The numbers passed one by one. Each examinee approached the indestructible globe, attempting to fracture it—yet, as quickly as they came, they left in defeat. One after another failed. Only five others had passed the first stage. Those who did not succeed departed the Colosseum in tears.
As the final tearful participant fled the arena, reactions varied—some felt pity, others laughed, and many simply did not care. After breaking the spirits of many, Sylvia once again addressed the crowd.
"We will now take a thirty-minute break. Examinees, please exit as we prepare for the next stage."
The next trial would test their ability to fight—but Tristan wondered: would they be pitted against one another, or against something else? The examinees filed out of the Colosseum, uncertain of what lay ahead. The crystal, while deceptively simple in appearance, had proven to be anything but. If the first stage had taught them anything, it was that nothing here would come easily. The next challenge would undoubtedly be more grueling. Yet among all the contenders, two names lingered in the minds of the examinees—Tristan and Garfield, the only two who had created more than a single crack.
They broke into groups, murmuring about the upcoming stage. But discussion alone was not the purpose of these gatherings. If combat was to be expected, information would become a weapon—and who better to extract it from than the ability holders themselves?
Smart. When facing an unknown adversary, you must assess their strengths and weaknesses quickly. Once you do, you hold a significant advantage. But understanding your opponent only gets you so far—if you're physically inferior, you will still fall, Tristan thought as he watched the factions form around him.
He sat quietly on a bench just outside the Colosseum, eyes closing briefly to rest. Though some of his energy had returned thanks to the drink Amelia gave him, fatigue still lingered in his limbs.
"Resting, are we?" said an unfamiliar voice.
Tristan opened his eyes slowly and looked up. A red-haired man stood before him—Decker Vermillion. Tristan had anticipated that Decker would speak to him at some point, but what caught him off guard was the man's silent approach.
"Do you mind if I sit?" Decker asked, his smile menacing though his posture was elegant.
"Why would someone of noble blood want to sit beside me—someone of lesser blood?" Tristan replied.
Decker sat without waiting for permission. Tristan subtly shifted away from him. For several minutes, they sat in silence—until Decker broke it. The polished refinement in his voice vanished, replaced by something darker, more sinister—his true nature seeping through.
"You killed a lot of people in that warehouse," he said coldly.
Tristan composed himself and feigned ignorance.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Decker chuckled quietly, then removed the band holding his hair. It flowed with the wind, its crimson hue intensified by the golden light of the sun. He tied it back again, casually.
"Why did you do that?" Tristan asked, raising an eyebrow at the odd gesture.
"Just showing off," Decker replied, a devilish grin on his lips, his hand still inspecting his hair. "A boy with red hair… and a shadow soldier wielding a blade that cut through steel like butter."
Tristan's eye twitched ever so slightly—and that was all Decker needed.
Damn it. How could I slip up like that? He definitely noticed!
Decker said nothing more. He stood, dusted off his pants, and walked away.
"Will he try to sabotage me now?" Tristan whispered to himself.
As Decker returned to the Representatives' seats, a wicked laugh escaped his lips.
"I hope you pass… because once you enter the academy, I'll make your life a living hell."
Decker soon arrived back at the amphitheater. His fellow Representatives raised an eyebrow at the change in his demeanor.
"Why are you smiling so much?" Anastacia asked, arms folded, tone sharp.
Decker merely smiled and waved a hand lazily.
"Don't worry about it."
Outside, Tristan contemplated his next move. Killing Decker was out of the question—not only was he more powerful, but he held a position of significant influence. If Tristan were to eliminate him, his other objectives would be derailed. He closed his eyes, placed his hand over his mouth, and his face twisted in thought.
"That's quite the face you're making," Darren said, appearing before him.
Tristan was surprised by the sudden arrival but concealed it with a calm demeanor.
"What's up?"
"Just thought I'd bring you these. I figured you'd be hungry after using so much energy," Darren said, handing him a bag of pastries.
Tristan accepted the bag and smiled as the intoxicating aroma wafted out.
"Thanks, Darren," he said, immediately stuffing his face.
Darren sat beside him on the bench, pulled out a cigar, clipped the end, and lit it with a sleek silver lighter.
"I didn't know you smoked," Tristan remarked.
"I don't do it around Lady Amelia. But if she's not here, I smoke whenever I want," Darren replied, taking a slow drag and exhaling with ease.
Tristan's eyes scanned the area.
"By the way… where is Amelia? I haven't seen her since she gave me that drink."
Darren's brow furrowed.
"Lady Amelia isn't here. Members of the Five Great Families aren't permitted in the Colosseum during the exam period. So… you couldn't have seen her."
How is that possible? I'm certain that was Amelia… unless she's hiding—but she has no reason to hide from me or Darren. She was cloaked, yes, but if she wanted to stay close, she could've stayed with Darren, and no one would've known. So… who did I see exactly? Tristan wondered, arms crossed, eyes drifting toward the sky.
Darren pulled out a gold pocket watch. With a click, it opened, the face reflecting in the sun. After checking the time, he stood and stepped on his dying cigar.
"You should head back. The thirty-minute break is over," he said.
Tristan exhaled slowly, stood, and began to stretch.
"Time to see if all that training amounted to anything."
Tristan stepped back into the Colosseum alongside the remaining examinees. At the start, there had been around 1,000 hopefuls—but now, their numbers had dwindled to a mere 25. No one knew how many more would fall before the trials were through.
"Let the second stage begin!" the announcer roared, his voice echoing through the arena like a battle cry.