For two days straight, Alan shadowed Armis, meticulously exploring every shop and soaking in information about the academy.
During his observations, he discovered that Armis was somewhat of an outcast, residing with his aunt Layla, who had been his guardian since his parents disappearance.
Layla's husband was also a Raider—one of the skilled individuals who utilized their marks for specialized purposes, particularly in navigating the secrets of Relic Castle to uncover treasures. Unfortunately, Layla's husband had been trapped on the 20th floor for a year, leaving Layla to wait anxiously for his return.
In Pompeii, numerous academies existed, each catering to different specialties. The Chrono Wielders Academy, Alan's next target, offered a comprehensive curriculum focused on wielding and the mysteries of Relic Castle.
It was clear to Alan that this academy held the key to unlocking many of the city's secrets.
Alan also discovered that nearly everyone in Pompeii possessed a mark, yet the extent of this phenomenon remained shrouded in mystery.
The citizens of Pompeii were notably secretive about their markings, often concealing them beneath clothing, presumably to retain an element of surprise.
During his reconnaissance, Alan observed Armis's routine of cutting wood and selling it at the market, alongside a portion of the harvest he gleaned from his fields, all for only meager earnings.
Armis appeared to lack companionship, with no visible friendships, and even the boy he rescued maintained a cautious distance, a reaction Alan deemed understandable given the circumstances.
In Pompeii, various shops offered services related to marks and wielders, as well as items useful for ventures into the Relic Castle. Alan made note of these details in his notebook while perched on a nearby silo, casting a glance at Armis's hut.
"Tomorrow marks the beginning of the physical trials," Alan muttered to himself, his narrowed eyes moving from the darkening sky to Armis's hut as his words continued,
"Then I'll have all the information I need to uncover the truth about you, Armis Goliath."
With those words carried by the breeze, Alan rose from the silo and vanished into the night, his figure blending into the moonlit shadows.
Meanwhile, Armis emerged from his hut, scanning the surroundings as if expecting someone. Finding no one, he sighed and retreated indoors, casting a final glance at the luminous moon before retiring for the night, its tranquil glow accompanied by the shimmering stars above.
As the morning of the Physical trials dawned, Armis immersed himself in weight training and prayer at his father's shrine.
Completing his rituals, he bid farewell to Layla, who bestowed her blessings upon him for the trial. With determination pulsing through his veins, Armis set out for the Academy.
Meanwhile, Alan, perched atop a nearby silo, discreetly trailed Armis, maintaining a careful distance, ensuring to keep a few rooftops behind.
Despite the long distance from Armis's home to the Academy, Alan could sense the palpable excitement radiating from Armis, as he ran fast with a rush of adrenaline clearly emitting out of his whole body.
Observing Armis's enthusiasm, Alan momentarily pondered how someone seemingly lacking in combat skills could hope to excel in the physical trials.
However, his skepticism was swiftly dispelled as he recalled Armis's previous displays of rage and physical prowess. Combat skills or not, Armis clearly possessed some sort of supernatural strength.
Upon reaching the rooftop overlooking the Academy, Alan was met with a bustling crowd eagerly awaiting the commencement of the trials.
Most looked like spectators eager to witness the spectacle, while others seemed like the supporters of the participating students, each dressed distinctively, standing out from the crowd and from each other.
Alan noted that he and Armis appeared to be the last to arrive among the sixteen participants.
In his periphery, Alan noticed a group of guards escorting a battered man away, his protests falling on deaf ears.
"No, I passed the test! I have the letter to prove it! It's a mistake!"
the man insisted at intervals. Alan found it peculiar that these guards seemed to belong to the Academy's private security, rather than the typical royal guards he was accustomed to. This anomaly only added to his intrigue about the governance structure in Pompeii.
Despite his lingering questions, Alan's attention was drawn to the Academy itself, adorned with various flags and stone statues depicting esteemed individuals. His intuitions cementing on the thought he was on the right path to unraveling the mysteries of Pompeii.
From a distance, Alan spotted Armis hurrying toward the Academy, but as he neared the crowd, he hesitated, visibly apprehensive.
"Hey, it's the beggar!"
"Do they even allow riffraff like him in the Academy?"
"He's probably kissed enough boots to scrape by."
"He won't last a minute in the arena, better off dead."
Alan understood Armis's hesitation as he witnessed the onslaught of insults and taunts directed at him from all sides. Despite his familiarity with Armis's circumstances, Alan was taken aback by the cruelty of the crowd's reaction.
Stepping into an alley beside the building, Alan shed his cloak and approached the Academy gates in a new guise. As he navigated through the crowd, he couldn't help but notice the stark contrast in their reactions.
"Oh, how majestic!"
"Look at the radiance on his face."
"He must come from a noble family."
The crowd's response to Alan's arrival underscored the narrow-mindedness regarding appearances, standing in stark contrast to their treatment of Armis.
As Alan fell into step beside Armis, he noticed Armis's gaze, heavy with embarrassment from the harsh treatment he'd endured. Glancing back, Alan's presence seemed to quell Armis's glare.
Suddenly, a thud echoed as Armis stumbled into a large figure—none other than the same man, Ragnar, who had crossed paths with Alan in the alley and swiped his coin.
"Well, well, that's a pretty face. I'd enjoy pummeling it," Ragnar taunted, his eyes fixed on Alan's face.
Turning his attention to Armis, Ragnar sneered, "And you, you garbage picker, how the hell did you manage to pass the exam? I suspect you might have cheated."
Alan braced himself as he noticedArmis's eyes narrowing on Ragnar, But before the tension could have escalated further, a voice intervened.
