Soren adjusted his grip on his sword slightly, planting his feet firmly in the dirt. Aliana mirrored him, her green eyes sharp as her lips formed a faint, confident smirk.

  Without a word, she launched forward.

  Her first strike came instantly, a diagonal slash from above aimed at his shoulder. Soren lifted his sword and blocked it at the last second, their wooden swords clashing with a sharp clunk sound that echoed through the quiet courtyard.

  She had expected him to falter, to retreat as she advanced, but he didn’t. He had moved with a precise calmness. He used his sword to guide her strike aside before stepping lightly back, his eyes steady and focused.

  Her eyebrows lifted almost imperceptibly. “He parried my strike with minimal effort, and now he’s choosing not to rush me?”

  Aliana twirled her sword for a moment, before advancing once again, propelling herself off her foot and swinging consecutive attacks, spinning and pivoting with immense speed. Soren watched her movements carefully, his eyes darting as he tried to understand her attack pattern.

  She lunged again with a renewed vigor, her movements fast and sharp, but Soren simply met her blade once again, knocking her back and pressing forward lightly, just enough to force her to adjust her footing. She swung from the side, causing him to leap back, then immediately followed up with consecutive slashes.

  He dodged her attacks by mere inches, side stepping and leaning away from her trajectory. His eyes went wide as her sword barely missed the left side of his face, before he kicked into her side, pushing her back and making distance.

  Before he could even catch his breath, she was on him again, her green eyes shining with excitement as she swung.

  “This is risky… I’m barely able to keep up with her! I… just need to hold out… until I can get a good enough read...”

  He prepared to shift his weight slightly in face of another swing, but he had misjudged her timing, causing a hard strike from her sword to land on his right side, pain shooting through his body and spreading across his torso. His eyes widened as the wind was knocked out of him, gritting his teeth from the impact.

  He forced himself to block her next strike, splinters of wood shooting in the air, before she leapt back and withdrew from her assault. Her expression was one of seriousness and curiosity as she studied him.

  His jaw was clenched in pain, while he held his injured side with his free hand. His sword hung loosely from the other as he looked at the ground ahead of him.

  “Why are you allowing me to land hits on you?” She asked finally in a frustrated tone, gripping her sword tighter in annoyance.

  Soren didn’t respond, still holding himself in pain and letting out heavy, laboured breaths every few seconds. This only enraged her more, causing her to let out a grunt of impatience, before shouting at him in anger.

  “Are you going easy on me because I’m a woman? Or is it because I just happen to be born from a noble family? Do you feel the need to restrain yourself, in order to make me feel better?”

  There was a pause that followed, broken only as she let out sharp, exhausted breaths. There seemed to be something more in her tone, something that went beyond just frustration or annoyance. Her green eyes shone in the moonlight, and she looked at him with a sort of desperation, like it took everything from her to not plead for a response. She lowered her head as she fought to hold her tears back.

  “I… I shouldn’t have expected anything more, I suppose.”

  She observed him for a while longer, before letting out a trembling sigh and lowering her sword completely. She turned around and began to make her way slowly to the weapons rack.

  “Lady Aliana.”

  Her eyes widened as she heard the voice from behind her. His tone was soft, and genuine. She clenched her fists and looked at the ground for a moment, before letting out another barely audible sigh.

  Eventually, she stood up straight, and turned around to face him, her eyes holding a mix of anger and disappointment. He stood across from her, his sword now rested on a nearby gate. His face was neutral but his eyes seemed a bit softer as he spoke.

  “I saw the way you move… the way you fight.”

  “...What?” She said softly, her voice slightly strained.

  “You push yourself hard. I could tell, from when I was watching you. You worry about whether or not people will doubt you… that they won’t take you seriously.”

  Her hand tightened around the wooden sword still in her grip, while a faint flush rose in her cheeks as her voice trembled slightly. “I… I’m not… weak.”

  “No,” he said firmly, as he took a careful step forward, “you’re not. And I didn’t hold back because I thought less of you. I was trying to see for myself… just how strong you really were.”

