The roar of the crowd swelled with excitement as the official herald's booming voice shook the very walls of the arena:
— "Ladies and gentlemen! It is time for the very first duel of the day! Entering the ring… Sir Arlan Veron!"
All eyes turned toward the side gate of the arena. From its shadow strode a broad-shouldered man clad in gleaming steel armor, a massive sword slung across his back. His rough features and the scars etched across his arm spoke of a long history carved into the fields of battle.
The announcer's voice rose with fervor:
— "Arlan, twenty-eight years old, knight of the northern border! He has fought in ten battles and has not lost a single public duel in five years!"
The stands erupted, the crowd chanting his name, cheers echoing like thunder.
Then, the herald's voice rang out again:
— "And his opponent… no less a warrior! Sir Lian Harold!"
From the opposite gate emerged a tall, lean young man. His armor was lighter, yet adorned with the sigils of his noble house. He gripped a slender blade as if it were an extension of his arm, and flashed a calm, confident smile at the crowd.
— "Lian, twenty-five years old, graduate of the Royal Knights' Academy, famed for his quick wit and cunning in duels! He has lost only two matches in his entire career!"
Once again the crowd erupted, half chanting "Arlan!" and the other half shouting "Lian!" The arena split in two, passion clashing before a single sword was drawn.
The referee raised his hand and called out:
— "Begin!"
Arlan charged first, his steps as heavy as thunder, his colossal blade swinging in a brutal arc meant to cleave his opponent in two. Lian bent low with agility, sliding backward before countering with a swift strike aimed at Arlan's shoulder. Steel shrieked as their swords collided, sparks bursting with every clash.
The crowd leapt to its feet as the commentator shouted above the chaos:
— *"Look at Arlan, a force of nature, a volcano in armor! And Lian—grace itself, dancing like a feather caught in the wind!"*
Arlan pressed forward with a storm of strikes, each heavier than the last. The ground trembled under his advance, dust rising with every thunderous step. Yet Lian did not falter—slipping aside, darting in, his blade tapping against Arlan's armor in quick strikes that could not pierce, but infuriated the giant.
— "Lian's speed is unmatched… but will it be enough against such raw power?" cried the announcer.
The crowd roared as Arlan surged again, releasing a guttural roar. Raising his massive sword with both hands, he brought it down in a crushing blow. Lian met it with all his strength, sparks scattering as the clash drove him back two full paces, his knees trembling under the force.
Still, the noble youth refused to yield. He spun in a full circle, blade flashing like silver lightning, striking low at Arlan's leg. The steel rang out sharply, and the giant staggered to one knee.
The stands went wild:
— "What a duel! Strength against speed!"
Arlan grimaced, a bitter smile crossing his scarred face. Then he bellowed and surged forward once more. His next strike crashed against Lian's sword with overwhelming might, and this time the younger knight stumbled, balance lost. He hit the ground hard, his weapon skittering across the dirt.
The referee thrust his hand high:
— "The victor… Arlan Veron!"
Half the arena thundered with applause and cheers, while the other half groaned in disappointment. Arlan lifted his great sword high, sweat pouring down his brow, but his grin was triumphant as the referee guided him from the ring.
Gradually, the roar faded into a hushed anticipation. Then, the announcer's voice rang out once more:
— "And now… for the next round! In this corner… the young knight, Gray!"
Every eye turned to the gate. Gray stepped forward with steady strides, sword in hand, his gaze fixed firmly on the ground of the ring. A few mocking laughs rose from the stands, whispers slipping between the crowd:
— "So here's the unknown boy…"
The herald's voice rang again:
— "And in the opposite corner… a seasoned warrior not to be underestimated! Sir Roderick Kyle, thirty years old, one of the capital's finest guards, with ten years of service protecting the royal court!"
From the opposite gate came a broad, imposing figure, eyes sharp as a hawk's, armor reinforced and gleaming. His reputation marched ahead of him: strength, discipline, and years of experience.
The air itself seemed to tighten. Gray now stood facing a wall of a man, a veteran who looked every inch the immovable foe. Murmurs rippled through the crowd:
— "This isn't a fair match… the boy won't last long."
Gray took his place in the center of the ring. Across from him, Roderick planted his stance, sword glinting in the sun. The crowd leaned forward, hearts pounding, breaths held in anticipation.
The referee raised his hand… yet before the word could fall to begin the fight, the curtain of the chapter fell upon this tense moment.
End of Chapter