A heavy silence settled over the arena, so thick it seemed as though time itself had stopped. The crowd sat on edge, breaths held, eyes fixed on the two figures in the ring. In the center stood Gray, chest rising and falling quickly as he struggled to steady himself. His hands trembled on the hilt of his sword, eyes locked on his opponent's every movement.
In his mind, the words of Prince Kin echoed like a lifeline:"Plant your feet. Control your breath. Don't let fear rule you."
The herald's booming voice shattered the silence:— "Honored guests! Before you stands Roderick, twenty-five years old, with five years' service in the Royal Guard of Eldra! His challenger, the young warrior Gray—who has already shown rare determination in training!"
Roderick smirked, turning toward the stands as he raised his sword high. His voice carried clear over the noise:— "This isn't a place for children!"
Then he strode forward, armor clinking, sword flashing in the sunlight. His first strike came with startling speed and crushing weight, intent on ending the match before it had even begun.
Gray felt the rush of wind from the blade as it swept past—terrifying in its sheer force. Yet he remembered Kin's drills: move your feet, breathe, evade rather than resist. With one decisive step, Gray slid out of the weapon's path, steadying himself before the crowd's astonished eyes.
The audience erupted—half with laughter and mockery, half with gasps of surprise. To some, he was a fool who had only delayed the inevitable; to others, they glimpsed something more.
Unsatisfied, Roderick pressed harder. His sword whirled with practiced precision, every strike faster and heavier than the last, a relentless rhythm designed to break his opponent's spirit. Gray staggered beneath the pressure, lungs burning, sweat streaming down his brow—but still he did not fall. Each retreating step was a test. Each breath was another battle won against himself.
Then came an opening. For a split second, Roderick overextended, leaving a gap in his stance. Gray seized the chance, his sword flashing upward in a quick riposte. It struck only lightly, a scratch against armor, but it forced Roderick to recoil in irritation. The murmur of the crowd grew louder.
Snarling, Roderick redoubled his assault. His strikes became faster, heavier, filled with anger as if to prove that no boy could stand against him. The arena shook with the rhythm of his blows, and the pressure on Gray grew unbearable.
But Gray stopped running. Not out of fear—out of clarity. For one fleeting instant, all the noise, the pain, the weight of the crowd's stares… it all fell away. He remembered Kin's voice, steady and commanding:"Breathe in… focus on your footing… make your body a single, unbroken weapon."
Gray inhaled deeply through his nose, held it, then let it out slowly through his mouth. The tremor in his hands eased. The chaos within him settled. For the first time in the fight, his body and mind aligned.
Roderick lunged again, blade descending in a powerful arc. But Gray did not flinch, nor did he retreat. He planted his feet firmly and raised his sword with calm precision. The steel rang like thunder as the blades collided, sparks bursting into the air. The crowd fell into stunned silence.
Gray met the next strike head-on, then answered with a measured counter: a slash from the right, a pivot to the left, a twisting cut that forced Roderick to adjust. It wasn't raw power that made the veteran falter—it was control. Technique born from fundamentals drilled into his bones.
The veteran guard, who had entered the ring certain of victory, now found himself taking a cautious step back, eyes narrowing with something dangerously close to respect.
Inside Gray, another battle raged—fear of failure, the weight of expectations, the burning ache of his body. But louder than all of it was the voice that had carried him this far: the vow to Kin, the dream of lifting his family out of hardship, the refusal to bow.
"I will not fall. I will not surrender."
With every breath, his legs felt lighter. With every strike, his movements sharper. His heart beat not with panic, but with resolve. The boy who had entered the ring trembling now fought with the calm of still water—focused, unshaken.
The chapter closed on a moment of steel and fire: Gray and Roderick locked blade to blade, sparks raining around them, the crowd hushed in tense anticipation. Every gaze, even Kin's from the high dais, fixed on the young warrior who, at last, was beginning to show the makings of something greater.
End of Chapter