There was a famous quote among the residents of the central capital Endnest: "If you are hungry, eat some food. If you are poor, earn some money."
While this statement may seem arrogant to outsiders, it serves as quite a representative idea for the prosperity of Runalond, in the rich areas at least.
After living in such a luxurious city, where the rivers were dyed by shades of gold, the citizens no longer craved anything, possibly apart from trying to prove to everyone else that they were superior in one way or another. Therefore, some argue that it was the intermediate states that were neither too poor nor too rich that were the best habitats for survival, where survival was not a struggle, but not a "performance" either.
Therefore, as the different classes were categorised, the Rune Arts popular around the area had also grown to suit the environment. Some focused on realistic, literal, and beneficial Rune Arts that could physically assist with their survival, mending wounds, forging steel, and harvesting crops, but some took a greater interest in entertainment and combat.
Endnest at night displayed such a phenomenon perfectly, with brilliant light and colours shining on every parade and alley. The towering buildings were covered in a neon radiance that lit up the ground as brightly as the sun during the day.
In such a grand, bizarre city, three lone figures standing by the relatively insignificant Imperial Academy castle walls were barely noticeable to the people who partied by. One tall and skinny, one short and fat, one somewhere in between.
"If I get caught, I'm absolutely dead," Monica Gladius whispered, swiping her hair to the side for at least the fifth time. The night wind was weirdly strong tonight.
"It's fine—" Nathan dragged his voice, "If anything happens, just say I abducted you both, see if they could do anything about it."
"Abusing your identity again, huh?"
"I mean, what else do I have? Life is about abusing your only specialty."
"Well said." David chuckled, sounding like his usual self again after their conversation a few days ago. Slightly slow and stupid, yet also with a trace of indistinct wisdom that was always present but was only noticed by Nathan recently.
The Gladius clan was influential and relatively wealthy, but ancestral traditions haunted all members with the last name Gladius, forcing them to be involved in the Runalond army no matter their positions, talents, and achievements. Other aristocrats mocked that even a pet dog in the Gladius family walked in a marching stance.
To ensure early experience and habit with the army, children of the clan were raised in the army camps, eating and sleeping with the soldiers as early as they could run. Monica Gladius proved this method to be highly effective, but not necessarily in a positive way.
Nathan had only known Monica for less than half a year, but throughout this entire timeline, not once had she done anything "ladylike" or "well-mannered." She was practically a boy in his eyes, and one of those stereotypically extreme ones.
There was a deep desire in her heart that was never fulfilled: to truly defeat someone in a real battle. Monica might be stubborn or reckless, but she wasn't ignorant of the fact that a spar with the soldiers would never be fair as long as she carried her family name. She needed to compete with someone who didn't know her true identity.
And after some discussion among the group, they came to the conclusion that the best place to achieve this dream was at the Arena of Isaria, named after Runalond's goddess of war Isaria Pompeii, a fabled commander during Gideon's rule who contributed greatly to the union of the realm with her earthquake Rune Art and strategic maneuvers.
How the Gladius clan took over the Pompeii clan's superior authority among the military was never explained to the public. But everything aside, Isaria Pompeii's greatness was never forgotten, and the Pompeii family remained one of the most influential aristocratic clans of all time.
Though right now, Pompeii's tales existed only in historical records. The clan itself was brutally massacred around twenty years ago, a round of infinite energy surges by the work of the Rune Arts Federation's Sixth Seat. To this day, the explosion on the ruins of their manor had still not ceased.
Redhair received his position as part of the Supreme Seven Seats on this catastrophic yet impressive genocide, becoming the first in history to be both a prisoner and one of the leaders of the entire kingdom. His hands were cuffed eternally behind his back, only released when necessary.
As the group of three arrived before the arena—with the help of David's RAPI, a backpack that allowed short-distance flight—the first thing that caught their eyes was the solitary, embellished statue of Isaria Pompeii on the empty court. The craftsmanship required for such a masterpiece could not be understated; it was a statue that not only displayed mere stones carved into shape, but a real human goddess who stood valiantly, safeguarding the citizens underneath with her unvanquishable pride.
Monica lifted her head and stared at Isaria, admiration flowing out of her eyes.
"You want to be like her?" David asked.
"Yeah… but also no…" Monica paused and turned back towards them, her voice quiet, as if afraid to disturb the heroine above. "I love battle. But I'd rather live in a world that doesn't need war."
Waves of citizens roamed into the arena at varying paces, most of them being audience members for the sole purpose of enjoyment. It was impossible to tell who would be competing except for the anxiety and excitement on certain individuals' faces.
Nathan and David accompanied Monica to the reception area to sign her up for solo combat. The Arena of Isaria had no specific requirement to be involved in their contests, no fees, rewards, or booking as well. They did not even sell tickets; the only way they made profits was through gambling, which proved itself to be more economically effective than anything.
"Sign this," the receptionist stated emotionlessly, her eyes saying, "These young ones don't value their lives."
Nathan peeked over Monica's shoulders and read the contract carefully, gasping as he saw the chilling line,
"Contestant assumes all risk of injury, dismemberment, or death, which are to be expected."
Nathan whispered to Monica, "Are you sure you are to do this? These people are adults, real Rune Artists that fight for fun."
Monica dismissed him with a confident smile. "Don't worry, remember who my tutor is?"
"Professor Brandle, of course I do. Is his Rune Art that impressive?"
"You'll see."
Nathan wouldn't judge Monica's decisions, especially when it came to her very dream, but it was certain that both he and David would never step foot into the contestant area. They backtracked to the main hall and walked upstairs to unite with the rest of the audience. To some extent, Nathan was grateful that he could return to his ordinary self again, at least for this night.
