The atmosphere at the tournament grounds was electric. Onira’s coliseum was packed with spectators, nobles and commoners alike, all eager to witness the grand displays of skill and strength. The Southern Empire had spared no expense; colourful banners adorned the stands, and the air was thick with the scent of roasted meats and fresh bread from nearby vendors.
I stood at the edge of the archery range, my bow in hand, trying to steady my breathing. My fingers brushed over the smooth wood of the bowstring, a familiar touch that usually brought comfort. Today, it did little to ease the tension coiling in my chest. This wasn’t just a competition—it was a stage. This is a chance to elevate Nova’s name and secure a brighter future for all of us.
The rules were simple: five arrows, five targets, and the highest total score determined the winner. Targets were set at varying distances, their painted rings gleaming in the sunlight. It seemed straightforward enough, but the stakes made it anything but. I could feel the eyes of my comrades—Augustus, Nathanos, and the rest—watching from the stands. Their faith in me was both a source of strength and a weight I couldn’t ignore.
“Next up, Silvana of Nova!”
The herald’s voice cut through my thoughts, and I stepped forward to the firing line. My boots crunched on the gravel as I took my place. A hush fell over the crowd, save for the occasional murmurs of spectators placing last-minute bets. I set my feet firmly, nocked my first arrow, and drew the string back, the familiar tension grounding me.
The first target was the closest—an easy shot to start the round. I released the arrow, and it flew true, sinking into the centre ring with a satisfying thud. A wave of relief washed over me as the crowd erupted into polite applause. One down, four to go.
The second target was farther, and the wind picked up slightly as I aimed. I adjusted, compensating for the breeze, and let the arrow fly. It landed just outside the bullseye, earning me a respectable score but not the perfection I’d hoped for. My jaw tightened as I nocked my third arrow.
The third and fourth targets were trickier, both at long distances. I took my time, breathing deeply to steady my hand. The third arrow struck solidly within the inner ring, though not dead centre. The fourth, however, wavered in its path, the gust of wind pulling it slightly off course. It struck the outer ring, and a murmur ran through the crowd.
“Focus, Silvana,” I muttered under my breath. This wasn’t the time to falter.
The final target was the farthest and smallest—a true test of skill. I could feel the pressure mounting as I nocked my last arrow. Sweat beaded on my brow as I drew the string back, my arms trembling slightly from exertion. I took a deep breath, blocking out the noise of the crowd and the ache in my muscles. All that mattered was the target.
I released the arrow, and it soared through the air, arcing gracefully toward the target. It struck just shy of the bullseye—a solid hit, but not enough to secure the top spot. The crowd erupted into cheers and applause as I stepped back from the line, and my score was tallied and announced.
“With 42 points currently Silvana of Nova! is at the third place now". the herald declared, his voice booming across the arena.
I forced a smile as I waved to the crowd, though my chest ached with disappointment. Third place wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t the victory I’d hoped for. The event ended without anyone crossing my scores. A mercenary from Battania claimed the top spot, his arrows nearly flawless in their precision. The second-place archer was a local noble; her technique was polished, and her equipment was undoubtedly the finest money could buy.
As I made my way back to the stands, my comrades greeted me with smiles and words of encouragement. Augustus clapped me on the shoulder, his expression warm. “You did well, Silvana. Third place in a tournament of this calibre is nothing to scoff at.”
“Perhaps,” I replied, my voice tinged with frustration. “But it’s not first.”
Nathanos chuckled, his tone light. “If it makes you feel any better, I’d have missed the target entirely.”
“You’ve set a high bar, Silvana. Nova’s name is on the board, and that’s what matters,” said Augustus.
Their words were kind, but they didn’t erase the sting of falling short. As the next round of competitors took the field, I watched in silence, replaying each shot in my mind. Could I have adjusted my aim differently? Taken more time? The questions swirled, each one gnawing at me.
But then my gaze shifted to the stands their excitement was contagious, and I felt a small smile tug at my lips. Maybe third place wasn’t the victory I’d dreamed of, but it was enough to inspire them.
For now, I would take solace in the knowledge that I had given my all. Nova’s name was spoken with respect in the arena, and that was a victory in its own right.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
The heat of the Colosseum's sands pressed against my boots as I led the three recruits into the heart of the arena. Above us, the crowd's roar cascaded like a relentless wave, their cheers and jeers blending into an overwhelming symphony. My fingers tightened around the hilt of my sword.
I glanced toward the royal stands, hoping for a glimpse of Princess Ira. Her absence struck me more than I cared to admit. Instead, Queen Rhagaea sat resplendent, her demeanour regal and composed as she observed the proceedings. There was no sign of the princess, and I couldn’t help but wonder why. I wanted to have a spar with the so-called princess after hearing a lot about her. Shaking off the thought, I focused on the task ahead.
