"Wooo!!!"
The following year, at Wayfort, a huge crowd gathered around the arena hastily built beside the military camp, cheering wildly at the figures dueling atop it.
At the highest vantage point, Garrett sat in the best seat, watching the fierce clash on stage.
The first Wayfort Legion Individual Tournament had begun.
"Come on! Come on!"
The audience shouted excitedly.
Clang!
On stage, two swords clashed. Comrades who would normally throw themselves in front of a blade for one another now only wanted to knock the other down to claim victory.
"Go down, Yavin! The champion's title is mine!"
"You're the one who should fall, Arje. Last year I single-handedly took down a barrow-wight!"
"Like you're the only one who's done that!"
The two seasoned rangers gritted their teeth as they fought.
"They've really grown."
Beside Garrett, Halbarad let out a sigh.
"Ten-some years ago, these two nearly got killed by a single barrow-wight. If it hadn't been for that signal flare going up in time, and me just happening to be nearby..."
Halbarad shook his head, no longer dwelling on it.
If not for that, they never would have survived that fight.
But now, in the blink of an eye, both could take down a barrow-wight on their own. What's more, they were each captains of ranger companies.
Since the tournament began, they had fought their way through, defeating over a dozen elite rangers apiece, not to mention countless ordinary assault troopers and soldiers.
All for the title of "Legion Champion."
Swordlight tore the air, their strikes louder than rain on anvils, yet still neither could gain the upper hand.
"Normally these two are so close it's like they're one person. Today... well, today they're like two."
It was almost as if they'd become enemies.
They had already fought for a long time, but neither would fall.
After all, they were the best among the elite rangers. Every other ranger they defeated wasn't weak either. Their bodies bore wounds all over, if not for the healing potions they carried, they would've long been unable to stand.
That was exactly why, until they squeezed out the very last ounce of strength, neither would go down.
The sun shifted slowly.
The battle's intensity gradually dwindled.
They had nearly exhausted every technique they knew, as the scars carved into the ground testified.
"Hhh, haaah..."
Arje, eyes bloodshot, drew a deep breath. "One last strike to decide it, how about it?"
"Haha, fine by me," Yavin rasped back.
"Alright then, get ready. Three..."
But before the count could finish, both launched sudden strikes at once.
"I knew you'd try to ambush me!"
"That's my line!"
After all, ambushing was also a tactic.
"Ha, you seem pretty good at it."
"So are you..."
"Fall for me!"
Thud!
The two collapsed to the ground, grappling. One moment Yavin had Arje in a chokehold, the next Arje smashed an elbow into Yavin. The scuffle was a chaotic spectacle.
From the day they became rangers to now, over a decade had passed. Their growth was staggering, even veteran Rangers had to be cautious sparring against them, for one slip could mean defeat.
Either of them winning the first Legion Championship would have been well deserved.
Grrkk...
Under Arje's counterattack, Yavin soon foamed at the mouth, his body going limp.
"Haha! I win..."
Thump!
But just as Arje released him to declare victory, Yavin drove an elbow into him, knocking him speechless.
Arje collapsed, unable to rise again.
"That's what you get for not finishing me off."
Yavin staggered to his feet, sneering down at his fallen friend.
The cheers of the crowd shook the heavens.
"Looks like the victor is decided."
Garrett stood, walked to Yavin's side, and placed a crown woven from laurel leaves on his head.
"Congratulations, young man. You and your companion both did splendidly. It was worth the points I gave you back then."
"You remember us?"
"Of course I do, it wasn't that long ago."
After saying that, Garrett paused for a moment.
Not long ago? In truth, more than a decade had passed.
The young man before him... no, he was no longer a young man. His jaw bristled with rough black stubble, his skin had grown weathered, his hair was longer, and his frame was broad and powerful.
Only his eyes remained clear and bright, the same as back then. That was what gave Garrett the illusion he was still just a fledgling youth.
He was quietly sentimental.
Yavin, hearing those words, sensed nothing amiss. He only thought it was the lord's modesty.
To remember events from over ten years ago so clearly, truly worthy of being their lord.
"Rest well. I'll wait for you."
"What?"
Yavin, still grinning crookedly, didn't quite understand.
"I'll wait for you to challenge me."
Thump!
Those words struck like a tidal wave. Yavin suddenly felt a surge of strength rise within him, urging him to fight.
But his body's very real exhaustion, mixed with a reverence for the legend before him, left him weak again.
"Go, recover yourself. I'll be here waiting."
Yavin didn't even know how he left.
He only knew that when he returned, the sun had shifted a few marks across the sky. The crowd hadn't thinned at all. And the lord, he had casually drawn a standard steel sword from the weapon rack and was now waiting on the stage.
Like a towering statue.
Battle lust surged in Yavin's chest.
"Fight!"
Shhhk.
He drew his longsword and charged forward, cleaving down with all his strength.
Clang!
Sword met sword, sparks nearly flying. Garrett instinctively countered, but his strike was instantly neutralized, leaving an opening, he was nearly caught off guard.
