With the rising of that long-awaited sun, the capital burst into a celebration unlike any seen for months. Flags fluttered from rooftops and palace towers, their bright colors dancing with the morning breeze. Drums beat in steady rhythm, and folk tunes carried through crowded streets filled with people—merchants from distant towns eager to display their wares, families gathered to witness the tournament, and knights marching with gleaming armor that caught the sunlight.
The festival was more than a simple holiday. It was the moment everyone awaited: to see which knight would carve his name into the kingdom's annals.
At the royal square, where high stands had been erected and draped with the banners of the ruling family, guards organized the swelling crowd. Dozens of competing knights lined the vast arena. Some stood tall with the poise of seasoned warriors, while others clenched trembling hands tight around their sword hilts, trying to mask their unease.
Among them stood Gray, gazing across the wide field. He bore no polished armor, nor did he carry a name known in taverns or courts. Yet in his eyes burned a light fiercer than steel. The bandages were gone, the marks of his wounds still visible, but he held himself steady—back straight, head high.
Whispers rippled from the crowd:
— "Who is that boy?"
— "He doesn't look like a knight… how did he dare enter?"
— "A mere amateur. The first clash will finish him."
Gray's lips curved into the faintest smile, concealing the hammering of his heart behind an outward calm.
From the elevated dais, the princes and high lords of the realm watched. Among them sat Prince Ken, dressed far more plainly than the others, without ornament or finery—yet his presence outweighed them all. His eyes lingered on Gray with a cool, unreadable gaze. For Gray, that single look was enough to double the weight on his shoulders, as though it whispered: "The time has come. There is no turning back."
The herald's booming voice rang out across the arena, echoing against stone and banners alike:
— "In the name of the king, we open today the Annual Knights' Tournament! Each competitor will stand against another to prove his strength, skill, and resolve. Let it be known—glory is not granted. It is seized by the sword!"
The square erupted with cheers and thunderous cries. Drums pounded again as the first round was declared open. One by one, the contestants stepped forward, announcing their names for all to hear.
When Gray's turn arrived, he walked forward with steady steps into the arena's center. For a fleeting moment, silence fell. Then he raised his voice, strong and clear:— "My name is Gray. I did not come to please
mockery, nor to surrender to defeat. I will prove that those who stand firm cannot be broken—no matter how many times they fall."
The applause was not as loud as for the other knights. Murmurs and chuckles drifted from the crowd. Yet on the high dais, Ken tilted his head ever so slightly, and a fleeting curve touched his lips—too brief for anyone else to notice.
Gray returned to his place among the competitors, his hand settling on the hilt of his sword. His breath was steady, just as he had trained, his stance anchored to the earth as Ken had taught him. At that moment, he no longer heard the jeers nor the cheers. He heard only the echo of his own inner voice:
"This is my moment. I will never go back to who I was."
And as the herald called out the names for the opening duels, Gray prepared himself for the very first step toward a new destiny, his sword waiting by his side—ready to be drawn, ready to begin the first chapter of his battle.
End of Chapter