The Imperial Titan Arena
831 Words
The Imperial Titan Arena stood at the center of the capital like a monument to violence.
Massive.
Circular.
Layered with protective barrier formations capable of containing SS-tier clashes.
This was not an academy tournament.
This was where professional Titan hosts fought for:
• Military contracts
• Noble sponsorship
• Resource rights
• Blood stone rewards
And sometimes…
Reputation.
Harold stood at the registration platform, golden staff resting against his shoulder.
The official scanning crystal flickered violently when he placed his hand upon it.
“SSS-tier… student classification?” the registrar muttered in disbelief.
Harold didn’t respond.
Behind him, whispers spread rapidly.
“That’s him.”
“The Monkey King host.”
“He shattered imperial calibration.”
“He’s entering the Arena?”
Lysandra stood a few steps behind, arms crossed, dragon aura suppressed but noticeable.
Her butler looked like he had aged ten years.
“You don’t have to do this publicly,” she said quietly.
“I do,” Harold replied calmly.
Luke’s voice hummed.
“Two million blood stones won’t fall from the sky.”
The Arena’s announcer’s voice boomed across the coliseum.
“Tonight’s special entrant… SSS-tier host, Harold Vale!”
The crowd erupted.
Excitement.
Curiosity.
Skepticism.
Then—
The challenger appeared.
⸻
First Professional Opponent
A tall man in scarred armor stepped into the ring.
Name: Garrick Dorne.
Titan: Iron Colossus (SS-tier).
Record: 47 wins. 3 losses.
Not a prodigy.
A veteran.
His aura radiated dense metallic energy.
“You’re young,” Garrick said evenly.
“So I’ve been told.”
“You understand Arena rules?”
“No killing unless mutually agreed.”
Garrick nodded.
“Good.”
The barrier flared to life.
The match began.
⸻
Real Combat
Garrick didn’t rush.
He transformed partially.
His arms expanded into plated steel gauntlets larger than boulders.
He slammed the ground.
The entire Arena floor rippled like liquid metal.
Harold felt it immediately.
Heavy.
Dense.
This wasn’t flashy like Riven’s dragon flames.
This was battlefield combat.
Luke whispered.
“Don’t clash head-on.”
Garrick lunged.
Fast for his size.
Harold evaded, afterimages scattering.
The Iron Colossus’ gauntlet grazed one image—
And the air exploded from pure physical force.
Harold narrowed his eyes.
Strong.
Very strong.
Garrick shifted tactics mid-fight, forcing Harold toward the arena edge.
He wasn’t fighting to overwhelm.
He was controlling space.
Professional instincts.
Harold smiled faintly.
Finally.
He planted the Monkey King’s staff.
Golden aura surged outward in a controlled wave.
Not explosive.
Structured.
He didn’t attack Garrick.
He attacked the Arena floor.
Cracks spread beneath Garrick’s feet.
Metal density destabilized.
The Iron Colossus host adjusted instantly—
But Harold was already moving.
He appeared directly behind Garrick.
Not with overwhelming force—
But precise.
Three rapid strikes to pressure points along his titan manifestation joints.
Metal plating fractured.
Garrick staggered.
The crowd gasped.
Garrick roared and fully manifested his Titan torso.
The arena shook violently.
He swung both gauntlets downward.
Harold didn’t dodge.
He vaulted upward using the staff as leverage and landed on Garrick’s shoulder.
Golden energy condensed into a focused strike.
He slammed the staff downward against the Titan core channel in Garrick’s chest.
Impact.
The Iron Colossus flickered.
Then collapsed back into partial form.
Garrick dropped to one knee.
Silence filled the Arena.
The announcer hesitated.
Then—
“Winner… Harold Vale!”
The crowd erupted.
Not in mockery.
In awe.
Harold hadn’t overwhelmed him with brute strength.
He had dismantled a veteran.
Luke chuckled.
“Efficient. Clean. Dominant.”
⸻
The Reward
The Arena official approached.
“Victory reward: 180,000 blood stones.”
Harold calculated instantly.
Still far from two million.
But momentum mattered.
Garrick stood slowly, wiping blood from his lip.
He looked at Harold differently now.
“You fight like someone who’s already been to war.”
Harold tilted his head slightly.
“I will be.”
Garrick extended his hand.
Harold shook it.
Respect earned.
⸻
Above the Arena
In a private noble box—
The Dragon Warlord watched in silence.
Beside him—
Riven.
“You lost to him,” the Warlord said calmly.
Riven clenched his jaw.
“Yes.”
The Warlord’s eyes remained on Harold.
“He’s not reckless.”
“No.”
“He’s not arrogant.”
“No.”
The Warlord’s voice lowered.
“He’s dangerous.”
⸻
After the Match
Lysandra approached Harold as he exited the Arena corridor.
“You didn’t even look tired.”
“I am.”
She raised a brow.
“You don’t look it.”
He glanced at her.
“Two million is expensive.”
She smirked slightly.
“You’ll need more than a few matches.”
“I know.”
Luke’s voice returned softly.
“And the Arena attracts stronger opponents the more you win.”
Harold looked back toward the roaring stadium.
“Good.”
Because deeper inside—
The Whale Falcon’s door pulsed again.
This time—
Not unstable.
Excited.
Devourer titans thrived on conflict.
And Harold was feeding it properly.
- Writer
