The waiting area was a large, two-story space with vaulted ceilings and pillars that supported them. Windows looked out onto the arena, but were small enough that those in the grandstands couldn’t see anyone inside.
A four-armed Bairan worked at a grindstone, performing last-minute sharpening for the combatants—a free service offered to all the fighters, as well as complimentary armor checkup and tuning. It was one Vir was only too happy to take advantage of as he waited.
Shan sat quietly in a corner, not drawing attention to himself. For that, Vir was glad. Thanks to his prana density, his shaved fur had already grown back, hiding his tattoo; Vir didn’t want to arouse any more suspicion than an Ash Wolf already did.
Through the waiting room walls, Vir could hear the muffled sounds of the commentators shouting to be heard above the frenzy, despite their amplified voices. Their energy was infectious—as real as prana or Chakra itself—and for the first time, Vir found himself feeling something other than anxiety about the upcoming matches.
Maybe, just maybe, this might actually be fun.
“There you go,” the armorer said, handing Vir back his sword and armor. “Polished and ready to go. I gotta say, never seen this design before. Especially your armor. Beautiful craftsmanship. And these segmented plates… You don’t think the master who built this would come after me, do you?”
Vir chuckled. “I’d say that’s quite unlikely.”
“Good, good. Let me help you put that on,” he said, assisting Vir as he donned his cuirass. Both the armor and weapon Princess Tiyana Matali bought him had served him well through the Ash, accruing many dents and scratches. The dents had been pounded out, and the paint reapplied, but there was no hiding its battle-worn appearance.
Which was good. It was proof of his toils and tribulations in the Ash. The years of struggle he’d endured to get to this point. Vir would’ve been saddened if the armor looked the same as it did when he’d first worn it in the Human Realm.
“Alright, everyone,” a Bairan announced, gathering their attention. He was dressed in a formal blue Bairan silk vest and pants, and appeared to be their host. “In just a few moments, your names will be called in order of the roster posted on the wall.” He gestured to a large scroll that some attendants were in the process of unfurling on a pillar nearby. It listed all sixteen of their names.
“When called, we ask that you walk out to the central stage and wait there until the procession is over. Oh, and please, do wave at the audience. They love it.”
He stared directly at Zarak’Nor when he said that, but the Ghael’s expression remained blank, as if he hadn’t heard.
Vir scanned the list with excitement and trepidation. Predictably, Cirayus’ name was at the bottom, though he was listed only as The Ravager. Vir breathed a sigh of relief when he saw his name listed toward the bottom of the list. At least he wouldn’t have to wait out in the open for too long.
Tara was closer to the top of the list, and he threw her a look full of pity.
Apparently, the Naga had something to say, because she power walked over to him. She looked him in the eyes, then slapped his shoulder. “You’ll be fine. Quit pouting.”
Before Vir could reply, she walked off, striking up a conversation with another demon. Vir was left shaking his head wryly.
“Saras of the Aindri!” the host called. “You’re up!”
A burly red demon made his way to the hall that led out to the arena, a boar-like animal accompanying him. It paused at the entrance, looking back at the room, before snorting and farting.
Vir couldn’t know if that was on purpose, but a round of chuckles rippled through the room, lifting the heavy aura that had settled there. Heavy, not because they were nervous, but because of the death glares several Warriors had been throwing at each other the whole time.
There was very obviously a tangled web of history and resentment here, and Vir didn’t want to get embroiled in any of it.
“Ladies! Gentlemen! Nagas, Ghaels, and Giants alike! Boy, do we have a special event for you this year. Isn’t that right, Nakin?”
“Indeed, that is true, Samik. With the Ravager’s return…”
Vir tuned out the overenthusiastic commentators. Their voices made them sound fake, and Vir didn’t know why they spoke that way. Did people find it interesting?
The cheers that erupted soon after answered him.
“And now, we have the pleasure of welcoming our first combatant. This veteran fighter from the north is back, and he’s been training! Having sequestered himself at the Boundary for years, he’s gained a full Guardian Rank. Can the Silver-ranked Saras finally break the quarterfinals this year? Weee’ll seeeee! Everyone, welcome the one, the only, Saras of the Aindriiii!”
Saras jumped on his companion boar and rode out to uproarious applause—pumping his spear high into the sky with each cheer.
After an introduction like that, Vir was hardly surprised. Still, there was something off about the cheers, and it wasn’t until the third combatant had left that Vir understood what.
Each time, the applause came from a distinct section of the arena. And generally, only that section. The area where the Warrior’s clansmen sat and stood.
As Cirayus mentioned, each Clan had their own section, and though there was nothing preventing the clans from comingling, nearly everyone sat with their kin.
It said something that the cheers were so isolated to the clans. From what Vir saw, nearly nobody outside of the clan cheered.
That was until Roshan—Thaman’s son—walked out.
“One who needs no introduction—if you don’t know who he is, you don’t deserve to be here!”
“True. Take a good look, everyone. You may very well be looking at one of our finalists. Are we headed for a master versus disciple duel for the finals?”
“That sure would be something, wouldn’t it?”
The commentators went on as Roshan loped out, casually waving at the crowd like he was taking a stroll. He hefted his enormous war hammer over his shoulder, and made no move to show off or brandish it. It was clear from his demeanor that he was used to such attention.
As the Raja’s son, Vir understood why that would be, yet he still struggled to fathom how anyone could truly grow comfortable with so many eyes upon them.
The applause came not just from Baira, but Panav, and to a lesser extent, from Aindri as well.
The names continued to be called until Zarak’Nor was up. Vir honestly wasn’t sure how the Iksana Ghael would be received.
As it turned out, he was another fan favorite, despite skulking out without bothering to wave. Unlike the others, his dagger was sheathed, and he looked almost… bored. Vir suspected the host’s words were actually directed solely at Nor, rather than at any of the newcomers.
“Everybody. I could make a long and storied introduction, but does anything need to be said apart from two words? Reigning. Champion. That’s right. The Iksana Ghael you all know and love! Let’s hear it for the Gold Rank, Zarak’Noooooor!”
The cheers were on another level from before. The Iksana camp absolutely exploded, and Bairans, Panav, and even a few Aindri joined in.
To Vir’s surprise, there were also a fair share of boo’s, and those came from all over. Vir wondered what that was all about. They were swiftly drowned out by the cheers, though.
Vir was noticing that the Panavs were cheering on several warriors. Perhaps it was because they were used to not having a competitor in the top sixteen. Or maybe it was because they were just friendlier than the others.
Vir resolved to speak with the Panav Rajni before the tournament was over. He felt like of all the clans, Panav and Baira were the most likely to side with him.
Still, Gold Rank, huh? Vir thought. He wouldn’t be an easy opponent to defeat. Not by a long shot.