The usually stern Blissford Courtyard, which was just beside the Guildhall, had a transformation. The place where disciplined Initiates normally practiced under strict instructors, a vibrant energy was seen. Strings of glowing lanterns, powered by subtle Essence, floated overhead. Then the air, usually crisp and metallic, was now thick with the smells of roasting spiced meats, sweet pastries, and other things that a fair could possibly have.
Street vendors called out, offering good luck charms to initiates who'd passed by. It could either be carved pendants, snacks wrapped in enchanted paper that kept them warm, and… water to keep them energized and focused.
At the heart of it all stood the Grand Arena. It was not fully enclosed, but it was a large, circular training ground now surrounded by temporary tiered seating that rose several levels high. A low, shimmering barrier, likely Essence-based, was present around the circle to contain stray energies and protect the spectators.
The entire area had restless anticipation, which was a visible contrast to the city's calm demeanor as usual.
Rodrigo and Avange arrived as the sun finally dipped below. The sky had colors of fading gold and deepening purple. The artificial lights of the festival seemed to brighten in response, taking over the twilight.
Even from a distance, the noise was considerable. They could hear a blend of music, chatter, hawkers' shouts, and concentrated Essence.
Avange looked around, his normal weariness replaced curiosity. "Gods above," he murmured, taking in the floating lights and bustling stalls. "It's like a carnival threw up in a wizard's laboratory. I've never seen anything like it."
Rodrigo grunted, his gaze sweeping the area, less interested in the spectacle and more focused on the layout, the crowd density, the potential exits.
Old habits.
The festive atmosphere felt thin to him, like it was just another layer of Blissford's distracting gloss.
They approached the main entrance to the Arena seating area. A temporary desk had been set up, and manned by the same elegant, auburn haired receptionist Rodrigo had encountered upon his arrival at the Guildhall.
Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly as she recognized him, and a nervous flutter disturbed her professional smile.
"Initiate Mundragon," she said, her voice a fraction tighter than before. "Welcome to the Essential Spars Festival. Please, allow me to confirm your registration for this evening's exhibition."
Her fingers danced across a glowing tablet, and a quiet chime confirmed his participation. The Initiates and citizens queuing nearby began whispering, heads turning, recognizing the 'Class 4 who nearly broke the evaluation chamber'. The scrutiny was damn quick, and uncomfortable.
"All confirmed," the receptionist said, offering a strained smile. "Guest seating is available on the lower tiers. Please enjoy the preliminary matches."
Rodrigo gave a nod and moved away, while Avange fell into step beside him. They bypassed the main queue, deciding to mingle with the crowd first, get a feel for the event.
Avange, drawn by the unique aesthetic of the fair, pointed out stalls selling glowing trinkets and food that steamed without fire. "Look at this stuff, Rodrigo. Back home, magic was old tales. Here, it's… everyday."
Rodrigo wasn't focused on the trinkets. He slipped on the Essence reading glasses, letting the lenses scan the crowd, particularly the younger figures in Initiate uniforms milling near the arena.
Scanning... Initiate, Class 1, Fire Element... 420 Candellas.
Scanning... Initiate, Class 1, Earth Element... 610 Candellas.
Scanning... Initiate, Class 1, Water Element... 380 Candellas…
Scanning... Initiate, Class 1, Air Element... 730 Candellas!
He frowned. These were Class 1 Initiates, the lowest class an Infuser could possibly get, yet some already possessed base Essence levels nearing his own. His current reading, after Instructor Amelia's session, had settled around 850 Candellas. Well, it was solid growth from the 340 he started with just days ago, but still so impossibly low for the supposed 'elite' Class 4 he'd been designated.
It hammered home the point: his classification wasn't about his current, stable output. It was about the monstrous, uncontrollable 70,000 Candella flare tied to the Reborn machete. It was about potential. Or maybe, it was about risk.
They hadn't classed him high because he was skilled; maybe they'd classed him high because he was dangerous, and an anomaly they wanted to study or control.
Curiosity piqued, he subtly turned the glasses towards his companion. Avange was watching a performer—-the same performer who'd juggle balls of fire, a faint smile on his face.
Scanning... Avange... Essence detected…
160 Candellas. Dormant.
One hundred and sixty. Low, yes, but present. And labeled 'dormant'. Considering Avange carried no weapon connected to the Essence, had received no training here, and was still recovering physically and mentally, having any reading was impressive.
Maybe Avange was adapting to this world, his own latent potential stirring beneath the surface, unnoticed. Rodrigo felt a surge of fierce pride and protectiveness for his friend. He tucked the glasses away again.