No, he couldn't take them lightly. Every one of these young men was no longer the boy he remembered. He quickly adjusted his stance, trading several blows with Yavin. Shockingly, they were evenly matched.
This was a warrior against warrior, the most gifted facing the most seasoned.
When Yavin cleaved down again, Garrett had to block, then casually executed a disarm. In a moment of carelessness, Yavin's sword was torn from his hand, drawing gasps from the crowd.
But Yavin didn't panic. Almost instantly, he drew a dagger and parried skillfully, deflecting Garrett's strike.
"Careful."
Garrett's warning came just before he launched an upward slash, impossibly lifting Yavin clean off his feet.
Then, slowly, he drew his bow, aiming at Yavin, holding him in his sights the entire way down.
"You've lost."
"No."
Yavin stood up and boldly retorted.
"I haven't lost, my lord. Try again."
With a confident smile, he met Garrett's gaze.
"Oh?"
So Garrett knocked him flying once more, nocked an arrow and this time, trusting Yavin, actually loosed it.
At worst, he thought, I'll just feed him a healing potion...
Clang!
A crisp sound rang out midair, Yavin had hurled his dagger, striking the arrow dead on and deflecting it.
That genuinely startled Garrett. Even he might not have been able to pull that off.
Thud!
Yavin hit the ground. Garrett immediately fired a second arrow.
Yavin was now unarmed. It would be nearly impossible to...
Snap!
The arrow was blocked again.
The very instant he landed, Yavin had drawn a bow of his own and fired.
That arrow struck Garrett's in mid-flight, knocking it aside.
"Wooo!!!"
"Yavin! Yavin!"
"Interesting."
Garrett couldn't help but laugh. That level of precision, almost comparable to Bard. And it seemed that quite a few veteran rangers had mastered such skills... This fellow, fighting him by conventional means was actually troublesome.
Yes, troublesome.
He tossed him back the sword he had disarmed. Yavin caught it firmly.
"Come, let's continue."
Yavin grinned.
They clashed again. This time Garrett's offense was far more ferocious. He abandoned the disarms, upward slashes, and other tricky sword techniques ordinary men couldn't imitate, and instead fought in his raw, wild style.
Thud!
Yavin felt the pressure, because every one of Garrett's blows was his full strength. He knew nothing of holding back.
In battle, conserving strength to maneuver was a way to maximize stamina, striking only when it mattered most, finishing with a decisive blow.
But Garrett didn't need that.
Every swing of his could be full power.
Zrrrk.
His sword scraped sparks across the floor as he pressed forward, shrinking Yavin's space again and again. Yavin could only dart about, fending him off, often glimpsing chances to strike, but something always felt wrong, forcing him to pull back instead.
It was as if no matter what he did, he would inevitably end up at a disadvantage.
Crack!
Garrett stepped in and struck again, but this time he cut into nothing. He raised his head and saw Yavin, panting, retreating in terror.
That last slash had split into the floor.
And after it, his sword snapped.
The blade, worn down under Garrett's relentless power, had finally given out.
Seeing Yavin's frightened face, he gave a sheepish smile.
Weapon durability... in other people's hands it was vague, but in his, it was brutally clear. When it was time to break, it broke, never a moment later.
Only a First Age relic like his sword, a blade of immense durability that could even repair itself, could endure his abuse. Any other weapon, unless constantly maintained, wouldn't survive half a campaign.
Empty-handed, he smiled again, but to Yavin, that smile looked terrifying.
The lord had broken his sword. Was he actually out to kill him?!
"I won't..."
"Catch!"
Halbarad, quick on the uptake, tossed over a fresh sword for Garrett to continue with.
Yavin's words stuck in his throat.
My instructor! he screamed inwardly.
The battle dragged on for a long time.
In the end, Yavin collapsed, not from being struck down, but from exhaustion.
Yes, exhaustion was the better word than defeat. He had given it everything. Truly everything.
After Garrett left, a hand reached out to him.
"Well done, champion."
"Arje..."
Yavin grasped his hand and struggled to his feet.
"The lord's strength is unfathomable."
"Isn't that only natural? Don't forget, the lord once slew a dragon, over a hundred meters long, not some little wyrmling like Wormi. Without bottomless strength, how could anyone face a dragon?"
"Alright, you're right."
Yavin exhaled in relief.
"Other than in the very beginning, when I could barely hold even with him, I was basically just being chased and beaten the rest of the time."
"You saw the rest yourself."
He shared his experience openly.
"If it had been you, how do you think you'd fare?"
"Me? Same as you, of course."
"I couldn't do any better."
In that moment, Arje too was relieved.
So he hadn't won, so what? At least he had avoided a thrashing.
"Regardless, congratulations, our Legion Champion."
He looked at the laurel crown on Yavin's head.
Under the setting sun, the crown glowed golden, its evergreen leaves shining as though turned to real gold.
A champion deserved the treatment of a champion.
The next day, Yavin donned a cloak embroidered with green-leaf patterns. That design was unique, representing the highest honor.
It was a lively year.
And it scattered a little of the loneliness.