"Hey! You three, no brawling before the trial. Rule breakers will be disqualified on the spot."
With a frustrated huff, Ragnar backed off, leaving Armis and Alan alone as he slunk away, teeth gritting in irritation.
Armis swiftly distanced himself from Alan, retreating to a corner and waiting for the trial to commence.
Alan, observing this, couldn't help but cringe at the evident discomfort. Shaking off the unease, he turned his focus to a nearby notice board adorned with numerous flyers advertising various shops and amenities offered by the Chrono Academy.
Among the array of notices, one flyer caught Alan's eye. It detailed the mysterious disappearance of three boys, their portraits sketched alongside. Alan couldn't ignore the striking resemblance to the boys whom Armis had encountered and absorbed.
The revelation startled Alan. How could it be that nobody was aware of the fate of these boys?
"Fascinating," Alan almost muttered aloud, eyes narrowed on the mystery.
But before any contemplation could take place, his attention diverged as the administrator's voice echoed through the crowd, calling for participants to line up and collect their ballots for the trials.
Alan and Armis lined up with the other sixteen candidates, patiently awaiting their turn.
One by one, each candidate received a paper. Armis stood three people ahead of Alan. When it was Alan's turn, he received his paper—a clean, pressed sheet of brown paper with the following written on it:
"Alan Chircha,
Lot Eight,
Vs Ragnar."
Alan chuckled at the familiar name and scanned the area to find Ragnar, who was complaining to a woman with a heavy build about why he had to go last. Alan smiled at Ragnar, but it went unnoticed.
Reading further, Alan noted the instructions outlined on the paper:
"Upon defeating the opponent by rendering them unable to battle by knocking them out, you will proceed to qualify for admission to the academy."
The rules were clear and prominently displayed on the paper:
- "No attack should be lethal enough to kill the opponent. Doing so will result in disqualification and punishment by death."
- "After winning the battle, participants may raid their opponent for valuables, but must donate a portion to the Academy funds."
- "Upon defeating the opponent within these rules, the participant will be deemed worthy for admission to Chronos Wielder's Academy."
"Good Luck. May the Roiran bless you with strength," the message concluded, offering a hopeful wish for success in the upcoming trials.
After reading the instructions, Alan softly muttered,
"So, only one battle per participant, narrowing it down to 8 candidates for admission. Well then." Glancing around at the other contenders, he spotted Armis, who seemed visibly excited.
"I'll need to put up a good fight but not win too easily," Alan reasoned inside his mind.
Aware of his advantage over the other candidates, Alan noted that, besides their marks and weapons, they didn't possess much beyond physical strength. Although none seemed to be holding any significant combat skills, he reasoned remaining vigilant for any unexpected surprises.
"Please proceed towards the arena," the administrator announced, prompting the candidates to follow two guards towards the entrance of the academy.
As Alan and Armis entered the academy grounds through a dimly lit passage, they were greeted by a grand entrance with two passageways, each side flanked by armed guards.
"They're really strict about maintaining secrecy," Alan murmured under his breath, noting the heightened security measures.
As they passed through the two passages and entered the grand entrance, a vast arena unfolded before their eyes. Circular in shape, it was surrounded by ascending rows of seats for spectators.
"Welcome to the Roihan Arena of Chronos Wielder's Academy," announced a man clad in a purple robe and a distinctive hat as he stepped forward to greet them with a booming voice.
"I congratulate each of you, on behalf of our esteemed mentors, and invoke the blessings of Roiran upon you for the trials ahead," the man in the purple robe intoned, his gaze sweeping over the sixteen candidates. He clasped his hands behind his back, adopting a posture of attention, his voice carried an air of humility yet hinted at a commanding presence.
"As you are all well aware, but let me reiterate the cardinal rule once more: Murdering is strictly prohibited. Any violators will face punishment by death under the command of the Church of Roiran."
Hearing the bold rule announced once again piqued Alan's interest. He glanced around and caught sight of Armis, who, like the others, didn't seem particularly intrigued by the reminder.
"With this, I shall guide you to the Arena, where we urge you to await the commencement of the first round of the Trial,"
After his announcement, the guard directed everyone towards the lower rows of the spectator seats. The sixteen candidates were divided into two groups according to their matchups. Alan sat in a row opposite Ragnar, directly in front of him. At the beginning of Ragnar's row, Armis was seated.
Gradually, spectators began to fill the seats. As soon as the last seat was occupied, the gates were closed with a resounding bang!
A man with a decent build, clad in short armor and thigh-length pants held by an armored cummerbund, stepped into the middle of the arena. He raised a cone-like instrument in his hand, and his voice, amplified by the device, thundered throughout the arena.
"Chronos Wielder's Academy! Physical Trial, Battle One! Oliver Ameus from Ameus Lineage versus Armis Goliath from Herebry Lineage! Please make your way to the Arena!"
And with that, Armis leaped from his seat in the arena. From Alan's side of the seating area, a fairly built man jumped into the arena, his hands and feet shackled in steel bands.
As they walked towards each other, coming face to face, Alan could see the excitement and determination gleaming in Armis's eyes, while the man opposite him wore only an expressionless look on his face.
"Please shake hands and vow on the name of Roiran that your battle shall be glorious and shall not end in death. If this vow is broken, the wrath of Roiran shall punish you!" announced the man.
Armis and Oliver repeated the vows in loud voices and quickly backed away from each other as the man retreated to the side of the arena.
With Armis and Oliver assuming their fighting stances, they looked at each other with growing ferocity, marking the beginning of the Chronos Academy Trials!