Opening Ceremony, Part III: Captains of the Royal Guard

The announcer's voice returned, heavier now — carrying a wild edge that rippled through the crowd.

"Representing the Royal Guard's Third Division — the Beast-Warrior Captain himself, Garou the Greenfang… and his chosen combatant: Rhakka!"

The coliseum erupted in a primal roar — whistles, stomps, and guttural cheers. Beastfolk and mercenaries howled in unison.

From the southern gate, Captain Garou stomped forward, each step booming against the stone. Towering and bare-chested beneath a fur-lined cloak, his body was carved with muscles like boulders, tribal markings streaking down both arms. A gray-brown mane of hair, bound in thick cords, framed his beast-like ears that flicked with the rhythm of his stride. His green eyes swept the arena with the sharp calm of a predator claiming familiar ground.

At his side walked his chosen fighter — a younger man clad in rough-cut armor, his scarred jawline hinting at brawls survived. Yet despite the brutal frame, he lifted a hand in a cheerful wave, a jarring contrast that drew laughs from the crowd.

Above them, a massive wolf's head emblem flared to life, emerald fangs bared in a roar before fading into sparks.

Garou approached Setsuna's squad with zero hesitation.

"Well, well, if it isn't the Rice Cracker Squad," he bellowed, arms crossed, fangs gleaming.

Kazuo blinked, then actually laughed. "Wait, that's what people are calling us?"

Setsuna didn't respond.

Instead, he turned and punched Kazuo lightly on the top of the head.

"Shut up Kazu."

Kazuo winced. "Ow—okay, okay, sorry—Captain Rice Cracker."

Garou grinned wide, wolfish and proud. "I like this one," he said, jabbing a thumb at Kazuo. "Got some bite in him."

Then Garou looked over at Setsuna, grinning wide.

"But he's got no muscle. Mind if I borrow him sometime? Just to fix that body a little?"

Setsuna let out an exaggerated sigh, folding his arms.

"By all means. Just don't return him broken."

Garou barked a laugh, then stomped toward the central platform as though claiming it for his den. His chosen fighter trailed close, throwing Kazuo a wave and flashing a warm grin — a surprising contrast to the scars on his jaw and the rough armor he wore.

The announcer's voice carried a steadier tone now — neither reverent nor uneasy. Just clear and direct:

"Representing the Royal Guard's Fourth Division — the Crimson Ascent, led by Captain Zahari — and his chosen combatant: Kaien."

From the western gate, two figures stepped into the light.

As they entered, a massive emblem of outstretched wings blazed into being above the arena — silver feathers spread wide, glowing against the dusk sky, before fading into drifting sparks.

Captain Zahari walked first — tall, broad-shouldered, dark-skinned, with sharp green eyes and a crimson sleeveless coat fluttering behind him. A silver chain wrapped loosely around his wrist like an afterthought, and old scars traced his forearms like forgotten maps. Every step he took was calm, purposeful — the stride of a man who needed no titles to command authority.

Kaien followed quietly, half a pace behind. Lean and athletic, but not tense — just nervous. His brown hair fell messily over one eye, and he kept his head slightly lowered, avoiding the crowd. His cloak fluttered in the breeze, his boots nearly silent against the stone.

If not for the bright red uniform and tournament sigil, he might've passed for a lost squire.

Setsuna leaned toward Kazuo and smirked. "Now that's a proper entrance."

Kazuo blinked. "You are friends?"

"Zahari? Oh yeah." Setsuna nodded. "An Honest Man."

As Zahari and Kaien approached the center platform, Zahari turned toward Setsuna's squad — and cracked a rare, warm grin.

"Still hiding behind ice and bad posture, I see," he called.

Setsuna waved lazily. "Still pretending to be humble, huh?"

The two captains exchanged a fist bump without ceremony — just the quiet weight of shared respect.

Zahari then looked at Kazuo, his eyes measuring.

"So you're the water mage," he said calmly. "I never saw Water Magic. I can't wait to see it in action."

Kazuo nodded. "You're the first person to say that today."

Zahari gave a short chuckle and stepped aside, allowing Kaien to take the final steps forward. The younger fighter hesitated, then slowly offered his hand.

Kazuo took it gently.

