After a short period of ti—at least from the perspective of the outside world—Leon felt a gentle nudge on his shoulder, which prompted him to open his eyes.
It seems the celebration is about to start.
He’d been constantly aware of the activities happening in the external world around his physical body, but he’d deliberately been ignoring everything to maintain complete focus on his intensive training inside the dinsional realm.
Almost there. I can feel it. Soon, I’ll reach Rank 1 Aura manifestation in Holy affinity.
The breakthrough was tantalizingly close.
Leon looked directly into Ira’s crimson eyes and asked, though he already sensed the answer from the shift in atmospheric energy:
"Is it about to start?"
He knew the answer even before she responded. The entire area was now filled with the enticing aroma of delicious food—roasting at, exotic spices, fernted drinks.
That sll is incredible.
He also noticed imdiately that Ira’s hairstyle had changed dramatically during his ditation. Her hair had been flowing freely and loose before, but now it was arranged in an elaborate, well-intentioned style—pulled back elegantly with intricate braiding around her neck, so strands artfully tucked while others cascaded down.
Such a simple change, but it makes her look even more beautiful than before.
The transformation was striking.
Ira answered hurriedly, almost frantically:
"Yes! Let’s quickly get down—everyone’s waiting!"
She seed genuinely anxious about their timing.
Leon understood why imdiately. Everyone else was now assembled below on the arena ground floor, including Archon Vyrra herself. When he shifted his gaze outward toward the surrounding city, he could see Pyrrhans everywhere outside their dwellings.
The entire civilization is participating.
The atmosphere was purely festive and joyful. There was food everywhere—massive chunks of monster at sizzling on their special racial flas, along with various kinds of drinks displayed on countless tables.
This is a major celebration. Not just a small gathering.
But first, before moving, Leon felt compelled to acknowledge what he’d noticed.
He spoke sincerely:
"Ira, you look absolutely gorgeous. That hairstyle suits you perfectly."
His complint was genuine and heartfelt.
Though he still privately thought her clothing was far too revealing and short for his taste—sothing he might have to address later.
But it does seem to be deeply cultural in their clan. Everyone dresses like this—including Archon Vyrra herself.
And the n universally kept their upper bodies completely bare, which seed equally standard.
Cultural norms. Have to respect them.
His unexpected complint visibly startled Ira, her eyes widening.
GASP!
The urgency she’d been projecting wavered noticeably, replaced by flustered uncertainty.
She replied ekly, her voice much softer:
"Let’s... let’s quickly get down, Leon. Aunt and others are especially waiting for us, specifically."
Her emphasis on "us" carried weight.
Her words made Leon look down at the arena floor again. He noticed Archon Vyrra was indeed looking up directly at both him and Ira.
She’s watching us. Waiting.
However, Vyrra appeared quite relaxed and definitely not impatient or annoyed—she simply seed to be deliberately waiting for them both to join before officially beginning.
We’re guests of honor, apparently.
So without further delay, Leon said:
"Let’s go down then."
Both of them jumped simultaneously from the high stair, their bodies falling through the air.
WHOOSH!
Before hitting the hard ground, each slowed themselves using their respective techniques—Leon with compressed air and light manipulation, Ira with her fire propulsion—and both landed gracefully without impact.
TAP! TAP!
One practical thing Leon genuinely appreciated was the fact that the won of this clan wore proper undergarnts—panties at the very least—beneath their minimal clothing, as for the bra, he had too close an experience to say that confidence that they don’t.
Or it would be far too much exposure with their short garnts. That would be uncomfortable for to act in such a scenario.
He’d specifically noticed this detail during his intense fight with the greatsword-wielding woman in the arena, when various acrobatic movents had occurred.
Thank goodness for small rcies.
After they joined the assembled crowd, both Leon and Ira were imdiately handed ceremonial glasses filled with so kind of slightly purplish liquid that shimred in the firelight.
HAND! RECEIVE!
The gathered Pyrrhans had ford an enormous circle. In the center burned a massive bonfire constructed from their special racial flas—those distinctive red fires Leon had seen Archon Vyrra and others utilize.
CRACKLE! ROAR! BURN!
That red fire... it reminds distinctly of Archon Vyrra’s technique.
They all possessed this special fla, though Leon could instinctively tell by simply feeling the energy signatures that not all of these fires were identical in quality or power.
Different mastery levels. Different refinent.
Suspended above the central bonfire were gigantic chunks of monster at, sizzling and dripping fat that created aromatic smoke, filling the entire area with mouthwatering scent.
SIZZLE! DRIP! SMOKE!
Then, with a deliberate signal from Archon Vyrra, ceremonial drums and other types of musical instrunts began playing in beautiful, harmonious coordination.
BOOM! STRUM! CHI! HARMONY!
Leon could see the musicians positioned around the circle, playing with practiced skill and obvious reverence.
This is ritualistic. Important to their culture.
The music was genuinely lodious and moving.
Then, as one unified voice, everyone began singing a traditional song—clearly sothing deeply aningful to their people:
"From flas we rise,
to flas we fall,
In fire’s embrace,
We give our all.
Each dawn we fight,
each dusk we stand, Pyrrhan blood, Pyrrhan land.
We survive, we live, we never yield,
Our strength, our honor, fla our shield."
Leon was genuinely surprised by the coordinated song, seeing absolutely everyone participating—from the youngest children to the oldest elders, all singing in perfect unison.
This is their anthem. Their identity.
Moved by the mont and the spirit of community, he joined in, lending his voice to theirs despite just learning the words.
Ira was singing beside him, but Leon noticed she kept glancing repeatedly at his hand for so reason, her attention obviously divided.
What is she looking at?
He was confused for a mont, then suddenly noticed a significant detail he’d initially missed:
Quite a lot of Pyrrhan couples—n and won paired together—were holding each other’s hands intimately, their fingers intertwined in the traditional gesture of partnership.
Oh. That’s the custom. Nearly eighty percent of them are holding hands; they sure are a romantic bunch.
Understanding imdiately what Ira had been hoping for, Leon swiftly and smoothly switched the ceremonial glass to his other hand.
SWITCH!
Using his now-empty hand, he reached over and grasped Ira’s hand intimately, just like the other couples around them, their fingers naturally intertwining together.
HOLD! INTERTWINE!
He felt absolutely no resistance from her—her hand was warm and fit perfectly with his.
She wanted this. Good.
He then deliberately looked directly at her face, eting her crimson eyes with his own mystical heterochromatic gaze.
She seed to have completely frozen, her body going rigid.
She’s shocked. Adorably shocked.
She had stopped singing entirely, her mouth slightly open.
She appeared far too stunned to continue participating, her mind clearly racing.
Leon gently squeezed her hand—the one he was holding—trying to bring her back from her trance.
SQUEEZE!
She ca back to awareness with a visible start, though her mind kept going blank repeatedly, her thoughts obviously consud entirely by the fact that he was holding her hand in this specific, culturally significant way.
Only she knows what this ans to her people, and she was shocked by the suddenness of everything.
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