Hontar suddenly rose from his seat with a confident step, and his four subordinates stood up alongside him in perfect synchronization, as if they had rehearsed this moment long ago.
The hall erupted with whistles and enthusiastic applause as the crowd watched him advance. He descended the steps slowly, chin raised high in arrogance, a mocking smile never leaving his face.
His subordinates followed behind him like shadows—their powerful builds, sharp gazes, and mysterious presence making the air around them feel heavier.
At last, they reached the arena floor and headed straight toward us.
I could hear their footsteps echoing against the polished marble like war drums drawing closer with every second.
When they were only a few meters away, Hontar stopped and spoke in a loud, sarcastic voice that cut through the noise:
"So… these are the 'weaklings' you chose, Aureus?"
Aureus lifted his head slightly and turned to him, his expression cold yet laced with anger. Then he replied sharply:
"At least I played fair… unlike you, bringing people who clearly look strong."
Hontar let out a loud, mocking laugh that echoed throughout the hall, then said:
"Hahaha… haven't you heard the saying: don't judge a book by its cover?"
He gestured toward his four subordinates as if presenting them to us, then added:
"Even though they look strong, they're weak. Don't forget, Aureus—I don't play dirty."
Annoyance was clearly visible on Aureus's face as he responded in irritation:
"We'll see about that in the arena."
Hontar smirked lazily, placing a hand on his hip:
"So… are we going to keep arguing like this? Quite a bit of time has already passed."
Aureus stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with anger:
"I was just about to say the same. Go back to your designated seat—I can't stand looking at you any longer."
Hontar chuckled mockingly, waving his hand with disdain:
"As if I can stand looking at you either, Aureus."
He then turned lightly and walked toward the seats beside the arena, his mocking laughter still echoing in my ears like blades slicing through silence.
His four subordinates followed, but before leaving, they cast sharp glances at us—each one different: a look of challenge, another of ridicule, a third cold as ice, and a fourth unreadable.
At that moment, I truly realized the depth of hatred between Aureus and Hontar—a hatred far beyond ordinary rivalry.
But Aureus's sharp voice quickly cut through my thoughts:
"That… &^$#^! We'll see who laughs last."
His voice trembled between anger and determination, then he added with a dismissive wave:
"Anyway, let's head to our seats."
He moved quickly toward the seats opposite the arena, and we followed one by one.
I sat down, trying to process everything happening—but the moment I touched my seat, a loud, booming voice shook the entire hall:
"Ladies and gentlemen… welcome to the Weaklings' Matches!"
I turned quickly toward the source of the voice and saw a man standing in the center of the arena, holding a golden microphone in one hand while raising the other to energize the crowd.
He wore a shining formal suit suited for grand occasions, and his powerful voice filled the space.
I immediately realized he was the referee—or perhaps the announcer in charge of these matches.
He continued enthusiastically, his voice echoing above the roaring crowd:
"And here we are once again with the matches between Hontar and Aureus! So far… Aureus has three victories, while Hontar holds five wins and one draw!"
The hall exploded with overlapping chants:
"Hontar! Hontar!"
"Aureus! Aureus!"
"Victory for Hontar!"
"Victory for Aureus!"
The voices rose like a crashing wave, slamming against the walls and shaking the entire place.
The noise filled my ears until I could feel my heartbeat syncing with the chants.
Among the crowd, I couldn't help but think:
What is going on here?!
Who exactly is Aureus?
And who is Hontar?
What are these strange matches they call the "Weaklings' Matches"?!
But the announcer didn't give me time to dwell.
He raised his hand again and continued in his booming voice:
"And now… we have two teams before us—each consisting of four fighters!"
The hall erupted once more with applause and whistles, the crowd roaring with feverish excitement.
At that moment, I realized something chilling:
I was no longer just a spectator… I was about to become part of this decisive confrontation.
The announcer raised his hand high again, excitement clearly coursing through him just as it did through the audience.
