2 The Start

"Hello, ladies and gentlemen! We thank you all for coming! The Annual Potential Royal Guard Battle Royale will now BEGIN!"

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The sun shined brightly, bathing the thousands of spectators of the match in golden warmth. The arena was surrounded by countless seats that stretched in a full 360° angle. All of the seats' foundations upon which they sat hung red banners with a golden sigil that represented an eagle's facial structure.

This was the symbol of the Royal Kingdom.

The walls stretching up to six meters, of which the groundwork was stationed for the escalating rows of seats for the audience, casted no shadows, for the sun was directly above the arena.

In order to avoid extremely fatal accidents, the ground was entirely made of compressed sand. Cheers and cries resonated within the arena, as well as the competitors' hearts.

Up to 32 contestants stood in the arena. All of them had contrasting apparel; most of them wore simple outfits made from leather or ordinary fabrics which emphasized on mobility and guerrilla tactics, while others decided to be showoffs by wearing blinding white armor like the imperial knights. The contenders that wore such armor all kept their postures straight and chests bulging out as if to show authority in the ring, but they just succeeded in looking as silly as possible.

Normally to top it all off, these drunks would carry around great swords and bows. Hell, sometimes they even attempted to apprehend civilians they "suspect" are criminals or involved in related activity. These "knights" were all rich folk who enjoyed using their wealth and influence to become something they were not, and they got away with it every time. It was needless to say that everyone in the damned Kingdom despised these men, and they weren't even targeted as unlawful citizens by the actual imperial knights due to their funds and support via army expenses.

The gaze a suspicious, before-unseen and seemingly-foreign teenager gave the men was noted by a small group that sat behind and above the man who commenced the battle royale. This group consisted of a middle-aged woman who wore a golden crown enriched with other exotic gemstones and sat on an throne-like seat made of the finest woods, stones, ivories, and precious metals. Beside her on each side stood a man wearing iron armor, of which covered their faces almost entirely and only left room at creases needed for bending of the elbow or knee.

Unfortunately, these armored men were actually imperial knights, so from their point of view, witnessing imposters fight in front of a massive audience ought to be enraging. These brave men showed their authority flawlessly, with their swords in front of them, the blade slightly dug into the floor, resting their hands on the hilt. Even high-level adventurers wouldn't dare tangle with the imperial knights, although there were exceptions.

Descended a level and in front of the dignified woman, along with the imperial knights, stood three superior warriors. It was clear their rank was supreme and authoritative, dressed in golden armor that had the same creases as the iron armor on the imperial knights, however these individuals' faces and heads weren't veiled by a helmet, revealing their attributes.

According to this protection, even a fool would be able to infer that the woman sitting snug in her seat was in fact the Queen: Queen Diana. That being said, even the sheer quality of her crimson hair that was out up in a perfect bun could've given away such a fact.

To the far right from the point below and in front of the Queen stood an older man, at least in his upper 50s, although was already producing mild gray streaks in his slicked back hair. His name was Lucas Armstrong, revered as the man who slaughtered entire platoons of enemies before collapsing from exhaustion in the last war. His massive sword that sat in its sheath on his back was enough to intimidate any man and inspire many more.

To the far left from the same point was another man, this one in his late 40s, with the same slicked back hair, this time with brown tone. His sword was relatively large and hung at his side also in its sheath, however his presence was for more extinguished than Lucas'. In fact, he appeared to be quite timid. This so-called "man" was named Frederick Bloom, and was somehow the Head Chief Warrior's advisor.

Of course, having the advisor of such an individual without the recipient of such a man's order stand alone was an impossibility. Beside Frederick to his right, still far away from Lucas but quite close to the former stood a young woman with beautiful black hair that hung, textured, down to her lower back.

This 17 year old girl was a Royal Guard Commander. Not only that, she was the selectee for being the Kingdom's Head Chief Warrior: Emilia Jaqueline, the monstrous swordswoman that had the honor and privilege to personally protect the Queen with her life. Emilia held two swords, both shorter than the men's, on her back in their sheaths. Her cold gaze could be felt by the imperial knights behind her, as well as every soul sitting in the audience today.

The teenager down in the arena, who stood in the middle-left of the oval space from the Queen's perspective, thus directly in front of the Head Chief Warrior's, analyzed his surroundings like a disguised hawk, carving every dimensionally structured element in the area. A piece of dark blue cloth covered his face from the nose down, leaving his eyes the only feature to his face visible. These violet colored eyes were sharp and narrowed, almost like a snake's, while his unique and somehow natural holographic opal hair that remained at medium length and billowed in the wind partially covered the sclera of the striking orbs in his face.

But, if someone were to dissect the contents in the teen's eyes, his normality would convert to an ambiguity that oozed total negative enigmatical auras. It was obvious this teenager not only had his fair share of death, but also experience in a negative, conflict-filled environment. That being said, the contestants' glances at him were condescending and critical judging from his choice of clothing: a black mobile suit that was rare, if not unseen in the Kingdom, making him stand out as a result. The sleeves covered up to his hands, leaving only the fingertips exposed. This sort of design wasn't normally seen in combat, so it's visual attraction wasn't a total surprise.

Standing at 5 feet with nine and a half inches, approximately 1.8 meters, with a fit yet slender body weighing at 166 pounds, approximately 75 kilograms, this teenager with the unique name of Exul Valentine displayed no pressure in the arena whilst also keeping himself low as to not attract the entire audience's attention. Although the said audience was making enough racket for another country to file a complaint, Exul doubted the small, analytic group above him to his right missed much involving his behavior and actions.

Around him, grown men with muscles the size of watermelons stood bravely in the arena like gladiators, ready for death at any given moment. The frozen second following the amplified voice's declaration and prior to the movement of the contenders lasted an eternity, similar to the moment the executioner drops the guillotine. All vibrations were neutralized, including sound, as well as the screeching ego emitting from the imbecilic rich snobs playing pretend. The only sensation that was felt was an absolute silence of pure tranquility.

Total, all-encompassing silence.

Exul took this moment to collect his thoughts:

*/Hmm... So they decided to focus on their appearance more than their actions? Can't say I'm surprised, but that's just sad. If anything, the only man capable of actually handling himself is the one right in front of me: Michael Doreno, who went toe-to-toe with the Head Chief Warrior of the Kingdom herself in a one-on-one fight. If he lives up to the hype, I might get an enjoyable battle out of this one.

... But that doesn't change the fact that around six grown men are already targeting me. I'll have to play a nice balancing act of yield and control... Ok, piece o' cake./*

Time unfroze and the seismic waves approached again, storming down the walls, through the sand, and rumbling within the combatants' hearts. The presence of the Queen herself and a Royal Guard Commander, who was elected to be the Head Chief Warrior, injected adrenaline that exploded within everyone's chests like biological volcanoes.

Fairness didn't matter: whoever wore armor for a hand-to-hand battle wasn't condemned vocally. They weren't even remotely reprimanded for cowardice and their lack of pride. Instead, the collective roars of fighters targeted all prey in the arena, and soon it was a battlefield.

Nobody was safe. Nobody was coming out unscathed. Armed or not, a uniform clash of men was always brutal and bloody.

The battle royale had begun.