The world outside retreated into the background as Evander led Arckit into a grand restaurant, nestled in the heart of the mall. Its façade shimmered with an understated elegance that belied its monumental scale. His heart thudded against his ribs with anticipation. He couldn't help but cast a sideways glance at Arckit, taking in her wide-eyed wonder.

This is why I wanted her to experience this, he mused, a tender smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

As they stepped across the threshold, the restaurant's interior unfurled in a spectacle of fascinating design. The theme was distinctly medieval, with ancient maps and hunting trophies adorning the walls. Giant beasts in various menacing poses, their eyes gleaming under the soft glow of lanterns, filled the room with an air of daring adventure.

He guided Arckit to their table, an intimate spot nestled amidst the wild decorations. He took note of the staff’s barely veiled hostility toward her, a bitter contrast to the courteousness they extended him.

As they settled into the plush seats, Evander turned to Arckit, concern etching lines on his forehead. "How do you handle the rudeness so easily?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Arckit looked at him, her vibrant eyes sparkling with a fiery determination. She reached out and placed her hand on his, a comforting touch that eased the tension from his body. Her lips curled up in a radiant smile, the kind that could light up the gloomiest of days.

"I’m the one with the man," she said, a touch of humor lacing her words. "I won't let their negativity spoil this experience." Her gaze swept across the room, lingering on the unkind faces before returning to Evander. "And frankly, I couldn't care less about their opinions. They're just...idiots."

Her casual dismissal of the hostility around them sparked a new wave of admiration in Evander's heart. He realized, then, that there was a lot more to Arckit than just a pretty face and sharp wit. Underneath her delicate exterior was a spirit as fierce as the mythical creatures that adorned the walls around them.

Their table, bathed in a soft, golden glow, became a bubble, sealing them off from the world. For a while, they existed in a world of their own, a world filled with the warmth of shared laughter, playful banter, and captivating stories. Their conversations flowed freely, bouncing from topic to topic, filling the space between them with a comfortable familiarity.

The servers, their polished smiles never wavering, bustled around Evander. Some tried to intrude into his personal space, leaning in a tad too close for comfort. Each time, Arckit responded with a piercing stare, a silent warning that sent them scurrying away. The sharp contrast between her fierceness towards the servers and the softness she showed him stirred a sense of warmth in his chest.

As their meal progressed, the tension in Arckit's body began to dissipate. She was starting to relax, beginning to embrace the opulent world she found herself in.

The feast that lay before them was nothing short of exquisite. Each dish was a culinary masterpiece, drawing from the thrilling essence of the wilderness. The beastly décor was reflected in their food, in dishes artfully prepared from hunted monsters. Hearty stews, succulent roasts, and a variety of sides — each was a testament to the chef's ingenuity and skill. The servers presented the food with a flourish, adding to the dramatic charm of the setting.

And then there was Arckit. There was a light in her eyes, a playful sparkle that made his heart flutter. As they tasted the various dishes, she flirted with him, her laughter ringing out in the quiet ambiance of the restaurant. Her light-hearted banter, her teasing comments, were interspersed with a glance, a touch, a shared smile that made the world around them blur.

The women nearby couldn't help but cast envious glances their way, their expressions a mix of admiration and jealousy.

The merriment of their intimate meal was abruptly curtailed as Evander and Arckit found their path to the restaurant's exit obstructed. A wall of women, clad in the height of fashion with the price tags to match, stood tall and proud. They formed a daunting blockade, their haughty expressions cast in the radiant glow of the chandeliers overhead.

At the center of the blockade was a particularly beautiful woman. Her long, auburn hair cascaded down to her slender waist, shimmering in the light. She wore a tailored dress, its fabric seemingly woven from threads of liquid gold, which accentuated her slender figure. The group's clear leader, her icy blue eyes held an ominous glint as they met Arckit's.

Ah, trouble, thought Evander, his heart sinking.

The pretty woman stepped forward, her heels clicking ominously on the polished marble floor. She raised a manicured hand, halting Arckit in her tracks with an authority that one wouldn't expect from a civilian.

"Well, look what we have here," she drawled, her voice layered with a haughty superiority. "A piece of trash pretending to be a lady."

The woman's words hung in the air, her condescending tone amplifying the tension gripping the hall. Around them, the chatter of other diners dwindled to an uneasy silence.

A rush of indignation shot through Evander, but before he could respond, the leader continued, her gaze locked onto Arckit.

"I challenge you," she said, her voice resonating with a quiet determination, "to a tournament duel."

The words echoed around the room, the undercurrent of hostility in her tone leaving no room for misinterpretation.

As the leader of the group drew her hand back to slap Arckit, Evander instinctively moved, his every instinct screaming at him to protect her. His body acted before his mind could process the situation, and he found himself stepping forward, raising his hand to intercept the impending strike.

The slap landed on his cheek with a stinging precision that caused a collective gasp to ripple through the onlooking crowd.

"Evander!" Arckit's alarmed voice reached his ears, but his focus was on the woman before him, the slap still echoing in his ears.

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The leader looked equally stunned, her eyes wide in shock as she realized what had just transpired. Her hand froze mid-air, the surprise reflected in her gaze rapidly shifting to horror. "You foolish man," she exclaimed, "why would you intercept a slap meant for her?"

Trying to regain her composure, she attempted to soothe his reddening cheek, but he caught her wrist, his grip firm yet gentle. Her breath hitched, a flicker of surprise—and was that anticipation?—ignited in her eyes.

In the midst of the hushed silence, Evander's voice rang clear and confident, a stark contrast to the situation's inherent tension. "I accept your duel," he declared, his tone unwavering.

The murmurs that broke out amongst the crowd were akin to the humming of a disturbed beehive. The collective shock was palpable, a thick fog of disbelief that filled the hall. Disapproval reared its head, intermingled with whispers of intrigue and drama. Evander could feel Arckit tugging at his sleeve, hear the concern in her voice as she tried to dissuade him. But his decision was made.

The beautiful leader, whose name he would later learn to be Seraphina, seemed to bask in the commotion. A mischievous smile graced her lips, and a spark of admiration lit up her eyes as she looked at Evander. "A man with a spirit," she murmured, seemingly pleased. "Worth stirring some trouble, indeed."

With that, she accepted the challenge, her gaze on Evander filled with a hunger that promised an intense duel.

Under the guidance of Seraphina, they navigated their way through the sprawling mall, now transformed into a throbbing hive of excitement. A crowd of women amassed around them, their curious gazes and hushed whispers amplifying the palpable tension that hung in the air. Amidst this frenzied assembly, Arckit clung to Evander, her fingers interlaced with his in a vice-like grip. Her assertive posture was a stark contrast to the simmering disapproval that radiated from the onlooking women.

"Evander, you don't have to do this," Arckit's voice was a faint whisper against the clamor of the crowd. "These duels, they're just a petty display of their twisted sense of honor. They like to play noble, but they're far from it. You can refuse, you know."

His glance softened, a silent acknowledgment of her concern. A reassuring smile stretched across his face, despite the uncertainty gnawing at him. "I'll be fine, Arckit," he said, the bravado in his voice not entirely reaching his eyes. "And if not, well, it should be entertaining, at least."

Their journey ended as they arrived at a large, well-kept gymnasium, a testament to the opulence of the mall's patrons. Evander's heart pounded in his chest as he took in the sight of the sprawling fighting arena. Dozens of duels were taking place, the competitors' sharp movements kicking up the sandy floor in a fierce dance of combat. The spectating crowd around the periphery of the ring was alive with a contagious fervor that sent a shiver of anticipation down his spine.

He couldn't help but marvel at the dichotomy of the mall's tranquil facade and the medieval-styled duelling that unfolded within its depths.

As they crossed the threshold into the gymnasium, Evander could feel the immediate shift in the room's atmosphere. The din of the crowd swelled into a deafening roar as scores of eyes turned their way. A chorus of whistles and shouts of appreciation rang out around them, a testament to Evander's striking presence amongst this gathering of warriors and spectators. The frenzied energy that pulsed through the spectators felt uncannily similar to a sports event, where the collective anonymity of the crowd allowed them to shed their inhibitions.

