The official announced the next match in the tournant. "Our next competitors: Aithen the Wanderer against Lord Elian Orvannis!"
The crowd settled into an expectant hush as the two fighters took their positions. Aithen the Wanderer was massive. He was a mountain of a man who carried his spear as casually as most would carry a walking stick. His weapon was nearly seven feet long, tipped with a sharp blade that was the size of an average person’s head.
Lord Elian Orvannis, in contrast, was the very image of aristocratic refinent. His midnight-blue tunic bore the silver embroidery of his house, and the sword at his hip looked like it was forged for soone whonhad a lot of moy.
"Orvannis is favored to win," one of the tournant officials murmured nearby. "His family produces warriors who go on do great things."
Grim said nothing, he just watched as he studied both fighters. Orvannis’s confidence was evident in his relaxed stance and easy smile. Aithen’s face remained impassive, revealing nothing of his thoughts as he planted the butt of his spear on the arena floor and waited.
The official raised his hand. "Begin!"
What happened next occurred so quickly that many in the audience missed it entirely. As Orvannis began to draw his sword, Aithen moved. Not the cautious circling that most expected from the opening monts of such a high-level match, but a direct, explosive charge that covered the distance between them in the span of a heartbeat.
Orvaniis barely had ti to register surprise before Aithen’s spear punched through his chest with such force that the noble’s feet lifted from the ground. For a mont, Lord Elian hung there, impaled on the shaft, his eyes wide with shock and pain.
Then, with a casual flick of his massive arms, Aithen sent Orvaniis’s body flying off the end of his spear. The nobleman’s corpse tumbled through the air before crashing into the arena wall with a sickening thud, leaving a sar of crimson blood on the wall.
The arena fell into stunned silence. Even in a tournant where death was an acknowledged possibility, the sheer brutality and speed of the execution was shocking. Aithen calmly wiped his spear blade on his tunic, his expression never changing.
The official, visibly shaken, raised his hand. "V-victory to Aithen the Wanderer!"
The crowd’s reaction was muted, scattered applause mixing with uncomfortable murmurs. Only from one section ca enthusiastic approval. Julius himself wore a satisfied smile as he turned to those seated around him, extending his hand palm-up.
One by one, nobles placed coins or folded notes into Julius’s hand. The betting pool, apparently heavily favoring Orvaniis, had just paid out handsoly to those who had backed the outsider.
Grim’s eyes narrowed as he watched Julius pocket his winnings with obvious satisfaction. The Luminaris patriarch caught Grim’s gaze across the arena and inclined his head slightly, his expression smug. Now the salute from earlier made sense. Julius had known sothing about Aithen that others hadn’t. This hadn’t been a re bet; it had been a certainty.
[He knew,] the voice observed. [Which ans either he has information others don’t...]
"Or he works for Julius," Grim finished under his breath.
------------------------------------------------------------------
In the royal box, Liona gasped. She had witnessed tournant deaths before, but not one so effortless. Beside her, her mother’s expression remained unchanged, though her knuckles had whitened slightly where they gripped the armrest of her chair.
"Barbaric," ca a voice from behind them.
Liona turned to see Lianna taking a seat by her father. It was the first ti the Chancellor’s daughter had attended the tournant, having spent most of the previous rounds at various social engagents.
"I find it educational," the Chancellor replied to his daughter, loud enough for those nearby to hear. "These matches reveal much about a person’s character."
Lianna wrinkled her nose delicately. "Still, father. The ss."
Chancellor Levenhart shifted in his seat. "The arena has seen worse, my dear." His eyes drifted briefly toward Julius Luminaris, who was collecting his winnings with obvious satisfaction.
"Indeed." Lianna’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. "Though I wonder if his thoughts might be divided today. Your... friend... is about to fight, is he not?"
------------------------------------------------------------------
The cleanup crew worked quickly to remove Orvaniis’s body and wash away the blood while the official prepared to announce the final quarterfinal match. Grim rose from his seat, steadying himself for his own upcoming battle.
"The final quarterfinal match: Lord Grim Van Ambrose against Lady Talyra Slyphine!"
A murmur of interest rippled through the crowd. Grim was well-known by now, both for his surprising return from presud death and for his performances in the earlier rounds. His opponent, however, was sothing of a mystery. She had advanced through the tournant with efficient, almost chanical victories, but little was known about her background or fighting style.
As Grim made his way down to the arena floor, he scanned the noble boxes. In the royal section, Liona sat rigid beside her mother. Nearby, Max Luminaris leaned forward eager to see the outco. His shoulder was bandaged from his earlier match. Julius had moved to join his son, whispering sothing in Max’s ear that made the younger Luminaris smile coldly.
Lady Tylara stood motionless on the opposite side, her face concealed within a hooded cloak that revealed nothing. All that could be seen was a slender hand gripping what appeared to be a katana. A curved blade that was typically found in the Demon lands.
[Be cautious,] the voice warned as Grim took his position. [Julius seed too pleased with himself.]
"I noticed," Grim replied quietly, his hand resting on Echo’s hilt.
The official looked between them, perhaps lingering a mont longer than necessary on Tylara’s concealed face before raising his hand.
Echo humd softly beneath his palm, the blade seemingly eager for the coming conflict. Grim loosened his shoulders, settling into the stance that had beco second nature during his years of exile. This was just another match, he told himself. Just another step toward vengeance.
The official looked between them, perhaps lingering a mont longer than necessary on Tylara’s concealed face before raising his hand. The crowd fell silent in anticipation.
"Final quarterfinal match. Begin!"
Reviews
All reviews (0)