The air inside the barracks began to change slowly, as if a cold draft had seeped between the stone walls.
More footsteps echoed down the hallway, and the door to house 24 creaked again. A man entered.
He wasn't a warrior like the others. His rigid posture, the dark blue clothes marked with golden symbols, and the medallion hanging from his chest betrayed that he was part of the tournament organization. He resembled, at one point, the clerk who had registered them, but this one seemed more serious, more... imposing.
The simple act of crossing the threshold altered the atmosphere. The laughter subsided, the conversations ceased. Even the archer balancing arrows nearly dropped them.
His aura wasn't oppressive like that of the woman Strax had seen in the square, but it was strong enough to silence a room of warriors.
He stopped in the center, his gaze roaming each face as if memorizing names and bodies. And then, in a deep voice that echoed throughout the room, he announced:
