"Ladies and gentlemen!"
The announcer's voice boomed through the enormous coliseum, amplified by a magic device that carried every word to the farthest seats.
The crowd immediately grew louder. The arena inside Paradise Resort was already filled with many spectators.
The bright crystal lamps hung high above the arena, bathing the sand-covered ground in warm golden light.
The servants moved between the rows of seats while carrying trays that were filled with wine and expensive liquor. Also, the attendants from the betting counter hurried back and forth with stacks of betting slips.
The money was traded constantly as the gamblers exchanged their wealth without hesitation.
Some spectators leaned forward eagerly while the others lazily watched from comfortable velvet chairs that were placed inside the private viewing boxes.
Rows upon rows of luxurious seats circled the fighting ground where the nobles, merchants, gamblers, and thrill seekers gathered together for the same purpose which were the entertainment and profit.
For many of the wealthy guests, the fighters below were nothing more than temporary entertainment.
The arena was not a battlefield to them but a stage where other people risked their lives for their amusement.
"Today, we present another fighting match!" the announcer continued dramatically, "But this time, something is slightly different."
His tone deliberately slowed, creating a ripple of the curiosity which was spreading through the audience.
"Both fighters stand here not for money but because of a dispute between their masters. Whoever wins today will prove whose lord stands on the side of justice while the loser shall represent the wrong side of the quarrel!"
The spectators erupted in the murmurs.
Such matches were far more entertaining than ordinary fights. The pride, honor, and reputation were always far more exciting than simple gambling.
The announcer raised one hand theatrically, "Before you place your bets, allow me to introduce our contestants!"
His gaze swept across the audience before landing toward the entrance on the left side of the arena, "The fighter on the left side is a rather unusual young participant."
He paused deliberately, "You might laugh when you see him because he is merely a fat boy who appears barely old enough to hold a weapon."
Several spectators chuckled, starting to wonder how the battle unfolded.
"But, do not underestimate him!" the announcer suddenly raised his voice, "That young boy is capable of magic."
"And not just ordinary magic…" the announcer continued with a grin, "This boy wields ice magic!"
For a moment, the coliseum fell silent before a loud unbelievable voice reverberated in the area.
"WHAT?!"
"ICE MAGIC?!"
The entire arena exploded with shock because ice magic was extremely rare.
Most wizards learned basic elemental spells like fire, water, or wind but ice magic belonged to a far more specialized branch. It required delicate control over the elements and far greater magical mastery.
"Did he come from the Versance family?!"
"Impossible… a boy like that?"
"Whatever the truth is, I'm betting on the fat boy!"
Many excited voices filled the arena and the announcer's smile widened slightly. It was exactly as he expected since the ice magic was the perfect bait.
Earlier, Baston had casually displayed a small ice spell during the registration. The moment the staff witnessed it, the entire schedule inside the coliseum was immediately rearranged.
Such a rare ice wizard must be announced and performed in special case. The spectators would be getting crazier and that already meant the massive betting.
In the end, Baston's match was quickly pushed forward to attract as much money as possible. Near the betting counters, several people were already arguing loudly with the clerks.
"Put fifty on the fat boy!" one man shouted impatiently.
"Fifty? That's reckless," another gambler scoffed, "His opponent looks like a veteran. I'll bet the boy survives ten minutes and no more."
The clerks wrote the wagers quickly without even looking surprised. They had witnessed countless scenes like this before.
The louder the arguments became, the more money flowed into the house. And inside Paradise Resort, the house always made sure it never lost.
The announcer allowed the excitement to build before raising his voice again, "However, our fighter will not have an easy victory."
"The fighter on the other side is a retired mercenary..." a different tone entered the announcer's voice, "He spent many years on the battlefield. The blood, steel, and survival are nothing new to him."
Several experienced gamblers nodded. That kind of opponent was extremely dangerous.
"Do not underestimate him," the announcer warned, "A single careless moment and your throat may already be cut."
The crowd reacted again though not as loudly as before. Even with the mercenary's reputation, most people were still placing their money on the young ice wizard.