  She let out a small gasp, gripping her sword a bit less tight now as she finally met his gaze. Her entire demeanour was a drastic change to the impression she had first given him.

  “If we’re being honest, my lady… I’m not from Lavon. I’m from Eirland, so I don’t really understand how things work here, or what’s expected of me. Forgive me if this comes across as disrespectful, but I don’t care about your title, or your family, or the fact that you happen to be a woman.”

  She looked at him with a renewed interest, her teary eyes still catching the moon’s light as she saw him smile softly.

  “On the point of you being a woman, it really doesn't matter to me. I happen to believe that my mother could best me in combat, just out of sheer will.”

  Aliana couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at that. Soren gave a weak smile, and glanced at her sword. “All I see when I look at you is a warrior. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  She went silent, her eyes a whirlwind of emotions. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. Soren watched her, understanding in his eyes,

  She met his gaze again for a moment, before lowering her head again slightly, finally speaking.

  “I… misjudged you. I’m truly sorry… for the way I acted, and the things that I said to you.”

  Soren gave her a faint, reassuring smile before nodding. “We can start on a clean slate, if you’d like. And if you’re interested… we can continue that spar.”

  Aliana took a moment to think, wiping the tears from her eyes. She seemed at a crossroads, like she wasn’t sure how to handle a situation like this. She smoothed her clothing, before speaking softly.

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Soren, but I don’t think I’ll be able to continue our spar in my current state. I want to face you as a warrior, and I’m not able to do that right now. Perhaps we will meet each other in battle again when the tournament starts.”

  Soren’s expression betrayed him, a look of disappointment appearing on his face briefly, before he nodded and smirked. “I understand, my lady. I appreciate the time you’ve given me, regardless.”

  Aliana nodded, walking over to the weapon rack and retrieving her longsword before placing the wooden one back. Soren walked over as well, putting his own sword back. She glanced at him for a second, before looking at the path that led out of the court and back into the street.

  “Thank you, Soren,” she said softly, before walking towards the gate.

  He watched her walk away with a slight frown, having expected a bit more to come out of their spar. Then, he heard her shoes rub against the stone. He turned to face her, only to see she had stopped walking, her back still facing him.

  She then turned her head to face him, a small smile now present, while her green eyes shone with warmth instead of tears.

  “You don’t have to call me ‘my lady’ either. When we meet again, I want you to refer to me as Aliana when we’re alone. Formalities are not needed between friends, after all.”

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Soren looked at her for a moment in silence, caught off guard at first, before nodding slowly. “I’ll make sure of it.”

  She nodded once again, before leaving the courtyard entirely. Soren let out a sigh of relief as he walked over to a nearby bench, sitting down for a breather after the intense encounter.

  “Talk about a change in plans…” He thought, wondering just how his night had gone from a simple spar to almost making an enemy of the heir to one of Lavon's powerful noble houses.

  “It did work out in the end, though.”

  It was his first night in Celta, and he had already become an acquaintance to a noble lady of House Thornhall. “She could help me later on, with getting back to Eirland.”

  A while later, he decided to make his way back home, and catch up with the rest of the group. He took a quieter path, walking slowly until he reached a plaza with a tall, moonlit fountain. The falling water shimmered an ethereal blue colour in the light, the sound soft and calming.

  Sitting on the edge of the fountain was Lady Serana Valenne. Her hair was undone, and her usual rigid posture Soren had seen before was now relaxed.

  Standing nearby, arms crossed and watching the surroundings, was Sir Cael Dravik. He wore silver armour now instead of white, and a crimson-coloured cape hung from his shoulders.

  Soren hesitated once he realized who they were, and he stood frozen for a moment, unsure of whether or not to take a different path.

  Then Serana looked up, noticing him and giving him a look of genuine curiosity. He met her gaze, not challenging but rather an acknowledgement.

  “Hollow Stag,” she said softly. “Wandering late?”

