After the news of the Potions Championship had raged for three days, it was overtaken by the heat of the approaching Wizarding Dueling Championship. The weather on the day of the duels was as bright as the mood of the wizards who had come to watch, and even the scorching Mediterranean Sea sun could not burn away their enthusiasm. The surging crowd poured into the dueling venue.
The wizards waiting for their tickets to be checked in front of the seven entrances seemed to have trouble even shifting forward. The wizard ticket inspectors were so busy that they were drenched in sweat, even indoors where the temperature was regulated. The spectators who were let in heaved sighs of relief, then were split up after entering the venue and seated by section and number.
To the wizards who had come to watch, this place seemed to have become a stage for displaying the distinctive traits of their own countries and peoples. They wore traditional clothing and carried iconic buildings; some wizards had even planted their national flowers on top of their heads... The Dueling Arena was extremely noisy. Hundreds and thousands of people could be heard moving around, along with shouts, laughter, and snatches of song.
The duelists, meanwhile, had been assigned to several waiting rooms encircling the field. Ian leaned against the window and looked up through it toward the stands. It was a sight he had never seen before, and this kind of feverish excitement was highly contagious. Every face Ian swept over through his Omnioculars seemed to be filled with joy.
Then a far more distinct commotion rose from the left side of the noisy stands. Ian drew his gaze back from the spectator seats, turned his head, and aimed his Omnioculars at the House of Harris box