The roar of the crowd slammed into Charles's ears the moment he crossed the stadium's inner threshold.
"Let's go!" shouted a girl, excited.
"Did he really break his sword!?" a man cried out in disbelief.
"No way! I bet everything on him!" yelled someone, clearly desperate.
"Finish him!" screamed another girl, thrilled.
The sound was real—physical—it vibrated through the air and made the walls themselves feel alive with excitement.
Applause echoed down the hallway ahead of him: wide, clean, with reinforced walls and polished stone floors that faintly reflected the light of lamps embedded in the edges.
Was there electricity in this place?
"This is on another level," Charles muttered to himself, amazed.
It was nothing like the training arenas he'd seen back at the clan.
This wasn't some stone courtyard or open-air practice zone.
This was a coliseum.
And not a small one. The dimensions, the design—everything was built to hold hundreds, maybe thousands of spectators.