  “I’m just going for a walk, my lady,” Soren answered carefully, sitting down as well but keeping a generous distance between them.

  She studied him for a moment after he sat, something flickering in her eyes briefly, like amusement.

  “You’re different from the others I’ve spoken to.”

  “How so?”

  “You don’t pretend to be smaller than you are. Nor do you flaunt what you have not earned yet.”

  Sir Cael narrowed his eyes slightly, but didn’t speak.

  Soren looked at her directly. “I don’t know if that’s a compliment or a warning.”

  “Maybe both.”

  A brief silence settled after her words. The fountain murmured quietly in the background, though it seemed quieter than it should have been.

  “You’ll see,” Serana said. “This festival is much more than entertainment, or ambition. It’s a stage.”

  She turned to look at Soren as she spoke, softer this time.

  “And the world is always watching.”

  Soren felt a chill run down his spine when her words landed. Sir Cael stepped forward not long after.

  “My lady, it’s late.”

  Serana nodded and rose slowly, smoothing her robe. As she turned to leave, she gave Soren one last glance.

  “Rest well.”

  Soren gave her a nod, their eyes meeting once again for a moment, before she walked off, Sir Cael following close behind.

  He didn't stay long once they had left, and continued his path back to the company’s quarters. He still heard the echo of their steps fading into the night as they made their way towards the Valenne Estate.

  He eventually reached the group’s home. The lanterns were still burning, and he entered quietly, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He took a glance into Elise’s room, and there she was, sleeping soundly.

  It seems they must have made it back home quite some time before he had.

  He made his way up the stairs softly, and entered his room. He took his shoes off, and decided to lie down, staring out the window at the city. From what he could see, the streets were still alive with music and excitement, and didn’t show any signs that it would end some time soon.

  —

  The sun was shining brightly behind Celta’s white-spired skyline when the Opening Ceremony of the Blade Festival ignited the skies.

  From the towering walls of The Argent Ring, beams of coloured light shot into the air, exploding into intricate runes and magical sigils that shimmered and danced through the sky like celestial spirits.

  Enchantments laced the very sky above the coliseum, causing it to ripple in waves of red, green, yellow, violet, and sapphire. The roar of the crowd was thunderous, like an unstoppable wave of anticipation and excitement.

  Inside the arena, thousands filled the coliseum’s seats, cloaked in noble silks or traveler’s leathers, common folk and aristocrats alike gathered together in a rare unity. High above them, in elegant viewing booths carved from marble and gold, sat the most influential and powerful figures.

  Lords and Ladies from noble houses, ambassadors of distant lands, guild leaders cloaked in prestige outfits, and mages dressed in robes that seemed to move with a life of their own.

  Down below, on the sandy battleground that formed the heart of the Argent, the competitors stood in formation. There were rows of individuals from every corner of the continent. Warriors, mages, duelists, beast masters, and everything between.

  Asta, who was seated near the Hollow Stag Company, leaned over to Jorge with a wide smile.

  “It’s begun. There’s no turning back now, you know.”

  Jorge, arms crossed, nodded with a grin. “We stand tall, like always.”

  The announcer’s voice boomed across the stadium, magically enhanced and echoing like a voice that came straight from the heavens.

  “Let the Blades Festival... BEGIN!”

  —

  The initial fights flashed by in a fast paced and glorious chaos.

  One-on-one duels took place first. A swordsman from an adventurer’s group went up against an elf using twin-daggers with fluid precision, eventually claiming victory.

  A few team matches happened next. Three dwarves who were proficient in earth and fire magic worked in coordination against a duo of agile elven mages.

  The free-for-alls were perhaps the most entertaining. The coliseum became a whirlwind of clashing blades, arrows, shields, spells, and bursts of mana.

  There were no deaths, but the injuries that did happen were brutal, and the healing mages nearby were in constant motion. Their chants never stopped echoing in the corners of the arena.

  Disqualifications were stated to be harsh and swift, with no room for negotiation. Any who attempted to kill were instantly removed by arcane barriers and black-cloaked enforcers who appeared from seemingly nowhere.