A chime echoed across the courtyard, followed by Master Juno's amplified voice, seemingly coming from around all at once due to set-up speakers. "Welcome, citizens of Blissford! Honored guests! Initiates! Welcome to the first night of the Essential Spars Festival!"
The crowd cheered. Oohs and Ahhs everywhere.
"Tonight, we witness the developing power of our newest talents!" Juno's voice boomed, smooth and charismatic. "Our Class 1 Initiates will demonstrate their foundational skills, their first steps upon the path of Essence mastery! Remember the rules: Combat is controlled. Victory is achieved through knockout, concession, or instructor stoppage. Essence augmentation is permitted, encouraged even, but lethal force is strictly forbidden! Let the spars commence!"
Music swelled, and the lights focused on the arena floor as the first pair of Class 1 Initiates entered from opposite gates. One was a stocky boy wielding Earth Essence, the other a nimble girl channeling Air.
Rodrigo and Avange found a spot with a decent view near the edge of the crowd. The fight began quickly. The Earth user stomped, raising crude walls of dirt, while the Air user danced around them, launching small gusts of focused wind. Their control was rudimentary, their power levels fluctuating visibly, but their intensity was undeniable.
They fought with a desperate ferocity, pouring their limited Essence into each blow.
"Look at 'em go," Avange commented, leaning against a pillar. "Putting more heart into it than half the recruits back in the Third Legion." He chuckled. "Though maybe with less yelling."
Rodrigo watched critically. The techniques were raw, but the potential was there. What struck him more, however, was the crowd. They weren't just watching; they were invested. Shouts of encouragement, or derision, rained down.
People were placing small bets using glowing tokens and gold coins. Cheers erupted when the Air user finally slipped past the Earth user's defense and landed a concussive blast of wind that sent him stumbling back, conceding the match. There was no appreciation for technique or resilience. The appreciation came only for the victor.
Popularity seemed as important as skill.
Several more Class 1 matches followed, showcasing bursts of uncontrolled fire, shields of shimmering water, clumsy but forceful enhancements of speed or strength. It was a chaotic, energetic display.
Then, another shift in the atmosphere. A collective gasp, followed by excited shrieks, mostly from the younger women in the crowd. A pathway cleared as if by magic.
Monti Fortuno made his entrance.
He didn't just walk; he commanded attention. His green coat seemed to shimmer under the festival lights. His perfectly styled hair was unmoved by the breeze, and his rapier glinted at his hip, pulsing with a calm, steady Air Essence that felt leagues more refined than the frantic bursts of the Class 1 fighters.
Still the same arrogant energy Rodrigo was irritated at.
Monti acknowledged the cheers with a slight incline of his head, a confident smirk playing on his lips, basking in the adoration. He scanned the crowd, his gaze eventually landing on Rodrigo.
The smirk widened slightly. He offered no greeting, just that look of supreme self assurance, before turning away to accept praise from a nearby instructor.
Avange nudged Rodrigo. "Someone thinks he's the main character."
Rodrigo grunted vaguely.
"Doesn't matter," Avange said, clapping a firm hand on Rodrigo's shoulder. The simple gesture felt surprisingly grounding amidst the noise and lights. "They might cheer for the peacock, but you've already got a fan right here."
Rodrigo didn't look at him, kept his eyes forward, but the corner of his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. The words landed deeper than any of Monti's taunts could.
In this city of calculated smiles and hidden agendas, Avange's straightforward loyalty felt like the only real thing.
Master Juno announced the start of the Class 2 matches.
The skill level jumped noticeably. These Initiates combined movements more smoothly, their Essence control more precise. A Water user created slick surfaces to trip their opponent while simultaneously launching focused jets of water. A Fire user maintained a low, burning aura around their fists, enhancing their strikes. The fights were faster, more tactical.
Rodrigo's glasses activated automatically.
Scanning…
1,200 Candellas. Class 2!
Even the initiates from Class 2 had stronger Essence than his pathetic 850.
Just as one match concluded, Monti, having finished schmoozing, approached Rodrigo and Avange again. This time, his entourage was larger, and he positioned himself where a large portion of the crowd could overhear.
The charming facade was gone, replaced by open provocation.
"Token boy!" he called out, loud enough to draw attention. "Enjoying the opening acts? Getting nervous yet?" He gestured towards the arena. "Child's play compared to what you'll face. Though, maybe even this is too much for someone whose primary skill seems to be... uncontrolled demolition."