His powerful voice echoed in every corner of the hall:
"And now… let me introduce the contenders! First, we have Hontar's team, on the left side!"
The crowd noise surged instantly, applause so intense it felt like the ground was shaking beneath our feet.
Hontar smiled arrogantly and raised his hand to the audience like a king greeting his people.
The announcer continued, pointing toward his team members:
"First… a man with messy black hair and a frail body, as if a strong wind could blow him away!"
The man stepped forward, his dull eyes observing us coldly—but behind that weak appearance, something felt off.
"Second… a massive man with bulging muscles and a sharp scar across his cheek, as if it tells the story of his past battles!"
The large man stepped forward, struck his chest with his fist, and the applause grew even louder.
"Third…" —the announcer paused for effect— "the most mysterious of them all, wearing a gray cloak that completely hides his face!"
The cloaked figure remained silent, unmoving, not even lifting his head—yet his mere presence filled the arena with unease.
"As for the fourth… nothing special about him! Just an ordinary man with brown hair and forgettable features!"
Some in the crowd laughed mockingly, but I wasn't fooled—there was a strange glint in his eyes that suggested he was far from "ordinary."
The crowd roared like a storm:
"Hontar's team will win! Hontar's team will win!"
A victorious smile spread across Hontar's face, as if the outcome had already been decided before the match even began.
But the announcer quickly raised his hand toward the other side and shouted louder:
"And now… on the right side, we have Aureus's team!"
Aureus raised his hand, waving to the audience.
Some cheers supported him, others opposed him—but the noise remained overwhelming.
The announcer continued, his eyes gleaming as he looked at us:
"First… a man with black hair and cold black eyes like ice! What have you brought us this time, Aureus?!"
He was pointing at Sirion, who didn't move at all, maintaining that silent, chilling gaze.
"Second… a young man with green eyes and dark circles beneath them! Is he even a teenager?!"
He pointed at Vesper, whose face showed both excitement and nervousness, while the crowd burst into laughter—some mocking, some surprised.
The announcer continued:
"Aureus has truly exceeded my expectations this time!"
He chuckled lightly before adding:
"As for the third… he looks like a gangster! A harsh gaze, messy hair, and a tense yet imposing presence! Oh, you've brought us some impressive fighters, Aureus!"
He meant Zairos, who frowned even more and turned his face away as if refusing the attention.
Aureus remained still, showing no reaction—either he didn't hear, or simply didn't care.
Only I remained.
My heart pounded as I wondered:
what is he going to say about me?
The announcer raised his voice again, examining me closely:
"And the fourth and final one… a man with short black hair and brown eyes. He looks ordinary… and in his thirties!"
I froze.
Thirties?!
Why always?!
Heat rushed to my face as I suddenly remembered my mother's teasing words back in my previous world:
"You don't look your age—you look much older!"
What used to be a joke had become reality here.
I'm only twenty! Why does it feel impossible for me to look younger?!
What a cruel world this is!
Vesper glanced at me with a small smile, then gave me a look filled with strange warmth, as if silently saying:
It's okay… even if you look older, I'll always see you as my big brother.
I raised an eyebrow sarcastically and shot him a look that meant:
Haha… thanks, but I don't want to look older! I want to look like a normal young guy!
The crowd laughed and shouted in unison:
"Aureus's team will win! Aureus's team will win!"
Before I could sink deeper into self-pity, the announcer's voice cut through my thoughts again—this time even more energetic:
"Now that you've met the fighters… get ready! The matches will begin in just five minutes!"
The noise reached madness—people shouting, laughing, waving flags and banners.
The entire arena felt like a volcano about to erupt.
He continued:
"During these five minutes… each team must decide who will enter the arena first! Choose wisely—the first match may determine the fate of the rest!"
I swallowed hard and looked at my teammates.
At that moment, I fully realized something:
This was no longer just a "fight between the weak," as they called it…
It had become a decisive battle—one that would be etched into the memory of this world…
—or at least, into mine—
under the watchful eyes of hundreds of spectators hungry for blood.