Chapter 122: ¹²²The Crimson Sands Of The Colosseum
The remainder of the night in the Capital of Astrea never truly slept. The chilly air still carried the faint echoes of violins from Veylor Castle, drifting softly across marble rooftops as the Valen family’s black wooden carriage cut through the deserted streets.
Inside the cabin, the silence hung far heavier.
Screeech... Thud.
The carriage came to a halt in the side courtyard of The Gilded Dove, its wooden wheels groaning softly against the cobblestones.
Valera Voss leaped down first, her black leather armor creaking as her feet struck the ground. Her golden eyes scanned every shadowed corner, ensuring no assassins had tailed them from the palace. Her bandage-wrapped right arm rested loosely at her side, ready to draw the massive Zweihander on her back at a moment’s notice.
The cabin door opened, and Kaelia von Ashford stepped down.
Her crimson gown remained striking, yet the aristocratic mask she had fought so desperately to maintain before King Evander and Prince Edward was beginning to fracture. Her porcelain face was pale with mental exhaustion, her breath slightly hurried as though she had just escaped a room filled with toxic air.
Finally, Ethan Valen stepped out.
The young man showed not a single trace of exhaustion. His messy, dark brown hair whipped in the night wind, framing a face as cold as everlasting ice. Clad in a high-collared black tunic and a dark, calf-length coat that seemed to absorb the faint glow of the street lanterns, Ethan walked ahead of them into the inn.
As soon as the door to the White Rose Room on the third floor was locked tight, Valera leaned her back against the wall near the entrance. The knight with exotic tan skin let out an annoyed huff.
"Tch, what a tedious banquet," Valera sneered, breaking the silence as her jaw tightened. "Those high-and-mighty nobles only know how to spin pretty words and hide poison behind wine glasses. Standing there staring at their arrogant faces made my hands itch to take a few heads."
Kaelia didn’t reply. She trudged over and collapsed onto the red velvet sofa.
The light in this capital was nothing more than an illusion. The brighter it burned, the darker the shadows it cast.
"Get some sleep," Ethan commanded flatly, cutting through Kaelia’s anxiety. He drew the curtains, letting dimness settle over the room again. "Save your strength. Tomorrow morning, we won’t be fighting them with words."
Valera smirked faintly at his order before retreating to a corner to keep watch. Kaelia bit her lower lip, holding back a thousand unspoken thoughts, before finally closing her eyes on the sofa.
Dawn broke over Astrea all too quickly. Pale sunlight pierced through the lingering winter mist, awakening the marble city to feast once more.
The rattling of cartwheels, the laughter of children, and the chime of temple bells blended into a bustling morning harmony. The Frost Flower Festival was entering its main day.
Inside the room, Ethan stood in the exact same spot near the window, looking as though he hadn’t shifted an inch all night.
The inner door opened, revealing Kaelia, who had changed her attire.
She now wore a dark red traveling tunic embroidered with gold thread, black trousers, and practical leather boots. Her fiery red hair was bound in a tight ponytail. Devoid of fine silks or jewelry, she was dressed for war. Yet, the pale hue of her face remained impossible to conceal.
In the opposite corner, Valera was already on high alert. Her black leather armor was cleaned, the bandages on her right arm bound tighter, and the massive Zweihander rested slung across her back.
"We move," Ethan said briefly.
The carriage carved through the capital’s main thoroughfares. The view outside the window was a painful contrast to their destination.
Hundreds of citizens wore their finest clothes, beaming with smiles. Young girls scurried about carrying baskets filled with mock frost-flower petals, while street vendors handed out warm sweet rolls. Blue-and-gold banners fluttered proudly from every pole.
After twenty minutes of navigating through the city, the colossal structure finally loomed at the end of the road.
The Colosseum of Astrea.
A gargantuan elliptical amphitheater constructed from massive blocks of grayish marble. Along its outer walls, sculptures depicting ancient knights spearing monstrous beasts were carved in gruesome detail. This was no place of entertainment; it was a monument to state-sanctioned cruelty.
The Valen carriage was directed to the northern noble parking area, where dozens of carriages plated in gold and silver were already lined up neatly.
The moment they stepped out, their senses were assaulted by the stench of damp stone, rusting metal, sweat, and the sharp metallic tang of blood soaked deep into the arena sand.
Guided by the Crown Knights, Ethan, Kaelia, and Valera walked down a stone corridor lit by blue magic torches. The thunderous roars of tens of thousands of spectators resonated through the stone walls, vibrating beneath the soles of their feet.
The flow of their footsteps brought them to a mid-tier VIP balcony situated directly beneath the royal family’s main grandstand.
From there, the arena floor stretched out vast before them, covered in coarse reddish-brown sand that could never truly be washed clean. Tens of thousands of spectators cheered hysterically like a pack of starved beasts.
The first gladiatorial match was already underway.
Down on the sand, an old man covered in whip scars held a rusted shortsword. His opponent was an emaciated young man trembling with a broken spear.
The fight was brief and brutal. In a fit of panic, the youth charged blindly. The old man parried effortlessly, side-stepped, and slammed the pommel of his sword into the youth’s temple.
Crash!
The young man crumpled onto the sand, blood pouring from his head as his body convulsed.
The old man stood over his opponent’s fallen form, his breath coming in heavy gasps. Yet instead of finishing off the youth, he cast his rusted sword onto the ground. He refused to kill.
