After the mission meeting, the apprentices with conflicting missions had been led here, to a vast underground space beneath the bastion, its walls and ceiling reinforced with metal and engraved with countless runes.
It was a ring built to withstand a fight between Heralds, and considering this particular feature definitely hadn't come with the bastion, the commander must have built the entire thing himself for this exact purpose.
'Damn, he really is insane,' Demorian had said.
Now, after several battles, Zephyrion stood in the middle of the ring, with Possum across from him wearing a faint smile, while the chatter of hundreds of spectators echoed through the underground space.
"Who's your money on?"
"Seriously? One's in his mid-twenties and a peak mark three. The other just became a mark two, what, four hours ago? Who do you think?"
"Haha, fair enough. But nothing about this situation is normal. How many nineteen-year-old mark twos have you met?"