Of course, Paradise Resort had already anticipated that. The betting options were cleverly designed.
Instead of simply betting on who would win, the spectators could also wager on how the victory would happen.
Would Baston win within one minute?
Would Baston win completely within five minutes?
Would he defeat his opponent with a specific ice spell?
Would the mercenary survive more than ten minutes?
The complex betting system ensured that the resort would still profit regardless of the outcome.
Meanwhile, Baston himself knew nothing about these arrangements. Even if he knew, he wouldn't care. His attention was focused on something else entirely which was Viktor.
That was the real reason he stood here.
Inside Carpel Inn somewhere within the row of the rooms, the man that Baston was hunting might still be hiding.
Time was running out.
Searching every room personally was impossible. Not only would it disturb the guests but the staff would quickly throw him out for causing the trouble.
In the end, he had chosen another approach. A far more dramatic one to lure the hunter out.
When he finally arrived near the arena entrance, a staff member stopped him beside a wooden table that was filled with weapons.
"Do you have your own weapon?" the worker asked politely.
Baston shook his head since he had no money to buy such thing before.
"In that case, you may borrow one from here..."
The man gestured toward the selection, "There are swords, axes, spears, and many other else though since you are a wizard, you may prefer a wand or staff."
Baston stared at the weapons thoughtfully before he asked something unexpected, "Can I take a sword?"
The staff blinked, "A sword?"
"Yes…"
"Why?"
Baston scratched his head innocently, "I just want to try using one."
The worker stared at him as if he had heard something absurd. There had never been a wizard who was using a sword.
Even the inexperienced fighters knew that was foolish. Still, there was no rule against it. After a moment, the staff member simply sighed.
"If you insist, then take it..."
He picked up a simple iron sword. There was nothing special but it was enough.
The sword was slightly worn and its edge carried faint scratches from previous matches. Clearly, it had been used many times before. He tested the weight by swinging it lightly once or twice.
To the staff member, the movements looked somewhat clumsy as if the fat boy had never handled a sword properly. However, his grip remained strangely firm. His wrist adjusted the angle naturally, correcting the balance almost without thinking.
The worker frowned faintly but soon, he shrugged. It was not his responsibility to question the participants' decisions.
Soon afterward, both fighters stepped out from the opposite sides of the arena.
On the right side stood Viktor's servant which was a muscular man who was holding a sword confidently. His expression was arrogant as if he had already decided the outcome of the fight.
But when he saw Baston, his expression froze. The fat boy was also holding a sword. For several seconds, the mercenary simply stared.
Wasn't he supposed to be a wizard?
The announcer himself seemed confused, "What a surprise! Both fighters appear to be using swords!"
The laughter and murmurs spread through the audience, considering it might be their first time to see such unique event.
"I thought the fat boy was a wizard!"
"Did the announcer lie to us?"
"No, maybe he's bluffing."
Whatever the truth was, the match could not be delayed any longer.
The announcer raised his hand dramatically, "Let the match… BEGIN!"
The signal echoed through the arena yet neither fighter moved immediately. Viktor's servant stared at Baston suspiciously.
Was this some kind of trick?
If the boy truly possessed ice magic, then using a sword would only put him at a disadvantage. Unless, he actually knew how to fight with it.
The uncertainty made the mercenary hesitate and Baston tilted his head slightly.
"Why are you standing there?" he asked casually and his tone sounded almost bored, "Make your move."
The mercenary's eyes narrowed, "You will regret this."
With a sudden shout, he lunged forward. The steel flashed and clashed into each other.
"CLANG!"
The sound of clashing swords echoed loudly. To everyone's surprise, Baston blocked the attack effortlessly.
The mercenary frowned. The boy's stance was not clumsy at all. Another clash soon followed.
"CLANG!"
"CLANG!"
The fat boy stepped forward and counterattacked. His movements were not elegant but they were relentless.
Viktor's servant quickly realized something troubling.
Baston was not fighting like a wizard. He was fighting like someone who had trained with a sword.
The mercenary swung harder, trying to overpower him with strength. He even kicked him in the stomach yet the fat boy barely retreated. Instead, he pushed forward even more aggressively.
From the spectator seats, Luke watched with wide eyes. As a knight, he understood exactly what he was witnessing.
The swordsmanship was not something that could be faked. Even holding the weapon correctly required practice.
He still remembered his first training day.
The sword felt heavy and every swing destroyed his balance. His wrists hurt, his arms trembled, and he fell countless times before even mastering basic movements.
Years of training were necessary to fight properly yet Baston was capable of such basic. That fat boy was attacking and defending simultaneously.
What confused him even more was Baston's rhythm.
The fat boy did not move like someone who was desperately trying to remember the sword techniques. Instead, his attacks flowed continuously with each strike pushing the opponent into the next defense.
It was not refined swordsmanship yet it carried a stubborn persistence that slowly wore down the mercenary's confidence.
Luke narrowed his eyes.
For a moment, he wondered how many times this strange boy must have practiced such movements in secret for his body to react so naturally.
"CLANG!"
"CLANG!"
"CLANG!"
The constant clashes echoed like thunder and the spectators began cheering loudly.
"KEEP GOING!"
"SLASH HIM!"
"DON'T LOSE! MY MONEY IS ON YOU!"
Baston's attacks grew faster and his opponent was gradually forced backward. The sweat began forming on the mercenary's forehead.
This fight was becoming far more difficult than expected. Then, a broken sound reverberated into the surrounding.
"CRACK!"
A sharp sound echoed.
Baston's wrist twisted violently when the mercenary struck his sword with full strength. Several spectators soon gasped.
"That sounded bad!"
The mercenary's eyes flashed with excitement. He immediately rushed forward and his sword aimed directly at Baston's head.
But before the sword could land, his mana surged. A thick wall of ice suddenly formed between them. The sword struck the frozen barrier instead and the arena exploded with excitement.
"ICE MAGIC!"
"So the announcer was telling the truth!"
"Amazing!"
The mercenary quickly jumped back while his expression went darkening.
Meanwhile, Baston calmly stepped away from the ice wall. He looked down at his wrist and the bone was clearly dislocated.
His opponent sneered, "With such broken hand, you've already lost."
"Don't think about surrender," the mercenary continued coldly, "I intend to make you suffer first."
Baston smiled faintly, "I can't suffer…"
The mercenary frowned. Before he could respond, the boy grabbed his injured wrist and twisted it.
"CRACK!"
The loud snapping sound echoed through the entire coliseum. Many spectators recoiled in horror.
The fat boy had just forced the bone back into place without magic, without hesitation, and without even shouting in pain.
The arena fell eerily quiet before many whispers began spreading.
Even the gamblers who had been shouting the moments earlier now felt a strange chill that was creeping across their backs. Watching someone endure a pain like that without even flinching was deeply unsettling.
Some spectators forced out nervous laughter while the others exchanged uneasy glances with the people beside them. The fight had suddenly become far more disturbing than entertaining.
It was as if the fat boy who was standing in the arena was not merely a young wizard but something far stranger than an ordinary human being.
"That kid is insane…"
"Fixing a bone like that…"
"He didn't even scream…"
Luke stared silently. Something about the scene felt wrong.
Most people believed Baston was simply extremely tough but he sensed something else. The boy's reaction was too calm and almost unnatural.
Meanwhile, Viktor's servant felt an uncomfortable chill that was crawling along his spine. If the boy could endure the pain like that, then this fight would not end easily.
However, Baston had already stopped thinking about the fight. His thoughts were somewhere else.
Searching Viktor directly resulted a failure so there was only one option left. His eyes slowly scanned the crowd.
Somewhere in this resort, the fake Viktor might still be watching. If he created enough chaos, the man might come out on his own. A faint smile appeared on his face.
"Well…" he thought quietly, "I suppose it's time to make a bigger scene..."
And far away from the arena, inside the silent corridors of Carpel Inn, someone suddenly stopped walking as if he had just sensed something disturbing that began to unfold.