Michael sat in silence, leaning slightly forward with his elbows resting on his knees. His green-black spear stood upright beside him.
He didn't have to wait long.
Roughly ten minutes passed before the atmosphere shifted again.
The steel door creaked open, and footsteps echoed down the corridor outside.
And not just one set. Several.
The first to enter was a tall youth in deep crimson armor inlaid with silver filigree. A symbol Michael didn't recognize—gleamed on his chestplate.
His face was sharp, clean, and expressionless. Behind him came two others, equally well-dressed, equally polished.
By the time they all entered, there were six of them.
All dressed in armor far superior to anything the current nobles in Group B wore.
Each of them moved like they belonged here.
Michael also didn't need to activate any skill to know—they were strong. Stronger than most in the room.
The room reacted accordingly.
The nobles of Group B sat a little straighter, eyes sharpening as they exchanged subtle glances. Some stiffened. Others scowled.
The commoners, on the other hand, mostly lowered their gazes.
The unspoken truth was clear: these newcomers hadn't participated in the earlier trials. That meant they hadn't earned their spot like the rest.
Yet… they stood here anyway.
Just like the nobles yesterday.
However, the difference was that the nobles of yesterday that were here today fought for it.
Exceptions to the rules. Candidates above the rules.
Michael's eyes flicked over them one by one.
He could already tell who the leaders were. The one in front—the tall one in crimson—and the one that gave off the strongest feeling.
Silence stretched longer than it should have.
Until someone broke it.
Michael turned slightly.
The speaker was a boy with jet-black hair, neatly combed and held by a silver clasp.
He stood slowly, stepping forward with arms crossed.
"Who are you guys," he said, tone calm but firm.
Michael felt the question was unnecessary.
These must be the true players of the competition.
However, his thoughts soon changed.
'Wait… why does it seem like they don't know themselves?'
Surely, anyone that could cheat their way into this final stage couldn't be normal. Such figures should've had enough prestige.
But why did it look like they were outsiders?
At first, Michael didn't immediately assume they were from outside the kingdom.
Instead, his mind drifted toward a more grounded suspicion: Do the other groups have newcomers too?
But before he could finish that thought, the tension snapped.
One of the newcomers scoffed and stepped forward—shorter than the leader in crimson but broader, with bronze skin and sharp, reptilian yellow eyes. His voice carried a mocking lilt.
"You nobles of the Lionheart Kingdom are even more disappointing than the reports suggested."
The noble who has spoken out earlier narrowed his eyes. "What did you just say?"
"I said what you heard." The bronze-eyed youth sneered. "All pride. No bite. You think crawling through a few rounds of low-tier skirmishes makes you worthy? You've mistaken this arena for your backyard sparring court."
Gasps spread across the room.
Another of the newcomers chuckled lightly. "Don't be too hard on them, Ryo. They've been swimming in this shallow pond for too long. Can't blame frogs for not knowing what a sea looks like."
The room practically cracked in two—one half filled with nobles barely restraining themselves, the other half made of commoners who, while not loyal to any side, certainly didn't like being called frogs.
The LionHeart noble stepped forward again. "Speak clearly. Who the hell are you people?"
The youth in crimson finally smiled. And then, with deliberate arrogance, he answered
"We are from the Earth Dragon Kingdom."
The moment the words landed, it was as if someone had dropped a bomb in the room.
Even Michael's brows lifted a fraction.
He heard the sharp inhalation of breath from at least half the participants.
Earth Dragon Kingdom…?
Michael was no longer as ignorant as when he first entered this kingdom.
Thanks to the gift Grand Mage Lian had provided—he had learned more in weeks than most locals would learn in a year.
The Lionheart Kingdom didn't stand alone.
It served under an Empire.
And within this Empire, three kingdoms stood apart from the rest—so powerful that each could rival minor empires on their own.
The Lionheart Kingdom.
And the Earth Dragon Kingdom.
They weren't just kingdoms. They were pillars—territorial giants that operated like empires within the empire.
Michael had read that the Earth Dragon Kingdom was known for its martial supremacy.
And more importantly…
It was not on good terms with Lionheart.
Decades of veiled hostility.
Territorial disputes. Economic clashes. Cultural disdain.
They weren't openly at war—but neither were they allies.
So why were Earth Dragon elites in a Lionheart competition?
More specifically… why were they being allowed to participate in a trial where the winner earned not just a title, but the hand of the Duke's daughter?
Michael's gaze sharpened.
What are you trying to do, Duke Evermoon?
This wasn't mere favoritism.
One should remember the Duke was offering his daughter as a prize.
However, this way, he was inviting wolves into the den.
And Michael wasn't the only one thinking that.
Even the commoners, though quiet, were visibly shaken.
They weren't fools. They knew their place. Knew that outside this competition, they would return to serving the nobles, working their farms, or dying anonymously in monster-infested fields.
But they had come here thinking they were competing against their own.
Now they realized they were being pitted against outsiders who hadn't been part of any trial before now.
They looked almost insulted.
Because while the commoners could not do anything about it, the nobles could.
And the noble from earlier did.
"You're trespassing in our lands," he said coldly. "You don't belong."
The crimson-armored leader raised a brow.
"Then beat us and send us home."
"Or kneel and learn your place."
The entire room burned with tension.