Aconite blinked his eyes open to a startling sight—a sea of faces, more people than he'd ever seen in one place. They stared at him, eyes wide with fear or disgust. Aconite found himself seated on a tile-paved floor, its color reminiscent of milk. The crowd stood at a distance, their hefty figures casting looming shadows. The scene resembled the coliseums he'd overheard about in tavern gossip.
In the midst of the spectacle, he spotted the largest building of his life—a majestic castle guarded by three humongous howling wolf statues. Oddly, he could see it all, perched high on a stone mountain that seemed unnaturally placed. The circular arena beneath him was paved, showcasing the Empire's wealth. The arena was surrounded by unfamiliar metallic seats, soft to the touch as it seemed, replacing the wooden ones he was accustomed to. The towering walls further sealed any possibility of escape.
Focusing, Aconite noticed others arranged in a circular formation nearby. Each person stood on a large circle adorned with symbols. Aconite occupied one of these circles, farther from the central formation. Twelve individuals stood on similar circles, while two figures in white robes with golden symbols flanked him. All eyes were on the center of the arena.
Moments passed as the crowd glared at Aconite. One of the figures in white robes spoke to the other, who then hurried away. The remaining one, donned in a peculiar, emotionless golden mask resembling a human face, approached Aconite.
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“𐎓𐎅𐎐𐎘𐎖𐎈 𐎇𐎂𐎌𐎁𐎀𐎍𐎃𐎆𐎏𐎒𐎋 𐎑𐎚𐎛𐎜𐎝?” the man spoke in a language Aconite couldn’t grasp. "𐎪𐎫 𐎬𐎭𐎮 𐎯𐎰𐎱𐎲 𐎳𐎴𐎵𐎶𐎷?" he repeated, leaving Aconite dumbfounded. A mumbled response was all he could manage.
Growing impatient, the other figure returned with an amulet in hand. After wearing it, he addressed Aconite again. “Do you understand me now?” the man asked.
“Yes,” Aconite answered, nervously nodding.
“Who are you, and which God summoned you here?” the man asked, somewhat aggressively.
“G-God of R-r-redempti-ti-tion,” Aconite replied, stuttering due to a lifetime of solitude since his father's death at the age of 11. The man said nothing, removing the amulet from his neck. He screamed something incomprehensible, triggering screams from the arena's occupants, all looking at Aconite with disgust.
Panic set in; Aconite's breathing grew heavier. Glancing at the twelve others on similar circles, he realized they were the champions The Messenger mentioned. Some stared at him with disdain, others laughed, and two had a sad expression on their faces.
The twelve champions were escorted out. The man who talked to Aconite grabbed his skinny arm and threw him to the center of circles. People in white robes ran in, surrounding Aconite, drawing runes with a blue liquid. In panic, hardly breathing, he realized something bad was happening. When the robes finished, an opaque blue wall formed. He ran toward it to escape, but it was too late; the wall was rock-solid. He started crying, the first time in years, fearing the unknown, fearing something worse than death. The man with a mask chanted; robes repeated, even the audience. Aconite begged to stop, on his knees, still struggling to breathe. The last chanting was full of laughs; Aconite understood it’s hopeless. He sat down, heart beating slower, breathing easier, watching people with disgusting smiles and laughs, they reminded Aconite of the demon stories his father used to tell him while he was still alive. People. Are. The. Actual. Disgusting. Demons. Aconite calmly waited for his fate. With a deep sigh, he was sent to an unknown place, once again...