Anomaly of Fate
Chapter 84: Night Entertainment

Chapter 84: Night Entertainment

Velren exhaled, watching as his breath misted in the cold night air. The streets of Caelestoria stretched before him, lined with buildings of intricate stonework and metal reinforcements, their windows aglow with the cool, bluish light of crystal-powered lanterns. The hum of distant machinery mixed with the faint scent of coal and metal, a constant reminder of the kingdom’s craftsmanship.

He adjusted the high collar of his new coat, pulling it tighter against the evening chill. He had to admit—Nico was right. The cold here was something else, and his bloodied, tattered uniform wouldn’t have done him any favors. Fortunately, the restaurant they had stopped at doubled as an inn, which gave him the chance to clean up and buy some fresh clothes. His wallet hated him for it, but at least now he didn’t look like some half-dead traveler fresh off a battlefield.

His new attire was practical—nothing too flashy, just a dark coat layered over a simple tunic and fitted trousers. The boots were sturdy, built for travel, and the fingerless gloves allowed him a firm grip on his sword if needed. He rolled his shoulders, testing the fit.

’Not bad...’

The wind picked up, cutting through the streets like a phantom’s touch. Velren let out another breath, watching it vanish into the night. He wasn’t sure where his feet would take him yet, but standing around wasn’t going to do him any favors. Time to get moving—before Nico found another excuse to nag him.

***

Velren wandered through the city, walking past glowing crystal lamps and humming forges. Blacksmiths worked late, merchants called out, and off-duty guards laughed over drinks. The scent of burning coal and steel lingered, a reminder of Caelestoria’s relentless industry.

He hadn’t meant to wander too far, but something about the city’s pulse intrigued him. It was different from Elyndra—harsher, rougher, but undeniably full of life. Yet beneath the usual bustle of merchants closing shop and workers finishing their shifts, another sound cut through the air.

A thunderous cheer.

It was distant but distinct, carrying an energy unlike the casual liveliness of the streets. A roar of a crowd, raw and electric. Curiosity sparked in Velren’s chest as he followed the noise, weaving through dimly lit alleys and past looming iron structures.

Then, as he turned a corner, he saw it.

A towering coliseum, its massive stone walls reinforced with metalwork and intricate carvings. Beams of bright light pierced the night sky from within, casting long shadows against the towering pillars. The closer he got, the clearer the sounds became—chants, shouts, the unmistakable crash of bodies meeting the ground. Something was happening inside. Something big.

Velren approached a nearby merchant, a man draped in a thick coat, leaning against his stall. The scent of roasted meat and spiced ale wafted from his cart, mixing with the cool night air. But Velren wasn’t here for food.

"Uhm, excuse me. What’s that place over there?" he asked, nodding toward the towering coliseum.

The merchant glanced at him, then at the towering structure, before letting out a knowing chuckle.

"You must be new around here." He shifted his stance, adjusting the coat on his shoulders.

"That’s the Ironclash Arena. One of Caelestoria’s finest night entertainments."

Another deafening cheer erupted from within the grand structure.

"People from all over come here to witness the fights—warriors, mercenaries, even Academy students testing their mettle. Some fight for sport, some for coin, and a few... for something else entirely."

Velren raised a brow. "Something else?"

The merchant shrugged.

"Reputation. Glory. Revenge. You name it. In the Ironclash Arena, if you step into that ring, you prove yourself. Or you fall trying."

Velren had never heard of anything like this back in Elyndra. There were dueling grounds and sanctioned sparring matches, sure, but an arena where anyone could fight for glory, coin, or even revenge? That was something else entirely.

His curiosity flared. What kind of battles were being fought inside? What kind of people willingly threw themselves into the ring, knowing they could walk away broken—or not at all?

’Now you got my attention...’

With that thought, he made his way toward the coliseum as the roars of the crowd grew louder.

***

Up close, the sheer scale of the coliseum was overwhelming. Towering walls of reinforced stone loomed above him, their surfaces etched with battle-worn engravings and inlaid metal reinforcements. Massive torches burned at intervals along the structure, casting flickering shadows against its rugged frame. The air carried the scent of sweat, metal, and something faintly... acrid—perhaps the lingering traces of old blood spilled within its walls.

Velren took a moment to admire it. It was a fortress of battle, a place where warriors clashed beneath the eyes of a roaring crowd.

Shaking off his awe, he stepped toward the entrance booth. A bored-looking clerk sat behind the counter, barely sparing him a glance before speaking.

"Participant or spectator?"

Velren blinked. Participant? Did they mean someone who actually fought here? The thought was tempting—testing himself in a real fight against unknown opponents, feeling the weight of a battle where nothing was held back.

But for now, he set that idea aside.

"Spectator," he answered.

The clerk wordlessly accepted his payment, sliding a small token across the counter. Velren took it and moved toward the entrance, where a pair of guards stood watch. After a brief glance at the token, one of them jerked a thumb toward a gated lift at the side.

"This way."

Velren stepped into the elevator, feeling the faint vibration of gears locking into place before the platform lurched upward. The iron bars rattled as he ascended. Through the gaps in the metal framework, he caught glimpses of the arena’s vast interior—rows upon rows of spectators leaning forward in anticipation, torches lining the walls, their flickering glow casting jagged shadows over the stone architecture.

When the lift came to a halt, he stepped out onto the uppermost floor, where the seating overlooked the grand battlefield below. The arena stretched wide, an enormous pit of smooth, reinforced stone, its surface marred with the scars of countless battles. Massive chains and iron gates lined the edges, likely where the combatants entered. Above, suspended from the ceiling by an intricate system of pulleys and metal beams, were mechanical lanterns, flooding the entire coliseum with an eerie, golden light.

The energy in the air was electric. The chants, the shouts, the rhythmic pounding of fists against wooden railings—it was a place that thrived on battle, on competition, on the raw clash of strength and skill. Velren exhaled slowly, his grip tightening slightly on the railing as he took it all in.

"Oh man, did I just miss a fight?"

Before he could dwell on it, a sudden crackle echoed through the coliseum, followed by the booming voice of the announcer blasting from unseen intercoms.

"Ladies and gentlemen of Caelestoria, are you not entertained?!"

The response was immediate—a deafening roar of approval surged through the crowd, shaking the very foundations of the arena. People pounded their fists against the railings, whistled, and cheered with a fervor that spoke of unshaken anticipation.

"Hah, I thought so! But don’t worry, because the night’s just getting started! Up next, we have a special treat—a challenger not from our great city, but from beyond our borders!"

’Beyond their border?’

"This next match features a participant from none other than the Elyndra Grand Academy!!!"

"What?!"

His grip on the railing tightened, and his gaze snapped toward the arena gates below, just as the announcer’s voice rang out once more.

"Give it up for—Alistair von Rhaegis!"