Mantis: The Awakening or something

Chapter 3 – Welcome to the Arena

The morning air buzzed with tension. Sunlight poured over the towering gates of Ava Royal Combat Academy, casting long shadows of the noble banners fluttering in the breeze. Today wasn’t just a typical academy registration day—it was the beginning of a legend. The tournament gates opened, not only to students but to dreams, ambitions, and bitter rivalries. For Daton and Chris, it was the first step into chaos.

Daton adjusted the simple wrap around his wrist. The small Mantis spirit symbol shimmered for a second then vanished as it settled back into his skin. Beside him, Chris stood stiff, brows drawn in confusion.

“This crowd... doesn’t make sense,” Chris muttered, eyeing the mass of students pouring into the open grounds. “Every year, maybe twenty to thirty people register for the Combat Tournament. Today? We’ve already counted over fifty, and we’re still early.”

Daton let out a low whistle, stretching his arms lazily. “Looks like the nobles are sending their babies out to play.”

Chris turned his head sharply, then gestured discreetly. “That’s why. Look.”

A hush rolled through the gathering like a tidal wave. All eyes turned to the grand arrival path. A sleek, sky-blue carriage pulled by armored windstallions approached. The emblem of the royal family blazed on its side—a soaring eagle entwined with a sword.

Out stepped a figure draped in silver and blue combat robes, her long hair tied in a high braid. Princess Iris. Sixteen. Prodigy. Rumored to have beaten three academy instructors in a 3-on-1 spar last year. She carried herself like she owned the very ground she walked on.

Chris whispered, “She’s registering. That’s why the number’s exploded.”

Daton raised a brow. “So let me guess—every family with a half-decent heir sent them here to impress her?”

Chris nodded. “More like offering their children to the royal bloodline. If someone manages to stand out—maybe catch her attention—it could mean status, alliances... marriage even.”

Daton smirked. “And all I wanted was a scholarship.”

Hours passed. Sweat soaked the backs of nervous contestants. After an intense wait, the two finally reached the registration table. A bored-looking clerk scribbled on a long parchment scroll.

“Name?”

“Daton.”

“Number 61. You’re the last.”

Daton blinked. “Wait... last? As in, no number 62?”

“Nope. Cap at 61. That’s our limit.”

Chris swore under his breath. “You just barely made it.”

The arena was divided into several battle zones—some open-air, others enclosed in magical barriers. Loud horns signaled the first bracket: The Round of 30. From here, the rules were simple: survive. Win your battle, or go home.

First Match – Daton vs. Ami

Daton stood in the center of the sandy pit. His eyes wandered lazily until his opponent appeared: a girl with tattered robes, matted hair, and a sharp glint in her eyes. She looked like she crawled out of a warzone.

“Name’s Ami,” she said simply. No flourish. No bow.

“Daton,” he replied, drawing his blade.

The horn blew.

She was on him instantly. Her movements weren’t elegant—they were brutal. Her fists flew like sledgehammers. She flipped, kicked, ducked, and rolled like someone who had survived more battles than birthdays.

Daton cursed. His mana refused to respond. He wasn’t sure why—it had been fine during training. But now? Nothing. No light. No surge. Just... dead weight.

“Guess we’re going old school,” he muttered.

He relied purely on his sword skills. Every swing was met with feral dodges. Every block shook his bones. Twice she landed kicks to his chest, nearly knocking the wind out of him. His blade grazed her side once, barely cutting her tunic.

“You move like a broomstick but hit like a landlord,” he quipped mid-fight, trying to keep his nerves at bay.

Ami blinked. Just for a second. She wasn’t used to opponents joking in battle. That micro-second distraction was all he needed.

Daton feinted left, spun right, and slammed the flat of his blade into her stomach. Ami collapsed.

The crowd cheered. His legs shook.

“Lucky bastard,” Chris muttered later. “She had you cornered.”

Daton wiped his forehead. “I’ll take luck over skill any day.”

Second Match – Daton vs. Dave

Dave was no joke. He was a mid-tier noble known for his fire-based mana and aggressive combat style. His armor was polished, his flames already licking his gauntlets as he stepped into the arena.

“Ready to get roasted?” Dave smirked.

“I already did. You’re late,” Daton replied, tapping his blade against his shoulder.

As the horn blew, Daton darted forward. Speed was his game, and Dave wasn’t prepared. For the first two minutes, Daton ducked, weaved, and delivered quick jabs.

Dave growled. “Enough playing!”

His fists ignited into flames. The temperature spiked. One punch shot out like a comet.

Daton sidestepped—but too slow. The fire grazed his arm, burning through the fabric. Pain flared.

“Damn!” he hissed. But in that moment of desperation, his mana surged. Weak—but just enough. A thin barrier formed, blocking the next punch.

“You finally woke up, huh?” he muttered.

Dave panted. He had overextended. His breathing ragged.

Daton chuckled. “Flame out already?”

One clean move—he flipped his blade, used the blunt end, and knocked Dave out cold.

Round of 8 – Daton vs. Ford

Now it was serious. Princess Iris had joined the fights officially. Thankfully, Daton wasn’t up against her—yet. His opponent was Ford, a lower-tier noble known for using mana to amplify brute force. He looked more like a bouncer than a noble heir.

The match started with Daton dodging punches. Lots of them. Ford was strong but slow. Daton kept his distance, waiting for an opening.

Then he saw it.

He rushed in, blade drawn—but Ford moved faster than expected. His palm came down like a hammer.

CRACK. Daton’s blade split in two.

Ford grinned. “Oops.”

Daton didn’t retreat. He lunged with his left hand—but Ford caught it. Then his right. Trapped.

“Any last words?” Ford sneered.

“Yeah,” Daton muttered. “Duck.”

Ford paused. That second was enough.

Daton surged mana into his forehead and slammed it into Ford’s skull.

THUD.

They both collapsed.

Two minutes passed. Then Daton stirred, groaning. Ford lay motionless.

Winner: Daton.

The crowd erupted. Three wins. No mana mastery. One broken sword. And now? He was heading toward the semifinals.

Next up?

Kain. High noble. Wind mage. No mercy.

And Princess Iris?

Well,she doesn't care what her subjects do

They are just monkeys

To be continued...

What can I say? The boy got a hard head