A momentary hush swept across the arena before erupting into widespread rage.
"Huh?! Kill him! Coward!"
𝐟𝗿𝐞𝚎𝚠𝐞𝚋𝕟𝐨𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝕔𝕠𝚖
"We paid to see blood! Slit his throat!"
The crowd pelted him with leftover food and vile curses. The old man’s display of humanity was taken as an insult to their entertainment.
An iron gate at the arena’s edge creaked open, and four burly guards strode in brandishing barbed whips. Ignoring the dying youth, they lashed the old man mercilessly before dragging him back into the shadows of the subterranean tunnels. At once, the crowd’s roars resumed in full frenzy.
"And now!" an announcer’s voice boomed across the arena through amplification magic. "As per opening tradition, we shall witness the Qualification Test of Astrea’s youth! Let us welcome... Lord Carvain Veyne!"
Thunderous cheers shook the stadium, rattling dust from the vaulted arches above.
Stepping out from the noble gate was Carvain Veyne—son of Lord Marcellus Veyne. Clad in a dark red cloak, the young noble flaunted the aura of an early-stage Bronze Knight to elicit awe from the crowd. In the grandstand of honor, Lord Marcellus stood and raised his wine glass in pride.
The iron portcullis on the opposite side of the arena slowly slid upward.
A gaunt, malnourished gladiator was shoved out roughly, armed with nothing more than a cracked wooden shield and a blunt dagger. The man trembled uncontrollably. This Qualification Test was no battle; it was a staged execution.
Crack!
Carvain didn’t kill him right away. As the gladiator raised his guard, Carvain severed three of his fingers in a swift strike. The man shrieked in agony, stumbling backward.
Carvain chuckled smoothly. He lunged forward, planting a brutal kick into the gladiator’s ribs with a sickening crunch. The gladiator crumpled, coughing up blood as he wept and begged for mercy.
Carvain crushed the gladiator’s knife-wielding right hand beneath his boot, then shattered the man’s left arm using the pommel of his blade.
The spectators—even highborn ladies fluttering silk fans before their faces—rose to their feet, cheering hysterically at the slow, deliberate display of bloodshed.
Carvain thrust his sword into the gladiator’s thigh, twisting the metal to inflict maximum agony before repeatedly plunging the blade into the man’s neck. Fresh blood sprayed across Carvain’s dark red robes as the young noble spread his arms wide, soaking in the praise.
"This is insane... this isn’t a fight. It’s a slaughter," Kaelia whispered in horror from behind the balcony railing.
Valera took half a step forward, her golden eyes blazing with feral intensity.
The brief lull in the crowd was seized by a figure standing at the marble parapet of the royal grandstand.
Prince Edward von Valois stepped forward. His white-and-gold military uniform gleamed brilliantly in the morning sun. His sky-blue eyes swept over the stadium before locking squarely onto Ethan.
King Evander, seated behind Edward, merely wore a serene smile.
"Citizens of Astrea!" Edward’s voice boomed across every corner of the amphitheater. "Today, we welcome a distinguished guest! Someone who has claimed lordship over our Eastern Territories! By the ancient traditions of our capital, a new ruler must prove his worth upon these bloodied sands!"
Tens of thousands of heads turned in unison toward Ethan’s balcony.
Edward’s smirk widened. "To ensure the Crown does not hand over territory to a coward, I have personally selected a fitting opponent. Step down... Ethan Valen!"
Kaelia frowned, her face instantly knotting in fury. Her hands clenched tightly at her sides. "That foolish royal... he never learns."
Valera stepped in immediately. "Allow me to descend, My Lord. Tradition allows a champion to fight on behalf of her Lord."
Ethan stood calmly, unclasping Kaelia’s grip from his coat with a firm movement.
"This is my stage, Valera," Ethan said flatly, his dark brown eyes locked on Edward. "If I send you down there, that blonde hound will keep barking that I hide behind a woman."
Without hesitation, Ethan vaulted over the stone railing of the VIP balcony, suspended briefly in midair before landing flawlessly on the sand below.
Thud!
Ethan stood impassively in the center of the arena, neatly adjusting the folds of his black tunic sleeves without so much as drawing a weapon.
From his grandstand, Edward threw back his head in laughter and signaled toward the largest iron gate at the western corner.
Creak... Clang!
The horrifying groan of massive chains and magical gears echoed as a solid iron door two hand-spans thick was hauled upward. A dense, brutal killing intent immediately washed over the arena floor.
Out from the dark tunnel stepped a colossal gladiator over two meters tall. His muscles were like twisted steel cables, with iron plates embedded directly into the skin of his chest. His eyes were hollow, devoid of sanity.
He dragged a massive double-headed battleaxe that carved deep grooves into the sand. The two handlers holding his neck chains hastily released him and fled.
The giant gladiator halted ten meters from Ethan, snorting maniacally as he glared at the black-clad youth.
"FIGHT!" screamed the announcer.
The massive gladiator roared, charging forward as he hoisted his greataxe to cleave Ethan in two.
Ethan had yet to move. His feet remained planted in the sand, his hands resting naturally at his sides.
Yet beneath his skin, a blackish-red Sin Mana slowly seeped out. The dense energy slithered across the sand like the shadow of a famished serpent, creeping swiftly and silently toward the charging gladiator—ready to strangle every trace of life in the arena.