THE TYRANNY OF ALARIC

Up in the sub-VIP section, where General Cao and Vice Chancellor Reeves sat with composed expressions, the air was filled with tension as the heads of four prestigious noble houses—the Lucent, Ferrum, Blightmore, and Stormfell families— were also in the section as they engaged in heated bickering.

"This entire setup is ridiculous," scoffed Lord Ferrum, a broad-shouldered man with streaks of silver in his hair. "This so-called 'fair competition' has been anything but that. You'd think the Royal Chosens and Pacesetters Academy were the only ones worthy of winning."

Lord Lucent, a lean man with piercing golden eyes, smirked. "Complaining already, Ferrum? Your Magnus was flattened at the first phase of the convention. I suppose you'd like a rematch?"

"Watch your tongue, Lucent," Ferrum growled. "Your sweet daughter who was defeated before she could even land a proper hit on my representatives. What excuse do you have?"