"Continue!"
Following a furious roar, the Imperial Fist fighter sank into a low horse stance, his waist coiling with power. His fists clenched tightly, and the brass knuckle bayonets in his hands spun rapidly, glinting like living spirits. The dazzling rotation left afterimages in the air.
In the next instant, the Imperial Fist fighter lunged forward, gripping his weapon in a reverse hold. His movements flashed like lightning as he stabbed toward his opponent's head!
Shiiing—!
A screech of grinding metal rang out, sharp enough to make one's teeth ache. The two combatants clashed in an instant, their speed so great that countless afterimages overlapped before they passed each other in the blink of an eye!
Like a movie reel, the first moment was a blur of motion—then, silence. Both fighters stood back to back, only half a meter apart, frozen in place.
Sweat trickled down the Imperial Fist fighter's forehead. He slowly looked down to see a deep wound slashed across his chest, flesh split wide enough to reveal pale bone beneath. The tendons in his right wrist had been severed as well—rendering his hand useless.
But his opponent from the assassination unit fared even worse. His dark combat uniform was soaked crimson; there wasn't an inch of intact skin left on his body.
As the referee's whistle blew sharply, signaling the end of the match, medical staff who had been waiting nearby rushed into the arena and carried both men away.
Moments later, the referee declared the bout a draw.
After a brief silence, thunderous applause erupted throughout the vast coliseum—a grand circular structure reminiscent of ancient Rome. The cheers rolled like crashing waves, filling the air with unrestrained fervor.
Seated among the spectators, Selene could clearly feel the electric atmosphere. The roars of excitement echoed like a tempest, so loud that it was nearly impossible to hold a conversation at close range.
Soon, the next match began...
...
That afternoon, Selene stepped out of the Imperial Coliseum, visibly bored. She had spent the entire afternoon watching match after match—fighters from the Imperial Fist and countless other schools and styles displaying their skills. The endless variety of techniques dazzled the eye, but after a while, it all blurred together.
None of it impressed her.
After all this time, not a single contestant had shown strength worthy of her notice. To her eyes, it was nothing more than children playing at war.
She sighed, glancing over the sprawling arena one last time. Not a single one worth fighting.
"Well then, I'll go find Sebas. I wonder where he bought that house... Let's see... Ah, found him."
Using the bond she shared with her retainer, Selene easily located Sebas's position.
"This is it?" Selene muttered as she looked at the small villa before her. She nodded approvingly—it wasn't bad.
Though not large, the residence exuded a modern charm. Straight, clean lines and silver-framed windows gave the place a refined, elegant look. The exterior was covered in smooth white and cream-colored tiles, giving the whole building a warm, inviting air.
As expected of the ever-classy Sebas—his taste never disappointed.
"Sebas, I'm back! Prepare dinner!" Selene called out loudly.
...
A week later.
After lazing around the house for an entire day, Selene groggily sat up from bed, still half-asleep. She absentmindedly reached for her phone to check the weather—only to frown.
"Huh? No signal... Oh right, I'm in the ancient world. Never mind then."
Urged on by Sebas's steady reminders, Selene finished her morning routine in record time. Within moments, she donned her battlesuit and, stifling a yawn, made her way toward the Imperial Coliseum.
Before long, she arrived—munching on the breakfast Sebas had packed for her.
After a long security check, she was escorted by officials to a quiet, private waiting room reserved for high-ranking participants in the Imperial Fist Martial Tournament's opening ceremony.
By the time the endless string of speeches and ceremonial addresses concluded, Selene could barely stay awake. She sighed. "Seriously... why do leaders everywhere talk so much?"
Still waiting for the match order draw, Selene decided to stretch her legs. Wandering out of the waiting room, she headed for the stands.
Today marked the official opening of the tournament, and the Imperial Capital was overflowing with people.
The coliseum itself had transformed into a sea of jubilation. Even the once-empty VIP seats high above the central dais were now filled with nobles and dignitaries.
"I've heard the Empire's higher-ups are paying special attention to this year's tournament."
"You really don't know, huh? According to my aunt's cousin's nephew's inside source, General Budo himself will be attending today's event! They're even holding a special exhibition match between the Imperial Fist and the Imperial Army later."
"The Imperial Guard Corps?"
"Guard Corps? Hah! No, no—it's the Imperial Army proper. Professional soldiers, full-time fighters. You can't compare them to those guards who only bully civilians."
"...Then, since General Budo is here, do you think His Majesty the Emperor will also attend?"
"Hmm, it's quite possible. General Budo is, after all, the Emperor's personal protector."
"Tch, you think too much. Just sit back and enjoy the show."
"Heh, I've placed a fair number of bets on this."
"Seems like some big shots are showing up today..." Listening to the chatter from the crowd, Selene stood in the third-tier spectator seats, thoughtful.
No wonder the security was so strict today—the Imperial Guard was even patrolling outside the coliseum.
Just as she was lost in thought, a thunderous cheer erupted from the audience, jolting her back to reality.
"Is that... the Emperor?"
Moments later, movement from the central dais confirmed her suspicion.
A middle-aged man clad in a platinum robe, crowned with a golden circlet studded with multicolored gems, appeared at the very center of the grandstand. In his hand was a golden scepter. He stood precisely at the eastern position of the Imperial Coliseum—the one facing the Imperial Palace and offering the best view of the arena below.
His identity was unmistakable.
Yet, the Emperor of the Empire appeared frail. His persistent coughing and the pallor of his face made it clear that his health had been in decline.
At his side stood a graceful woman in lavish imperial attire, her expression tender and respectful as she accompanied him. Behind them, a line of officials stood at attention—those in charge of organizing the martial tournament.
"Your Majesty."
A tall man—nearly 190 centimeters in height—with short, brownish-blonde hair, clad in heavy armor and bearing a stern countenance, stepped forward quickly. Bowing deeply, he saluted the Emperor with utmost respect.
"General Budo," the Emperor said with a faint smile, "how are the arrangements?"
Budo bowed deeply. "Everything has been prepared. The drawing lots are complete, and the match order finalized. The Imperial Guard has secured the perimeter. We are ready, awaiting only Your Majesty's command."
The Emperor coughed several times before nodding gently. "Cough... cough... Very good. Then I hereby declare—the Imperial Martial Tournament begins!"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
At the command, General Budo bowed once more, taking several steps back before turning to leave and carry out the order.