“Follow me,” Takamori affirmed, without adding anything else. The moustached guild chief approached the heavy gates of the arena. They were composed of two massive wings of wood from which rusty iron spikes sprang up.

While most of Goldhaven’s streets and palaces were treated in detail, that place seemed to have suffered more from the wear and tear of the time. ​​

*boom*boom*boom* – Takamori’s hand knocked three times on the big door. His pupils waited for an answer on the other side of the walls.

After a couple of minutes spent listening to the chirping of birds flying happily through the peach trees, the door finally began to open. Crawling on the ruined floor, the blunt iron rod of the old lock follow its groove.

A man dressed in a red tunic with gold edges showed up in front of Takamori. A tall cylindrical hat covered his bald head, and a red veil, the same colour as his clothes, was hanging in front of his face.

That monk, perhaps the keeper of the training arena, looked creepy. He rested his skinny, wrinkled hand on the closed door wing, leaning on his long wooden stick with his other hand.

“Glory to Emperor Nashiyama,” Takamori greeted, bowing in front of the monk. Like puppets, all three tamers deployed behind him mirrored his gestures.

“Glory to the Emperor. Takamori, you arrived earlier than usual today”, the old monk answered, as the veil that covered his face swung under the faint blowing of the morning wind.

“Training new guild members takes longer, wise guardian of the Dojo. With your permission, I wish I could access the training arena with my warriors,” the guild leader replied, looking down on the man’s covered face, much taller than him.

After those words, the guardian monk’s face shifted to Yoichi and Enatsu. Without being able to cross their eyes with him, the two adventurers were trapped in a feeling of unconsciousness. The veil and the slow movements of the monk made the appearance of that older man macabre and dark.

As if that were not enough, he took a step forward, breaking away from the door and advancing towards Takamori’s recruits. Enatsu, afraid as usual, broke in a cold sweat. The sound of the wood of the monk’s getas echoed outside the grey walls of the arena.

Dragging one foot after another, very slowly, the old man stopped in front of Yoichi. Holding a steady hand over Kenji’s head to prevent it from growling, the young tamer stood still. His gaze pointed forward towards the door.

When the monk was in front of him, Yoichi realized that the man was more than two meters tall. The long noble dresses swayed wide around his lean, time-eaten body. The index and middle finger of his right hand gently caressed the chipped wood of his stick.

“He is one of the recruits I just told you about, wise Ryutaro. He was a Bronzeforest farmer, but in no time, he proved to…”

“Who are you?” the monk suddenly interrupted, turning to Yoichi. The young tamer closed his eyes for a moment. That dry, cold voice seemed to come from a demon’s lungs, not a human being.

“My name is Yoichi, supreme keeper. Sada-sensei offered me a place among the warriors in his guild,” Yoichi responded, struggling to speak. Suddenly, Kenji began to growl.

“Grrr… grrrr!” the little Nekage continued, looking at Ryutaro’s covered face fearlessly.

The gaze of the elderly arena warden fell on Yoichi’s lizard demon. Evidently, his high rank in that city’s society gave him the right to speak above Takamori and all the others. The guild leader remained silent, knowing that he could not interrupt the monk’s words in any way.

“Shut up! Shh! Shut up, Kenji!” Yoichi whispered, slightly clutching his Nekage’s neck and making it realize that that was the worst opportunity to show itself grumpy.

“Where did you get this demon, young Yoichi?” the monk inquired. The veil in front of his face moved again on the young tamer, framing his eyes. Beside him, Enatsu and Sora were immobilized by fear.

Even the mighty Rinji, who could lift that old man and break it like a wooden stick, trembled like a rabbit in his presence. His gaze remained pointed downwards.

“Kenji is my Oracle, sir. I didn’t tame it, it’s… it’s just my Oracle,” Yoichi remarked with conviction, merely telling the truth.

After about thirty seconds spent silently by those words, the old Ryutaro turned back, walking towards the arena door.

“The first flame eradicates the soul of the ancient lords of darkness. It represents fear, strength, light. Please, Takamori. You and your warriors can come in,” the guardian monk suddenly replied. An aura of mystery surrounded his solemn figure.

“Thank you, Ryutaro-sama. Yoichi, Enatsu. Follow me,” the guild chief commanded. From the haste of his words, he seemed not to have given too much importance to what the monk had just said.

Greeting the gatekeeper with one last bow, Rinji, Enatsu, and Yoichi followed Takamori over the arena’s wooden door. Driven by curiosity, Yoichi turned his head slightly. The gaze of that frightful monk was tracing his every movement.

“Fuck!” he muttered, turning forward again. Yoichi sped up the pace while a drop of sweat slipped down his forehead, stopping on his eyebrows.

As the guild master of the Nightblades had previously described, the interior of the walls was divided into two distinct areas. A vast paved square, raised from the ground, stretched for hundreds of meters to the right. On the left, the sacred Dojo of Goldhaven stood fearlessly, in all its splendour.

Peach trees were distributed along the inner perimeter of the hexagonal walls. Judging by their chaotic disposition, they must have grown up in that place naturally. Maybe they were born before the arena itself.

The four of the Nightblades walked along the tiled avenue leading to the junction between the two areas of the training arena. Takamori, without further hesitation, turned to the vast stone tatami.