"Ladies and gentlemen! Honoured guests! Fighters of Richt!"
The roar was deafening.
"Today marks a turning point in this year's tournament. Never before have we seen such fierce competition, such overwhelming talent, such…"
Roy tuned it out. His attention locked onto the officials gathering near the central platform below the arena floor. High-ranking ones. Elders. Sponsors. People who only showed themselves when something valuable was about to happen. Blah. Blah. Blah.
"...and so," the announcer continued, "in honour of this unprecedented display, the Council has approved a special announcement!"
The crowd erupted.
Kieran tilted his head. "That doesn't sound ominous at all."
A pause. Perfectly timed.
"For today only, the Council has authorised a special exhibition match, one not bound by the standard tournament brackets but designed purely for the audience!"
The noise doubled.
Roy's stomach tightened. Not fear. He may have eaten something bad on the way.
"As you all know," the announcer went on, "one fighter has risen above the rest as the crowd's overwhelming favourite to win the Tournament of Richt!"
Kieran groaned. "Oh no."
"Kieran Nazaroff!"
The arena shook with applause.
Kieran lifted a hand reflexively, half-smiling, half-wincing. "I should start charging for this."
"And so," the announcer continued, voice sharp with excitement, "it is only fitting that he be tested!"
The crowd leaned in.
"Kieran Nazaroff will face a special contestant, one barred from participating in the tournament proper due to… concerns of fairness."
Confusion rippled outward.
"Banned?"
"Too strong?"
"That's a thing?"
Kieran's smile thinned. "That's new."
"This opponent." The announcer said, "has been deemed too dangerous, too unbalanced, too overwhelming to allow a fair run through the brackets."
Roy's eyes narrowed.
"But today," the announcer finished, "for the sake of spectacle… he will fight."
The opposite gates began to open.
Slowly. Deliberately.
"And should Kieran Nazaroff win by forfeit," the announcer added, "he will be granted automatic advancement to the finals. His scheduled semi-final opponent will be removed from the tournament."
Silence.
Then chaos.
Shouts. Booing. Cheers colliding all at once.
Kieran stared down at the arena floor. "That's… not right."
Roy glanced at him. "You don't have to accept."
Kieran shook his head slowly. "If I don't, they'll say I dodged." His jaw set. "I'm not giving them that."
Roy didn't argue.
The gates fully opened on the projector.
A figure stepped out.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Masked.
The mask was smooth and pale, etched with faint, unfamiliar lines that caught the light at strange angles. No crest. No house colours. No insignia of any kind. Just black—functional, unadorned.
The air shifted.
Roy felt it immediately. Not crushing. Not hostile.
There.
Kieran exhaled slowly. "Right. So that's what 'fairness concern' looks like."
Kieran said bye to his friends and got ready. He then went to the centre of the colosseum and stood in front of the masked man.
The bell rang.
The fight began.
The masked man moved first.
No charge. No flourish.
Just one step.
And suddenly he was there.
Kieran barely reacted in time, the blade snapping up as the strike glanced off the flat with a sound like ringing glass. The impact sent him skidding backward, boots carving deep scars into the arena floor.
The crowd screamed. Fast. Very fast.
Kieran laughed, adrenaline flashing in his eyes. "Okay. Okay. I see how it is."
He was thinking this was a joke. If he could go back in time and take this whole thing seriously from the beginning. He would.
He lunged.
Steel met something harder.
The masked man blocked with his forearm.
No prana flare. No visible reinforcement.
Just raw force.
They clashed; Kieran was fluid and adaptive, the masked fighter brutally efficient. Every exchange cracked stone and sent tremors rippling through the arena. No wasted movement. No hesitation.
Then Kieran shifted.
Roy felt it before he saw it.
The air around Kieran changed, but not violently, not explosively, but precisely. His stance lowered. His breathing steadied.
His soul art.
The blade blurred, its edge no longer fully anchored to one place. Space around it warped, reality hesitating over where the cut truly existed.
The masked man reacted instantly.
Still not fast enough.
Kieran slipped inside his guard and slashed upward.
The mask split cleanly down the centre.
It fell.
The arena froze.
Roy's breath caught.
The man beneath the mask was a man I had seen before; it was Liam Price. The man he accidentally walked into.
The fighter blinked, momentarily disoriented, then straightened, eyes narrowing as he took in the roaring arena, the blade at his throat, and the thousands watching.
He met Kieran's gaze.
"So", the man said calmly, voice steady despite the situation, "you're the favourite."
Kieran frowned. "Do I know you?"
The man shook his head once. "No."