The staging area hummed with low tension as Cain let his gaze drift over the assembled fighters. Boys barely old enough to shave stood beside men with scarred knuckles and hardened eyes. Farmhands with broad shoulders and nervous grips on borrowed swords shifted beside veterans who leaned comfortably against the walls, stretching like predators before a hunt. A few graybeards sat quietly, conserving their strength, eyes half-lidded but sharp.
Cain's Witcher senses picked up everything: fear-sweat, old iron, cheap ale, and blood that had soaked into leather long ago.
A sneering voice cut through the murmurs. "So we've got mutants in the tournament now. One's a half-breed too. Never seen brown skin like that. What are you, Zerrikanian?"
Cain's jaw tightened, but before he could respond, Callum's hand settled firmly on his shoulder.
"Save it for the arena," Callum said quietly. "Let our steel do the talking."
Cain nodded. He wasn't interested in trading words anyway. His eyes had already drifted elsewhere, to the group of farm boys huddled near the edge of the holding area. They looked hungry, nervous, and desperate in the way only people with families waiting back home could look.
Cain stepped toward them. "You lads ever held a sword before?" he asked calmly.
One of them bristled. "What's it to you, mutant?" Cain shook his head. "I can see strong arms, good backs. But no real experience. Wolves, maybe. Bandits if you're unlucky."
He gestured toward their weapons. "Let me see your swords." Reluctantly, three of them handed their blades over. Cain didn't need long. The edges were dull, nicked, rust creeping along the fuller. Callum took another and frowned.
"This hasn't been used properly in decades," Callum said. "At least fifty years."
The boy swallowed. "It was my grandfather's. He was a soldier… a mercenary."
Cain looked back at them. "Same village?"
They nodded.
"Why?" asked one boy with sun-kissed skin and wary eyes. Cain glanced toward the veterans and graybeards. Some of them were already sizing the younger fighters up, smiles sharp and humorless.
"You here to win," Cain asked, "or just make it far enough to be noticed?" The sun-kissed boy hesitated, then spoke. "Cintra's looking for recruits. Squires get paid."
Callum nodded. "A crown a month, sometimes more. Depends on the knight. I do hear Nobility pays better, if their nicer."
Cain exhaled slowly. He could see it clearly now. These boys wouldn't make it past the second or third round. If they were lucky, they'd walk away bruised. If not...
He turned back to them. "I'll make you a deal."
Suspicion flickered across their faces. "What kind of deal?" one asked.
"Look at the men you'll be fighting," Cain said evenly gesturing to the other men. "Some of them don't care about winning or being a knight. They care about coin, and blowing off some steam, maybe even breaking someone. You step into the ring against them, you might not walk out the same if at all."
Fear rippled through the group. One boy stood up sharply. Lean with a little muscle, raven-haired, sun-kissed skin and defiance burning in his eyes. "Don't listen to him guys. He's just trying to scare us. Remember our families need that coin."
Cain met his gaze without flinching. "There's what 5 of you? How about I give you each 10 crowns for each of you. That's 50 crowns altogether." The boy scoffed. "Yeah? Proof this isn't some Witcher trick?"
Cain stared at the boy, he like the fire in his eyes. He might actually have the potential to be someone someday or a real pain. "You got a name?" Cain asked.
"It's Arthur."
Cain nodded once. He reached into his tunic, and pulled out a heavy pouch. The sound of coins clinking cut through the holding area. Many of the veterans and gray beards looked directly at Cain.
He opened it and poured the contents into his palm. Gold coins glinted under torchlight.
" I will make it one hundred and fifty crowns, if your drop out of the tournament" Cain said. " It's for all of you, and your families. Go straight home. Don't show it off. Take care of your families. And if you still want this life later, train properly."
Arthur stared. "…That's way more than fifty."
Cain closed Arthur's fingers around the coin bag. "Consider it interest."
The boys stood frozen for a heartbeat, then all of them bowed awkwardly. "Thank you, Witcher," Arthur said hoarsely.
"My name's Cain."
"Thank you, Cain," they echoed.
The boys left quickly, heads down, clutching the pouch like it might vanish.
A graybeard chuckled from nearby. "Either chivalrous or stupid," he said. Then he nodded once. "But I respect it Witcher, I just hope others do as well."
Callum leaned closer. "That was the right choice." Cain watched the boys disappear. "I just hope they make it home with it."
Off to the side, two hooded figures, one a man, and a woman, exchanged quiet smiles but said nothing. Moments later, a knight entered and raised his voice. "Pairings are posted. Steel weapons will be provided for those without approved weapons."
Cain and Callum both relinquished their personal blades, and picked up the steel swords presented. Then they made their way to look at the tournament board. They noticed they were in different brackets.
" Looks like we will divide and conquer. I'll see you in the finals," Cain said. Callum's expression didn't change. "Don't lose before then."
Cain smiled faintly. The gates ahead began to open and Callum walked out to begin his match.
Cheers rang in the distance. As the tournament was about to begin.