The Call to Compete

A few curious onlookers stopped to listen, some nodding, others whispering among themselves. Ivaim's steps slowed as he watched the scene unfold.

The man continued, his voice brimming with energy.

"The rules are simple! Sign up, step into the ring, and win. The strongest among you will earn the right to advance. Fame, glory, and riches could be yours if you've got what it takes!"

Intrigued, Ivaim shifted the flour bag on his shoulder and approached the platform. Beside it, a small table was set up, cluttered with papers, quills, and an inkpot.

A young woman sat behind it, her brow furrowed in concentration as she scribbled names into a ledger. Her hand moved quickly, but she glanced up as Ivaim stepped closer.

"Excuse me," he began, his tone polite but curious. "What's this about the Regionals Arena?"

The woman straightened, brushing a strand of dark hair behind her ear. Her expression was a mix of professionalism and mild surprise.