"Hey," Kaien said quietly, eyes still averted. "Um… good luck."

"You too," Kazuo replied, a little surprised by the soft voice.

Then Kaien quickly shuffled back behind Zahari like a startled cat.

As they moved toward the center ring, Setsuna sighed with fondness.

The announcer's voice returned, quieter this time.

"Representing the Royal Guard's Fifth Division… the Master of Discipline, Captain Vaskel — and his chosen fighter: Rulthan, the Bell Butcher."

A ripple of discomfort passed through the crowd — nobles stiffening while others leaned forward with morbid excitement.

From the northern gate, the air shimmered. A massive emblem flared into being above the arena — a silver serpent, coiled and poised to strike, its scales gleaming with sickly yellow light before fading into smoke.

And then the doors opened.

But it wasn't the captain who emerged first.

It was a man — gaunt, naked, skin bruised and black-eyed. A slave. A metal collar clung to his throat, and chains rattled at his wrists. He walked slowly, barefoot across the hot marble, carrying a golden platform on his back — and sitting upon it, lounging like royalty, was Captain Vaskel.

The arena grew uneasy, a low murmur rippling through the stands. Yet many still cheered — because this, however grotesque, was sanctioned by law.

Sora's tail dropped, ears twitching uncomfortably. Tetsu looked down, adjusting his glasses without a word.

Vaskel descended gracefully once the platform reached the center line, wiping his hands with a perfumed cloth before stepping onto the marble floor as though it were a stage meant solely for him. His elven features were pristine — high cheekbones, blond hair tied in delicate golden rings — but there was nothing noble in his eyes. Only arrogance. Only rot, dressed in silk.

Behind him followed Rulthan — a looming beast of a man, scarred, his jaw clenched and eyes already scanning the crowd like a predator looking for meat. He cracked his knuckles as he walked.

Vaskel approached Kazuo with a soft, snake-like smile.

"Well, well," he said, his voice smooth, syrupy — too gentle to be sincere. "You must be the little filth everyone's whispering about."

He leaned in, close enough that Kazuo could feel the faint chill of his breath. Vaskel's gaze locked directly with his, unblinking, before it slid down toward the black eye. One pale finger traced its edge slowly, almost tender, then hovered near the green one as though admiring a jewel set in mud.

"So… rare. A noble's eye… paired with filth."

His smile never faltered, though his eyes sharpened with something colder.

"Beautiful. A fine specimen… for my collection."

Kazuo's fists clenched at his sides, but he forced himself not to move.

For a heartbeat, Vaskel's gaze shifted upward — meeting Setsuna's across the narrow gap. The look lingered, a silent test, before Vaskel eased back again, standing taller. He dabbed his fingers delicately with a perfumed cloth, as though Kazuo's skin had soiled him.

"How delightful," he murmured. His eyes flicked once more toward Kazuo. "You're trembling. I wonder… is it fear? Or shame?"

Then Rulthan stepped forward.

Both locked in. eye to eye.

He simply extended a hand toward Kazuo — and gripped it in a handshake that was anything but polite.

Kazuo tried not to wince, but the pressure ground into his bones, pain flashing up his wrist.

"Well, gutter rat," Rulthan sneered, voice low and oily. "I thought you'd have crawled back into the sewers by now. Didn't think you'd actually show."

Kazuo pulled his hand free, forcing his face calm. "Careful. You might drown trying to chase me down there."

Rulthan's grin widened, sharp and humorless. "Don't worry. A splash is nothing but a splash. And shallow water's easy to cut through."

The runes flared at their feet.

Vaskel turned away, robes trailing behind him like royalty exiting a stage.

Rulthan followed — but not before giving Kazuo one last, slow smirk.

Behind him, Setsuna's tone turned flat and sharp.

"This one's exactly what you had in mind," he said, eyes on the crowd. "When you talked about snobby nobles. They don't hide the system — they are the system. They drag oppression into daylight… and no one says a word. Because legally, they don't have to."

Kazuo followed his gaze briefly, but his chest tightened. This wasn't his fight. He didn't give a damn about their twisted pageantry. All that mattered was surviving — and making it back to Gramps and Rei.

Setsuna's gaze drifted upward again —back to the banners swaying above the arena.