After waiting for some time, Sprex returned with Cradle in tow.

His face wore a peculiar expression, making it impossible to discern whether they had secured participation in the Gladiator Festival.

"Hey, Matt. Come with me," he said.

Caught off guard, I exchanged glances with Emera. For some reason, Emera's eyes sparkled as she looked up at me. What exactly was she imagining?

"Come on, hurry up!"

Sprex barked at us, annoyed, as he began walking toward the arena entrance. Reluctantly, I followed him, noticing that Cradle was staring intently at me.

"Why was I called?" I asked.

"No idea," Cradle replied curtly, walking off after Sprex.

Emera and I tilted our heads in unison, confused by his response.

Upon entering the arena, we passed rows of stone statues modeled after gladiators. Further inside, we encountered a series of life-sized busts lined up along the corridor.

Each bust had a name and year inscribed on it.

As I observed them, Sprex noticed my gaze and began to explain.

"Those are the gladiators who fought in the final matches of past festivals. They're paired up—one on each side. The ones with a circle engraved next to their names are the winners."

With that, Sprex turned his attention forward again. He seemed well-informed—perhaps his own bust was among the lineup?

The thought crossed my mind, but I refrained from asking. If it wasn't there, it might lead to an awkward silence.

Continuing down the corridor, we eventually came upon a gathering of people. At the center stood soldiers in immaculate armor, clearly members of the royal guard.

In their midst was a man clad in gleaming gold and silver armor, wearing a black cape. His hair, a shade close to silver, complemented his slightly droopy eyes. He appeared to be in his late twenties.

As the man spotted Sprex from within the crowd, he gracefully made his way toward us, weaving through the gathered gladiators. Judging by the way others scrambled to clear a path, it was evident he held a high rank.

As he approached, Sprex immediately knelt on one knee.

"My apologies for keeping you waiting, Prince Torvegino!"

When Sprex addressed him, the man—Prince Torvegino—turned his gaze to me.

"Is this the rumored 'Tyrant'?"

He scrutinized me from head to toe before addressing Sprex, who remained kneeling.

"Yes, Your Highness! This is the one known as the Tyrant, Matt!"

Sprex responded, his tone reverent. Prince Torvegino smirked, as though amused by what he saw.

"Daring to call yourself 'Tyrant' even in the presence of our king—that takes some nerve," the prince remarked.

"I never called myself that. The people just started calling me that," I replied, kneeling out of courtesy.

The prince nodded thoughtfully.

"I see. So the people have bestowed the title upon you... a testament to how strong they believe you are."

With that, Prince Torvegino turned on his heel, his black cape sweeping the air behind him.

"Intriguing! The Sprex Gladiator Troupe's name has already been put forward as a candidate from two cities. Ensure that 'Tyrant' takes center stage in the finals. I'll inform the king," he declared, his laughter echoing as he disappeared deeper into the corridor.

The sudden turn of events left Sprex, Emera, and the rest of the gladiators stunned. Cradle, however, narrowed his eyes, his gaze fixed on the corridor where the prince had vanished.

"...Hey, we’re participating in the Gladiator Festival," Sprex muttered in disbelief.

"Yeah, seems like it. Congratulations," I replied.

Sprex rose slowly, his movements sluggish.

"Idiot... We need to prepare right away... Oh man, things are going to get busy," he muttered, stumbling toward the arena exit like a man in a daze.

Emera watched his retreating figure and asked, "Is... is he going to be okay?"

"Probably. He’ll snap out of it eventually... Huh? Cradle, what’s wrong?"

As we began to leave, I realized Cradle hadn’t followed us.

When I called his name, he hastily responded.

"Oh, yeah. Coming," he said, jogging over to us. Something about his demeanor felt off.

That night, Sprex hosted a grand feast at a small tavern he had rented out. Having regained his composure, he was now in high spirits, drinking to his heart’s content.

His enthusiasm spread to the other gladiators, who laughed and celebrated with him.

"Drink up! Starting tomorrow, we train for the Gladiator Festival! We’re the gladiator troupe endorsed by the prince himself! Don’t embarrass us, got it?"

Sprex roared, his voice met with boisterous cheers from the gladiators.

The atmosphere was rowdy, chaotic, and utterly devoid of refinement—like a gathering of bandits or pirates.

And yet, it felt strangely comfortable.

As I sipped on the bland alcohol, watching the gladiators revel, I noticed Emera smiling beside me.

"This is nice. I never thought I could be this happy. I wish... it could last forever," she murmured, her tone a mix of joy and melancholy.

Unable to find the right words to comfort her, I simply placed a hand on her head, gently stroking her soft hair.

Watching her close her eyes and relax, I found my thoughts drifting.

Prince Torvegino’s peculiar demeanor and words lingered in my mind. But more troubling was Cradle’s behavior.

He hadn’t even joined us at the feast.

He seemed deeply preoccupied. I could only hope he’d feel better by tomorrow.