"Welcome esteemed guests, to Arcadia's annual combat tournament." A short figure garbed in a crimson robe stood ten feet in the air above one of the arena platforms, his red bushy beard glistening in the sun.
His voice was calm and confident, magically dispersing around the arena through some mystical means. The attendees were silent, showing just how much respect the breaded man garnered.
"As the 103rd headmaster, this is the third year I've had the pleasure of hosting our prestigious tournament—but even I can tell that there will be many surprises revealed in this tournament." He said, a small smile forming on his lips.
His gaze moved to a certain part of the crowd where the students were seated. Michael felt as if the man was looking at him, but he couldn't be sure from such a distance.
Surely he doesn't mean me right? He thought, feeling the pressure mounting.