  Then came the call that quieted the entire crowd.

  “Remi Hale of the Hollow Stag Company... versus Rydan Fendor of the Ivory Flame.”

  A stir swept through the audience. Remi was already catching attention as the group descended down the stairs from the crowd seating into the chambers under them that led to the gate challengers entered from.

  Rydan was a well-known Veteran-Rank mage from a notoriously aggressive private guild.

  Soren looked at Remi with slight concern in his eyes. “Hey, are you ready for this? Are you gonna be okay going out there?”

  She gave him a wink, and smiled as she ruffled his hair softly. “Always.”

  The gates opened, and she stepped onto the battlefield, her staff glowing softly in her grip. Her opponent, a tall and shrouded man in grey and white, raised a jagged staff made out of what looked like pure crystal. The signal flared in the sky above.

  The battle began.

  Flashes of orange flew across the air as Rydan began his assault using flame spells, while Remi countered with a powerful gust of wind she sent from a flick of her hand. Spells collided with each other midair, exploding in bursts of color that caused the crowd to scream in awe and excitement.

  Remi moved across the arena floor, her feet leaving trails of blue light as she used ice magic under her heels to allow herself to skate across the coliseum with immense speed, while Rydan hurled spears of searing flames with wild force, exploding on impact while dust rose into the air.

  Walls of frost met waves of heat. A cyclone of ice and flame magic spiraled between them, the very ground shaking as steam rose into air.

  A blast of fire struck the edge of Remi’s staff, sending her sliding back across the sand, her pink hair tossed messily across her face. She spun her staff once she had steadied herself, took a deep breath, and then concentrated her mana while faintly whispering an incantation.

  A wall of blue flame swept forward from her feet and grew in size, encasing Rydan’s fire in a surge of condensed magic, overpowering his flames with her own. She then used wind magic to act fast, speeding across the coliseum and slamming the edge of her staff against the side of his head the second she passed him.

  He held his head in fury, preparing to unleash a massive flame spell, but before he could even prepare it, in a final flash of blinding blue light, she sent a barrage of arcane flame missiles that burst around him, exploding the area and knocking him to the ground, unconscious.

  Remi came to a stop as the dust finally cleared up, making sure that Rydan was really incapacitated. Then she looked at the crowd for a moment as she examined them, before holding her staff high into air.

  The crowd exploded into cheers.

  “Victory: Remi Hale of the Hollow Stag!”

  She exhaled heavily from relief and exhaustion, lowering her staff, and walking off the battlefield to the sound of deafening applause.

  Soren had watched the fight, and waited near the arena entrance.

  She reached him, her cheeks flushed with heat and pride, and before she could speak-

  He pulled her into a tight hug.

  “You were incredible,” Soren said, his voice sincere, relieved that she was okay.

  “Thanks,” she whispered, her smile radiant while her hair caught the sunset’s rays.

  —

  Several matches had passed, and yet the battles kept coming. Fighters fell, rose, earned cheers and suffered losses. The Argent’s inhabitants cheered in accordance with the highs and lows of every battle.

  And then, a name rang out that made the group freeze in place.

  “Soren Taylor of the Hollow Stag Company... versus Brek Volgar of the Scarred Brand.”

  Soren’s breath caught in his chest. He turned to the group, where his gaze landed on Jorge, Elise, Faris, and then Remi, who still had dust and sweat on her face.

  “You’ve got this, don’t overthink it,” she said softly, resting a hand on his shoulder.

  He swallowed before nodding once, and gripping his sword tightly.

  A few of the crowd also advised him as he descended towards the gate, while others mocked him.

  Once he had entered the arena, he looked toward the massive gates across from him. They slowly rose, and his opponent came into view as he stepped into the arena.

  A brute of a man, covered in battle scars while his muscles looked like coiled rope waiting to be unleashed. His great sword dragged against the dirt, while the sound of the metal hitting the occasional rock or stone got closer and closer.

  The crowd roared again.