The audience area was as crowded as Nathan would expect in an arena located at the capital, with only several lonesome seats waiting for occupation. It took a while before Nathan and David successfully discovered two empty seats together and without taints of liters.
The woman who sat beside the empty chairs had no one sitting by her side, as if people were avoiding her on purpose. Nathan didn't see anything dangerous in the woman's eyes; there was just a strange emptiness that might as well be the effect of the dim lighting. The only thing notable about her was her dark red hair, much darker and layered than Monica's.
"Let's sit somewhere else, Nathan," David whispered to him, with fear in his voice.
"What did you say?" Nathan inquired as he sat down on the seat near the crimson-haired woman. The noise of the environment filtered out David's warning.
Chills were already running down David's spine, but it was too late to tell Nathan what her identity truly was. He had no choice but to sit beside Nathan, shifting to the opposite side as far as possible.
The woman turned her head towards Nathan slowly but didn't say anything, her eyes shifting from his dark hair to the ring on his finger.
One could say the Arena of Isaria was extremely disorganised for a monumental combat tournament. There was no introduction to the contests except for the contestants' names. It was just an area where combat and watching combat were all that mattered, and the reason why half of the people even bothered to come.
Of course, gambling was what attracted the other half. Nothing felt more satisfying than cheering for the contestant that you bet your life savings on; the excitement of their victory could not be bested by any other joy in the world.
Nathan and David were not interested in the idea of money itself—Nathan because he didn't need any,and David because he had more than enough already. This was one of the cases where they simply asked themselves: Why not?
"David, how much money do you have on you right now?" Nathan leaned in and whispered as quietly as possible.
"I don't get too much allowance, not like I can spend it in the academy," David shrugged. "Couple billion?"
Nathan's face twitched, doubting that David was flexing his wealth on purpose. "How about we bet one hundred million on Monica? The odds are +200 for any novel contestant, no?"
"If Monica wins, we get two hundred million," David chuckled. "You get half, I get half."
"You do realise that…" Nathan tried to remind him that he didn't contribute to any of the bidding himself, but he figured that David was smarter than he seemed, so he didn't bother to point anything out.
Quite a few matches went past without Monica's appearance. Nathan did not join the cheering crowd but watched the combat quite carefully. He thought that Rune Art combat would be clunky—after all, conjuring a rune took time, especially for complicated combat types. He anticipated something resembling two immobile turrets bombarding each other with elements, but reality proved him wrong.
There were slight preparations before the duel began, but most of the time, it was an astounding montage of improvisation and predictions. Runes were drawn all over the place along with the contestants' movements; some were drawn halfway and only completed once they returned to the same spot to ensure precision and speed. Nathan even saw someone utilising the rune their opponent conjured, completing and running energy through it before the other side could.
Nathan would say he could score pretty well in Rune Art combat, but unfortunately, his elemental traits excluded him from this field completely.
The woman on Nathan's side watched the contests silently, not cheering for anyone, just like Nathan and David before Monica's match. Her stillness sent a peculiar chill down Nathan's spine, not due to his senses, but instincts alone.
"Next up! 'Firelimb' versus 'The Forager!'"
"That's Monica?" David murmured to Nathan. In the Arena, codenames were used to protect the privacy of the contestants.
Nathan couldn't help but twitch and complain, "What the hell is 'Firelimb?' Great, now we have to publicly embarrass ourselves by cheering that name out." He did understand that Monica intended to copy her mentor, but to be honest, 'Firelimb' was not on the same level as 'Magma Limb.'
Nathan and David left their seat to set their bid for the gambling. From what they had heard, Nathan came to the conclusion that 'The Forager' was someone quite formidable. Though nowhere close to the top, his Rune Arts were widely considered annoying and difficult to counter. He believed in Monica's skill nonetheless; her confidence was equally inspiring as Nathan's, giving a sense that her victory had already been decided.
As the match was announced to start, one minute of preparation had been given to the contestants to set up some basic runes to start the duel. Even from a distance, Nathan could see a faint smile on her oddly youthful face compared to her opponent.
'The Forager' was someone who lived up to his codename. His hair lay chaotically on his half-covered face, similar to Nathan's but much messier. His clothes were tattered, and the colour had either faded or was covered by at least three layers of dust. There was, however, a pair of eyes full of energy.
He slowly reached the ground with his wand and began illustrating; brown runes in an intricate order were set up in the blink of an eye. That was his style, using the same setup in every single match, yet rarely finding an opponent who could defeat it.
On the other side was a totally different view. Monica's runes were lined up with each other by her side; her movement was slow and perhaps even clumsy. Eventually, five simple, circular red runes floated by her left arm. The audience scoffed at the simplicity and unprofessionalism—in their eyes, Monica was still a child, too young for the stage at the Arena of Isaria.
'The Forager' grinned softly, as if foreseeing his victory. He pressed his hands onto the runes on the ground, and giant rock pillars were instantly erected around him. Layers and layers of rock shields blocked assault from all possible directions.
Monica stretched her arm through her runes, and a coating of brilliant fire lit up the entire arena.
When it finally ceased and the audience could open their eyes and witness what happened, they saw the rather unimpressive view of Monica's left arm turning into a pole of flame.
She charged forward and swung herself at the rock shields surrounding 'The Forager.' Without any hesitation, she slammed her blazing arm at the rocks.
And they just shattered.
All the rock pillars shattered in one singular strike. At the point of impact was not a molten ring of magma as the audience had expected; there wasn't anything similar to that kind.
Nathan scratched his head, "How? Flames can't melt rocks."
"It wasn't the flame that shattered his defence." A soft voice emerged from behind, from the crimson-haired woman sitting beside him.
"It was the raw power of her body alone..." she murmured, "Exceptional."