The herald’s voice boomed across the arena, calling for the first round to commence—a battle royale. Fifty fighters, each representing different factions or mercenary groups, were scattered across the arena. The objective was simple: survive and advance.
The recruits flanking me shifted nervously, their eyes darting around as they gripped their weapons. "Stick close," I commanded, my voice steady despite the adrenaline surging through me. "Watch each other’s backs, and don’t take unnecessary risks."
The signal to begin came swiftly—a deafening horn blast that silenced the crowd for a heartbeat before chaos erupted. Fighters surged forward, weapons clashing as dust and sand flew into the air. I moved instinctively, parrying a wild strike from a burly fighter wielding an axe. The clang of metal reverberated through my arm as I sidestepped, countering with a quick slash that sent him sprawling.
To my left, one of the recruits—a wiry lad named Torran—faced off against a dual-wielding opponent. His movements were frantic but effective, his spear darting in and out like a viper. I intervened just in time to deflect a blade aimed at his side, my sword biting into the shoulder of his assailant.
"Focus, Torran! Keep your guard up," I barked before spinning to block another attack. A Sturgian mercenary loomed before me, his greatsword cleaving the air in powerful arcs. The force of his blows pushed me back, but I used his momentum against him, sidestepping and delivering a decisive thrust to his midsection.
The recruits were holding their own, but the chaos of the battle royale demanded constant vigilance. I caught sight of another recruit, a stocky lad named Caldrin, grappling with a swordsman twice his size. Caldrin’s shield absorbed a heavy blow, and he retaliated with a swift bash that left his opponent dazed. I nodded in approval, proud of his resilience.
The tide of battle shifted, and soon there were only a handful of combatants left. The recruits and I had formed a loose circle, fending off attacks from all sides. I could feel the crowd's energy pulsing through me, their cheers a distant hum as my focus narrowed on survival.
A flash of movement drew my attention—a dagger hurled through the air aimed at one of the recruits. I lunged, intercepting it with my shield, the force jarring my arm but sparing the recruit from harm. "Stay sharp! They’ll target the weakest links," I warned, my voice cutting through the din.
The final moments of the battle royale were a blur of sweat, steel, and grit. One by one, our opponents fell, until only one of the recruits named Torran and I remained standing. The horn sounded again, signalling the end of the round. The crowd erupted in applause, their cheers washing over us as we stood amidst the carnage.
The herald’s voice rang out, declaring the survivors who would advance. My name was among them, and I felt a surge of pride—not just for myself, but for the recruits who had proven their mettle in the heat of battle.
As the arena was cleared for the next round, I took a moment to catch my breath. The recruits were grinning despite their exhaustion, their confidence bolstered by the victory. "Good work," I said, clapping Torran on the shoulder. "But don’t let it go to your heads. The next round will be tougher."
My words proved prophetic as the second round began. This time, the format was different—a series of one-on-one duels.
In the next round, Torran was not even a challenge for a Battle-hardened Sturgian warrior. He was defeated in less than 5 minutes. But I broke this record by defeating an imperial soldier who was very predictive with his stance in a mere 4 minutes. The next round was also not a challenge for me I easily defeated my opponent.
In the semi-final, My opponent was a Sturgian warrior, his armour battered but his eyes fierce. He carried a long axe, its blade nicked and worn from countless battles.
We circled each other, the crowd’s anticipation palpable. He struck first, his axe carving through the air with lethal precision. I dodged, my boots skidding on the sand as I countered with a quick thrust. He blocked with the haft of his weapon, our blades locking briefly before we broke apart.
The duel was gruelling, each of us testing the other’s limits. He was strong, and his strikes were powerful but predictable. I used my agility to my advantage, weaving around his attacks and striking where his defences faltered. A well-placed slash to his leg brought him to one knee, and I seized the opening to disarm him. The crowd roared as he yielded, and I was declared the winner.
The next duel was against an Imperial mercenary, his polished armour gleaming under the midday sun. He fought with a sword and shield, and his technique was disciplined and precise. Our clash was a dance of strategy and skill, each of us probing for weaknesses.
He pressed me hard, his shield bashing against mine as he attempted to drive me back. But I held my ground, using my experience as a gladiator to anticipate his moves. A feint drew his guard high, and I struck low, my blade slicing across his thigh. He staggered, and I pressed the advantage, delivering a final blow that sent his sword clattering to the ground.
As the herald announced my victory, I raised my sword to the crowd, their cheers swelling to a deafening crescendo. My chest heaved with exertion, but a smile tugged at my lips. I had proven myself in the Colosseum, and Nova’s name would echo in the halls of Onira.
Returning to the staging area, I was met with nods of approval from my comrades. The recruits looked at me with a newfound respect, their eyes alight with admiration. "Well done, Nathanos," Augustus said, his voice steady but warm. "You’ve earned yourself and this group fame at this tournament. Now you should rest and enjoy the show that I am about to put on."