utter disbelief, he turned around as soon as he recovered from his skid to meet the vicissitudes of impossibility.

From the small clearing of the dispersed seeping fog, he saw the Feeria kid staring down at him. His hands were clasped behind his back as though he were some expert, and his chin was pompously elevated upwards. A blithe expression accompanied his handsome looks, but this did not conceal his smothered smugness and mocking disdain. Unfortunately for Mike, the cancerous attitude of an arrogant kid, younger than him, was the least of his problems.

Hovering in the cold air were several dozens of mana bolts surrounding Melvin. Each bolt was coloured white and glowed with vigorous mana energy. They were not opaque, and were endowed, and harnessed by the seeping mana from the fog! They appeared to be intensifying by the second, eating the cold fog as nourishing strength.

"HOW! You were so late to chant! How can you be so skilled to conjure spells this fast?!" (Mages take time to build up their control of mana and utilise spells. This can't be happening. Was my speed not fast enough? Or is this youngster simply that skilled?)

"Ahh, the silly follies of ignorant fools. Why would I, Melvin Serven, needlessly open my mouth?"

"What do you mean?! Almost every movement mana practitioner in the whole continent needs to chant to properly use the majority of their mana spells. I haven't heard of a single chantless . . ." (Wait did I ever see him open his mouth?!) The baffled Mike opened his eyes as wide as saucers from his epiphany. "You didn't even chant did you? . . . Are you a freak?"

"Hmph," Melvin snorted and jutted his chin further up, setting the target.

As though his minute actions were the queue, the order to unleash the stockpiled arrows was set in stone; heavy artillery mercilessly rained down the battlefield.