Just like a crowd at a sports event, he mused, where the thrill of the spectacle loosens tongues and emboldens actions.

A woman, her stern face etched with the severity of her official role, emerged from the throng and headed their way. The crowd parted respectfully for her, their excited chatter dwindling into murmurs of curiosity and speculation. With a dismissive wave of her hand, she signaled the crowd to silence, her sharp gaze fixed on Seraphina and Evander.

"Look here," she barked, her tone imbued with a palpable authority. "This isn't an appropriate place for a man to be, let alone a lad as pretty as him. His presence will only rile up the crowd and cause unnecessary trouble."

Without missing a beat, Seraphina stepped forward to face the official, her stance bold and unwavering. She launched into a rapid-fire rebuttal, her words slicing through the tense silence that had fallen over the crowd. As Evander watched, he saw Seraphina extend her hand, a small stone nestled within her palm. The official's stern gaze softened marginally as she discreetly accepted the bribe.

Watching the exchange, Evander felt a wry smile tug at the corners of his mouth. Money still makes the world go round, huh? he thought, shaking his head in amusement. No matter where you go, it seems you can always grease the wheels with a little cash.

Under the watchful eyes of the bustling crowd, Evander and Seraphina were ushered to the center of the gymnasium. The sandy floor, freshly trampled by the recently departed combatants, lay strewn around their feet, adding a tangible weight to the upcoming duel.

As the chaos of the gymnasium continued unabated, a brief pause descended upon them. Seraphina was quickly engaged in a heated discussion with the official, who was pointing out various weapons on a wooden rack. A consensus was soon reached, and they settled on knives, their edges and points blunted to prevent fatal injuries.

Evander was promptly fitted with a leather tunic and protective padding around his midsection. His arms and legs were left exposed, the cool air of the gymnasium prickling against his skin. The attire was simple and unrestrictive, designed for swift movement and easy maneuvering.

A sudden hush fell over the crowd as they realized that the pretty man wasn't merely a bystander but a participant. Murmurs turned into shouts of disbelief and concern, the gymnasium echoing with the vehement protests of the spectators.

"No, this isn't right!"

"Someone stop him! He could get hurt!"

"He's too pretty to fight!"

Their words, while well-meaning, were tinged with condescension and ignorance. Evander clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to retort. Instead, he turned to Seraphina, his brows furrowed in concern.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked, his voice barely audible above the cacophony. "It seems... quite unpopular."

Seraphina looked at him, her eyes twinkling with amusement. A teasing smile spread across her lips as she playfully jabbed him in the ribs.

"Oh, man," she chided, her voice laced with mirth. "Don't tell me you're chickening out now?"

A sense of determination took root in Evander's heart, his gaze steady as he looked at Seraphina. His intent was clear; he would not back down, and by the end of this, her smug smirk would be a thing of the past.

Arckit, her face a portrait of concern, could only stand back as the combatants took their respective positions in the ring. The floor beneath their feet was a concoction of sand and sawdust, remnants from countless prior duels. Each grain was a testament to the bravery and resilience of those who had stood here before.

As the silence stretched on, a booming voice cut through the tension. The referee, a towering figure radiating an aura of authority, cleared her throat before announcing, "This duel will be settled by first contact, not first blood."

Evander scanned the crowd, noting the relieved sighs and eager whispers that followed the referee's declaration. Seraphina, too, seemed about to nod in agreement. However, before she could, Evander's firm voice rang out, "No, first blood it is."

His words echoed across the gymnasium, effectively silencing the crowd's previously incessant chatter. The spectators fell into a stunned silence, their collective breath held in anticipation.

A flicker of apprehension crossed Seraphina's face, draining some color from her rosy cheeks. She swallowed, her throat dry as she agreed reluctantly. "Even with my bravado, I don't really want to hurt you, dear. That could get me in a whole heap of trouble."

With a scoff, Evander retorted, "I'm not the one looking for an excuse to back out of the fight."

Her eyes flashed at his jab, the insult hitting its mark. She glared at him, her pride wounded. "Very well," she growled, nodding to the referee. She was in this now, no turning back.