Chapter 105: Twelve Against Four
The National Colosseum was huge.
It made the stadium back at the academy look like a sandbox. The fighting ring was made of white stone and stretched two hundred meters wide. It was surrounded by seats that went fifty stories high. Big floating screens hovered over the crowd like giant eyes, showing every angle to the millions of people watching from home.
The noise was indescribable.
A hundred thousand people packed into the stands, screaming, stomping, waving banners. The sound bounced off the walls and multiplied until it became a physical pressure pushing against the arena floor.
Team Soup walked out of the competitor tunnel and into the light.
The crowd’s reaction was divided. Half the stadium booed. The other half cheered. The boos were louder, fueled by the Royal Family’s influence over the Capital’s population. But the cheers were passionate, coming from commoners and lower-city folk who loved an underdog.
Holden ignored all of it.
He looked up.
High above the arena, floating on a platform of golden light, sat the Royal VIP box. Reinforced glass surrounded it, making the figures inside look like exhibits in a museum.
King Aldric sat in the center, his crown catching the light. Queen Regana was beside him, her expression pleasant and empty.
And at the front, in his magical wheelchair, sat Prince Oscar.
The prince’s face was pale and thin. Because he was paralyzed, he had lost almost all his muscle, and his hands just hung down over the armrests. But his eyes were bright, mean, and dangerous.
He was watching Holden with the kind of hatred that could fuel a fire.
Holden met his gaze and smiled.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" The announcer’s voice exploded from every speaker in the Colosseum. "WELCOME TO DAY TWO OF THE TOURNAMENT! I’M MARCUS FELT, AND TODAY WE START WITH A BANG!"
The crowd roared.
"WE’VE GOT THIRTY TEAMS LEFT IN THIS TOURNAMENT! AND THE MATCHMAKERS HAVE JUST DROPPED SOMETHING SPECIAL FOR OUR OPENING ROUND!"
A holographic bracket appeared above the arena. Names and team logos scrolled rapidly, then locked into place.
"ROUND ONE IS A FOUR-TEAM SURVIVAL BRAWL!" the announcer screamed. "LAST TEAM STANDING ADVANCES! AND OUR FIRST MATCH FEATURES..."
The bracket zoomed in on four names.
"IRONCLAD ACADEMY! SHADOW VEIL INSTITUTE! ROYAL WAR COLLEGE! AND... VANGUARD’S VERY OWN... TEAM SOUP!"
Holden felt Emric shift beside him.
"Three Capital teams," Emric said quietly. "All of them based in the city. All of them with connections to the Royal Family."
"Coincidence," Holden said.
"That is statistically impossible."
The gates on the opposite side of the arena opened. Three teams marched out in tight formation.
Ironclad Academy’s fighters wore heavy plate armor and carried tower shields. They looked like walking tanks. Shadow Veil’s team moved in pairs, their dark uniforms blending into the shadows despite the bright arena lights. And at the front, gleaming like a chandelier, walked Kaelen and his Royal War College squad.
Kaelen spotted Holden and a huge grin spread across his face..
"Well, well!" Kaelen called across the arena. "Look who drew the short straw!"
The three teams spread out across the arena floor, each taking a section. Team Soup stood alone in the center.
Then something happened.
The Ironclad team turned around. Instead of facing Team Soup, they faced the middle of the arena.
The Shadow Veil assassins did the same thing, moving to block the sides.
Kaelen’s team walked up to join them.
There were twelve fighters in all, standing together on one side of the ring. They looked at Team Soup like a pack of wolves looking at a sheep.
The crowd noticed immediately. A low murmur rippled through the stands, growing into shouts of confusion and anger.
"This is rigged!" someone yelled from the seats.
"Three against one? That’s not fair!"
The announcer’s voice came back, slightly less enthusiastic. "It, uh, appears the three Capital teams have formed a temporary alliance for this round! The rules do not explicitly prohibit inter-team cooperation, so... the match will proceed!"
Kaelen laughed loudly that the arena microphones picked it up perfectly.
"What’s the matter, country bumpkins?" he said, spreading his arms wide. "Did you think this was a fair fight? This is the Capital! We don’t do fair! We do winning!"
His squad laughed with him. The Ironclad fighters slammed their shields. The Shadow Veil assassins drew their swords.
"Twelve against four," Kaelen said, his diamond-studded armor catching the light. "Those are numbers even a slum rat can understand. You’re outmatched, outgunned, and outclassed. This is over before it starts."
Lyra’s hand moved to her spear. Emric was already calculating angles, his shield sliding off his back. Renna nocked an arrow with trembling fingers.
Holden put his hand out.
"Stop."
"But Holden—" Renna started.
"Relax."
Holden stepped forward. He walked past Emric, past Lyra, and past the formation line. Leaving his team behind, he marched all the way to the front and stopped.
He looked at Kaelen.
Then he looked up at the floating projection screens.
Then he looked at the Royal VIP box, where Prince Oscar was in his wheelchair, his lips curled into an eager, ugly smile.
Holden adjusted his cuffs and spoke.
"Twelve against four," he said. His voice carried across the arena, picked up by every microphone. "You’re right, Kaelen. Those are numbers even a slum rat can understand."
Kaelen smirked.
"But here’s the thing," Holden continued. "Twelve Capital elites against four kids from the borderlands still doesn’t feel like a fair fight. Not for you, anyway."
The smirk flickered. "What?"
"I’m serious. Twelve of the Capital’s finest, all your shiny armor, all your expensive training, all your fancy academy budgets..." Holden shook his head slowly. "And you still needed to team up to feel safe. That’s not an alliance. That’s a cry for help."
Laughter rippled through the crowd. Kaelen’s face tightened.
"You want to know what I think?" Holden said, loud and clear. "I think the Royal Family told you to gang up because they’re scared. They’re so terrified of one team from a little academy that they had to stack the deck just to sleep at night."
He looked directly up at the VIP box.
"Your Highness," he called out, his voice sweet as poison. "If twelve isn’t enough, I completely understand. Want to send down some extra guards? Maybe a few palace maids? I’m flexible."
The crowd erupted.
Thousands of people laughing, cheering, stomping their feet. The sound crashed through the Colosseum like a wave. Even some of the neutral spectators in the upper decks were on their feet.
Up in the Royal box, Prince Oscar’s face had gone from smug to purple with rage. King Aldric’s jaw was clenched so hard the muscles in his neck stood out like cables.
Kaelen’s diamond armor flashed as he stepped forward, his composure shattered.
"SHUT YOUR MOUTH!"
"No, thank you," Holden said pleasantly. "I’ve said what I needed to say. Now are we going to stand here talking all day, or are you going to bring your eleven friends over here so I can send them all back to the locker room?"
Kaelen’s hand shook with rage.
The referee raised his hand.
"Combatants ready!"
All twelve fighters dropped into fighting stances.
Holden rolled his shoulders and smiled.
"Finally."