"Come, young lord. I shall be your escort for now," Saladin said as he stepped down from the carriage.
The moment Dante emerged behind him, the world erupted. Camera flashes burst like strobe lights, the clamor of voices swelling into a chaotic chorus. For a brief second, it genuinely felt like he'd stepped into a movie premiere.
Dozens of noble-born devils stood among the crowd, their expressions mixed with curiosity, envy, and open challenge. Most weren't here for the military. Not really. They had come to prove something—mainly that the Gremory upstart wasn't worthy of the crest he bore.
It was all posturing. A grand display of pride and ego. Devils thrived off power, but more than that—they craved hierarchy. Every noble here today wanted their chance to step on Dante's head to climb higher. But by entering the gauntlet, Dante had already flipped the script. He wasn't flexing influence or wealth. He came here the hard way, and that unsettled them.
As he walked the red carpet that led toward the Crucible, the roar of the crowd intensified. Murmurs of "Gremory heir" buzzed through the air. The fact that he was the last contestant to arrive made it worse. Or better, depending on your taste for drama. The spotlight hit him hard.
Saladin strode at his side like a wall of steel, cutting through the crowd. Female devils swooned from behind railings, screaming questions about his lineage or outright confessing attraction to his supposedly "dangerous, rogue charm."
Dante resisted the urge to scoff. Gold diggers. He didn't even need to look to know who they were. Still... flattery was flattery.
Then he saw her.
A woman stood confidently near the grand entrance to the Coliseum. Long golden hair cascaded down her back like silk, framing her face with sharp bangs that barely brushed her brows. Her outfit—a red battle-dress stitched with golden detail—clung to her like armor made for gods. Her shoulders were bare, her chest pronounced, her long sleeves detached and pinned to armored spaulders bearing a strange avian sigil.
She was striking. And dangerous.
Saladin halted, clearly expecting an exchange.
"If it isn't the famed Shadow Gremory," she purred. Her voice was smooth, teasing, with a predatory undertone. She gestured grandly. "Fashionably late, as expected. You take after your brother well."
Dante raised a brow, returning her smirk with one of his own. "It's the only way to arrive at a party, milady."
He gave a shallow bow—just enough to show etiquette without submission. He knew how devils measured status through body language. Bow too deep and you weren't showing respect—you were bending the knee.
She returned it with the briefest tilt of her head.
"I don't believe we've met. Rosalina Phenex," she said with theatrical pride. "Younger sister to Indris Phenex."
Dante played along like he recognized the name. "Dante Vale Gremory. Younger brother to Sirzechs Gremory."
"To what do I owe the honor of this greeting?" he asked, calm and disarming.
Her lips curled, resting her cheek against her gloved fingers. "It seems I'll be your last opponent. That is—if you survive long enough to reach me. I do hope you're up to the challenge, Lord Dante. Otherwise, I might just take what you desire."
His smile sharpened. "The only thing I desire, Lady Rosalina, is a worthy challenge. I sincerely hope you can deliver. If not... well, I suppose I'll be forced to keep searching."
She blinked at him, then chuckled softly behind her hand. "Oh my. A man after my heart."
Her eyes turned razor-sharp. "If it's a challenge you want, then I'll make sure you get one."
With that, she passed him—slow, graceful, a storm hiding behind a smirk. Her golden gaze lingered on him for a second longer before she disappeared beyond the pillars, a faint orange light flaring as she vanished.
Saladin gave a low whistle. "I think she likes you."
Dante's face didn't move. "Maybe. We'll see her true nature soon enough."
As they continued toward the inner hall, Saladin's tone turned thoughtful. "You think you'll make it to her?"
"I know I will."
Saladin chuckled. "Confidence becomes you, young lord. But don't let it blind you. Pride is the most popular sin—but it's the deadliest in battle."
"A lesson I've taken to heart. I'll let my blade speak for me."
The Praetor nodded, quietly impressed. Dante's words echoed with a weight most warriors twice his age couldn't fake. No doubt a product of the Vale family who, despite their fate, had clearly shaped the boy with hard-won wisdom.
Soon they reached the final hall.
Saladin gestured ahead. "Inside, you'll receive your number for the tournament. Judging by Lady Rosalina's words, it might be a while before your first match. Gather yourself. Still your mind."
He placed a heavy hand on Dante's shoulder. "I'll be at the viewing deck beside General Gremory. Best of luck to you, Lord Dante."
"Thank you, Praetor Saladin. It was an honor."
Saladin smiled and gave a bow before heading off.