Chapter 69: Registration

Chapter 69: Chapter 69: Registration

As Squad 07 stepped into the massive, vaulted archway of the central registration wing, the hum of mana-scanning arrays and bustling voices filled the air. Long queues of cadets from dozens of regional academies were lined up before imperial intake counters, submitting their weapons for runic safety tagging and verifying their competitor badges.

Before Rowan and his squad could even select a line, a sharp crash echoed from the front of the hall, followed by snickers and arrogant laughter.

"Watch where you stand, regional trash!" a loud, pompous voice sneered, cutting over the hall’s murmur.

A young cadet in the muted bronze armor of a frontier city academy was stumbled backward, almost dropping his staff, after being shoved aside. Standing over him was a group of five students clad in immaculate, gold-trimmed velvet coats and silver plate armor—the extravagant uniform of the Imperial Royal Academy, the premier institution from the Empire’s capital.

"Is this the quality of competitors outer cities send these days?" one of the Imperial cadets laughed, resting a hand lazily on the pommel of a rapiers studded with high-tier mana gems. "You lot shouldn’t even be clogging up the registration lines. You’re taking up valuable space meant for actual elite awakeners."

Nearby competitors from other regional city academies gritted their teeth, exchanging furious glances, but none dared to step forward. The silver insignia of the Imperial Royal Academy carried massive political weight.

"Ignore them," a girl from a neighboring delegation whispered hurriedly to her teammate. "That’s the main capital squad. Don’t provoke them."

The lead capital cadet—a tall youth with sleek blonde hair, bearing the crest of a high ducal house—scuffed his polished boot against the marble floor with contempt.

"Look at this place," he scoffed loudly, raising his voice so the whole hall could hear. "Half of these outer-city squads look like they barely survived their local Tower layers. It’s almost insulting that we have to share an arena floor with commoners."

He puffed out his chest, his eyes scanning the surrounding crowds with pure condescension.

"Do you even know who we train with every day?" another member of the Imperial squad sneered, folding her arms arrogantly. "Our team sits in the exact same advanced combat and theoretical tactics class as the Youngest Imperial Princess herself! Her Highness’s personal royal instructors evaluate our spar logs! We are in a completely different realm compared to backwater cadets like you."

The mention of the youngest imperial princess sent a quiet ripple of whispers through the waiting halls. To be in the same class cohort as royalty meant top-tier imperial resources, high-grade mana elixirs, and connection to the crown’s direct shadow guards.

Barney grunted under his breath, adjusting his toolset strap. "Well, they certainly didn’t miss out on getting extra helpings of arrogance at the capital, did they?"

"They’re deliberately trying to establish a hierarchy before the tournament even starts," Seraphina noted softly, her sharp gaze analyzing the high-grade mana signatures radiating off the Imperial squad’s customized gear. "Classmates of royalty or not, their mana control is refined, but their attitude is sloppy."

Caelen’s fingers lightly brushed against his sword pommel, a cool smile touching his lips. "Dean Sterling said we didn’t need to hold back if anyone stepped out of line."

"Not yet," Rowan said calmly, stepping forward with his squad toward the open intake counter adjacent to the loud capital team. "Let the Imperial students finish registration first. The arena will give everyone all the room they need to talk."

As Squad 07 walked past the Imperial Royal Academy team to hand their identification badges to the registration clerk, the blond lead capital cadet caught sight of Rowan’s simple Enchanted Straw Hat and the hoe sheathed at his back.

The noble cadet paused, blinking in disbelief before bursting into a loud, mocking laugh.

"Wait, is that a hoe?" he cackled, pointing toward Rowan. "What is Sol-Aethel thinking this year? Did you pick up a field farmer on your way to the Colosseum?"

Rowan didn’t even blink. He adjusted the brim of his straw hat, looking the blond capital cadet up and down with an unbothered, almost pitying expression.

"Without people like us, what are you punks supposed to eat?" Rowan replied smoothly, his tone deadpan. "Who’s gonna put food on the table? High-grade mana elixirs might fill your veins, but they don’t fill your stomach. So unless you can chew on rapiers and swallow silver armor, I’d suggest showing a little respect to the farmers."

A beat of absolute silence fell over the registration hall.

Then, from the queue of regional academy cadets behind them, someone let out a poorly muffled snort. Within seconds, low murmurs and chuckles began rippling through the crowds.

The lead Imperial cadet’s arrogant smirk instantly vanished, replaced by a flush of dark crimson that crept up his neck. "What did you just call us?" he snarled, stepping forward as his hand instinctively clamped down on the jeweled hilt of his rapier. "You backwater peasant—do you have any idea who you’re speaking to?"

"I hear quite well," Rowan said, resting a hand casually against the handle of his hoe. "You’re the squad that takes tactics classes with royalty and still managed to forget basic arithmetic."

Caelen let out a soft laugh, leaning lazily against a marble pillar with his arms crossed. "Careful, Rowan. You might hurt their delicate capital feelings before the tournament even begins."

"Indeed," Seraphina added smoothly, her cold gaze meeting the glaring eyes of the female Imperial cadet. "It would be a pity if the crown’s favorite classmates were too flustered to perform in the arena."

Barney grinned, tapping his heavy toolset belt. "Hey, if they get hungry during the matches, maybe Rowan can toss them a turnip from Eden International."

"You arrogant insolent brats!" the blond cadet yelled, his mana flaring violently. A sharp, golden aura burst from his armor, sending a sudden gust of pressure across the polished floor. "I’ll teach you your place right here—"

CLANG!

The heavy iron butt of a runic halberd slammed onto the marble floor right between the two squads with deafening force.

"Enough."

The imperial registrar stood at his counter, his tablet glowing red with security alerts, while two hulking Imperial Royal Guards stepped between the delegations. Their faces were hidden behind silver visors, but the oppressive, high-tier pressure emanating from their armor instantly extinguished the capital cadet’s mana surge.

"Unsanctioned mana combustion and brawling in the intake hall result in immediate squad disqualification and forfeiture of tournament rights," the registrar warned coldly, his sharp eyes locking onto the blond noble. "Is there a problem here, Cadet Vance of Sol-Aethel, or Cadet Julian of the Imperial Royal Academy?"

Julian clenched his fists so tightly his leather gloves creaked. He took a slow breath, forcing his mana back under control, though his eyes burned with pure malice as he glared at Rowan.

"No problem, Registrar," Julian spat through gritted teeth. He stepped back, gesturing sharply for his squad to fall in line behind him. "We’ll save our demonstration for the arena floor."

Julian turned back to Rowan, leaning in close with a icy whisper. "Enjoy your little joke, farmer. When we meet in the bracket, I’m going to shatter that ridiculous tool into pieces."

Rowan gave him a polite, casual tip of his straw hat. "Looking forward to it."

"Next squad for registration!" the clerk called out, pressing a button on his desk tablet. "Sol-Aethel Academy, Squad 07! Step forward for identity verification and artifact tagging."

"That’s us," Rowan said to his team, turning his back on the fuming capital squad without another glance. "Let me get my hoe tagged first."