Laughter rippled through the nearby onlookers. Monti smiled, feeding on it. "Tell me," he continued, lowering his voice slightly but ensuring it still carried, "Did they manage to fix that evaluation room yet? Or should I request hazard pay for our match? Wouldn't want to get caught in another one of your… burnouts."
Rodrigo felt the heat rise in his chest, the familiar surge of Strength Essence wanting to react. But Amelia's voice echoed in his mind.
Control. Smoothness precedes strength.
He met Monti's mocking gaze, his expression unreadable, his body language relaxed. He simply stared, offering no verbal response. He remembered sergeants trying to bait him during basic training, rebels screaming curses during firefights. Monti's barbs were weak tea by comparison.
Let him talk. Words broke no bones.
The crowd, however, misinterpreted Rodrigo's silence as fear or weakness. More laughter, some jeers. Monti preened, clearly believing he'd scored a decisive blow.
But before Monti could press his advantage, Avange stepped forward slightly, positioning himself loosely beside Rodrigo. He had a deceptively mild look on his face.
"Funny," Avange said, his voice surprisingly clear and carrying, cutting through the laughter. "All that talk, and yet you swing that fancy toothpick like it owes you rent."
Monti's smirk froze. The crowd quieted abruptly, startled by the unexpected interjection from the plainly dressed man beside the infamous Class 4.
Avange continued, his tone so casual, but dripping with disdain. "Honestly, I've seen market pigs haggle with more elegance than your grand entrance." He looked Monti up and down slowly, then simply chuckled. "And if this flashy display is the pride of the grand Blissford Guildhall," he finished, shaking his head sadly, "then I think the whole fuckin' city needs therapy."
A collective gasp went through the crowd. It was a mix of reactions. Shocked silence, nervous giggles, a few outright guffaws from those who disliked Monti, and angry boos from his admirers. Monti's face flushed a bit, with his eyes narrowing as he glared at Avange.
He was clearly unsure how to respond to someone so far outside the academy's social hierarchy, or someone who refused to play by the established rules of provocation and rank.
He looked like he wanted to strike, but attacking an apparent civilian bystander, especially Rodrigo's companion, would destroy his reputation as a 'Golden Boy'.
"Avange," Rodrigo said quietly, putting a hand gently on his friend's arm. "Not yet."
He pulled Avange back slightly, disengaging before the situation could escalate further or draw unwanted official attention. They fled back into the thicker part of the crowd, moving towards one of the upper viewing platforms that offered a clearer, less obstructed view of the arena floor, away from the direct press of onlookers.
Monti disappeared from their view, but Rodrigo didn't care.
"Had that handled," Rodrigo muttered, though there was no real heat in it.
"You looked like you were about to swallow your tongue," Avange retorted good naturedly. "Someone had to defend your honor."
"My honor doesn't need defending from peacocks," Rodrigo countered, but he couldn't suppress the faint upward quirk of his lips.
They reached an overlook near the back of the stands. From here, they could see the entire arena spread out below. A Class 3 match was already underway. It was a blur of motion involving lightning fast strikes and defensive earthworks.
It ended quickly, decisively, with one opponent yielding. Rodrigo noted that Monti wasn't participating; he must have been excused to prepare for their bout.
The arena lights dimmed slightly, then glowed brighter, focusing on the center stage where Master Juno reappeared. The massive crowd silenced, anticipation crackling in the air. Juno let the quiet stretch, building the drama.
"And now," his voice resonated, magically amplified, filled with gravity, "for the final preliminary exhibition of this evening's Class 4 showcase! A unique matchup, pitting raw potential against refined skill!"
He paused again, sweeping his gaze across the expectant faces.
"From the esteemed halls of Blissford, a master of Air, the pride of Class 3… Initiate Monti Fortuno!"
A roar went up from a large section of the crowd as Monti strode confidently into the arena from one gate, rapier drawn, giving a theatrical bow.
"And his opponent," Juno continued, his voice dropping slightly, "a recent arrival, possessor of a unique and potent Essence, representing Class 4… Initiate Rodrigo Mundragon!"
A different sound and reaction for this announcement. There was intense curiosity, apprehension from the evaluation rumors, and uncertain applause. The main gates opposite to Monti began to grind open, revealing the shadowed tunnel leading onto the arena floor. Spotlights flared, illuminating the entrance.
Rodrigo took a steadying breath. He felt the familiar weight of the machete on his back, the quiet hum of its dormant power. He met Avange's steady gaze and offered a single, determined nod.
"You got it, man," Avange whispered with a smile of reassurance.
Then, gripping the worn handle of his machete, he stepped out of the shadows and into the blinding light of the Blissford arena.