The next round of the tournament was a team battle—an all-out brawl where strategy and strength would determine the victor. I stood among my comrades, my hand resting on the hilt of my sword, as I surveyed the opposing groups. Each team represented the pinnacle of their region, but three stood out as especially formidable.

On one side was Skolderbroda, a ferocious band of mercenaries from the North. They were clad in heavy furs and mail, their massive axes glinting in the sunlight. To their right stood the Legion of the Betrayed, a grim assembly of exiles and outcasts bound by a shared hatred for the empire that had forsaken them. And then there was Ira and her Imperial Legionaries—resplendent in their polished armour, the embodiment of Imperial discipline and might. Flanking them were the Imperior Elite Menevolean, renowned for their unmatched skill and precision.

The rules were straightforward: the last team standing would be declared the winner. The herald’s voice rang out, signalling the start of the fight, and chaos erupted.

Our group, though smaller in number, moved with practised cohesion. I led the charge while moving through the first line of Skolderbroda fighters with ease. Takish a crossbowman, stationed at the rear, loosed bolt after bolt, those shots finding their mark. The rest of the recruits formed the backbone of our formation, fending off attackers while maintaining our unit’s integrity.

Skolderbroda’s initial onslaught was relentless. Their warriors fought like rabid wolves, their heavy strikes forcing us to give ground. But their aggression was also their weakness. We exploited their overextension, cutting down their vanguard with swift, brutal efficiency. Within minutes, two of their members unable to continue withdrew from the arena, and the remnants of their force retreated toward the arena’s edge.

Just as we began to regroup, the Legion of the Betrayed descended upon us. Their leader, a scarred veteran wielding a shield and a short sword, barked orders that his men followed with unyielding precision. Unlike Skolderbroda, they fought with a cold, calculated ferocity. Their spears and shields formed an impenetrable wall, forcing us into a defensive stance.

“Cover the flanks!” I shouted, deflecting a spear thrust aimed at my chest. Adesh’s bolts peppered the Betrayed’s formation and created small openings for us to exploit.

One of our recruits, Adesh fought like a man possessed, his blade a blur as he danced between opponents. His agility and precision were astounding, and for a moment, I felt a flicker of pride. This was the group I had built—a family forged in fire and blood.

Despite their skill, the Legion of the Betrayed began to falter. Adesh shattered their shield wall with a devastating charge, scattering their ranks. One by one, their fighters fell until their leader stood alone. He fought valiantly, his blades flashing in the sunlight, but even he couldn’t withstand the combined might of our team. Adesh delivered the final blow, his sword cleaving through the man’s defences.

A brief moment of silence followed, broken only by the roar of the crowd. We had done it—we had bested two of the most fearsome groups in the tournament. But our victory was short-lived.

The sound of marching boots echoed across the arena as Ira and her Imperial Legionaries advanced. Their formation was flawless, their shields interlocking to form an impenetrable wall. Behind them, the Imperior Elite Menavliaton moved with the precision of a well-oiled machine, their spears poised to strike.

“Hold the line!” I commanded, but the clash of steel drowned out my voice.

The Legionaries hit us like a tidal wave. Their discipline was unmatched, and each movement was perfectly coordinated. No matter how hard we fought, their formation held firm, their shields absorbing our blows while their spears found their marks. Adesh was forced back, his usual agility rendered useless against their tight formation. Takish’s arrows barely made a dent, bouncing off their shields or being deflected by their armour.

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I roared in defiance, my blade carving through their ranks, but even I couldn’t stem the tide. The Imperial Elite moved to flank us, their spears cutting through our weakened defences. One by one, my comrades fell, forced to yield under the relentless assault.

Ira herself led the final charge, her presence commanding and unyielding. She moved like a force of nature, her blade cutting through the air with deadly precision. I tried to meet her head-on, but her strikes were too swift, too powerful. Within moments, I was disarmed, and forced to kneel in defeat.

The crowd erupted into deafening cheers as Ira and her team stood victorious. The herald’s voice boomed across the arena, declaring her the champion of the tournament. I looked around at my fallen comrades, my chest heavy with disappointment. We had fought valiantly, but it hadn’t been enough.

The last round was a cavalry battle in which our group did not participate and since I was hurt I retired to the healer’s cabin without paying much attention to the round.

After the battle, we were escorted to the castle, our efforts earning us a place of honour among the tournament’s participants. The grand hall was a sight to behold, its vaulted ceilings and gilded chandeliers a testament to the Southern Empire’s wealth and power. Long tables laden with food stretched across the room, the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine filling the air.

Nathanos was seated at the head of one table, his towering presence impossible to miss. He looked uncomfortable in the lavish setting.

I was led to a different table near the Queen and Princess Ira. The table was not in the center but it was close to the Queen and Princess Ira. The Queen, regal and composed, offered a gracious smile as I approached. “Your group fought well, Augustus. Few have pushed my daughter’s Legionaries to such lengths.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” I replied, bowing slightly. “It was an honour to participate.”

Ira, seated beside her mother, regarded me with a measured gaze. “Your tactics were impressive,” she said, her voice cool but respectful. “Perhaps in another setting, we might find ourselves as allies rather than adversaries.”

The Queen rose gracefully from her seat, her regal presence commanding the attention of the entire hall. The room, bustling with conversations and laughter just moments before, fell silent as she began to speak. Her voice carried a warmth that contrasted with her imposing stature, resonating throughout the grand hall.

“Today, we have witnessed the finest warriors, the sharpest minds, and the unyielding spirit of camaraderie,” she began, her gaze sweeping across the room. “This tournament was not merely a display of skill, but a testament to the strength that lies in unity and determination.”

Her words elicited a round of applause, the sound echoing off the ornate stone walls. She extended a hand toward the gathered participants. “To all who competed, you have my respect and gratitude. Each of you has brought honour to this colosseum.”

“Your courage and strength have not gone unnoticed,” the Queen continued. “You fought with valour and upheld your name.

The room erupted in cheers, a wave of enthusiasm rippling through the attendees. Several nobles raised their goblets in a toast, their voices joining in unison as they chanted, “Queen! Rhagaea !”

Nathanos’s face flushed, the usually stoic gladiator momentarily taken aback by the outpouring of support.

After the Queen concluded her speech, she began presenting awards. Each champion was called forward, and their accomplishments were recognized with genuine enthusiasm. When Nathanos stepped up to receive his prize, the applause was thunderous, his presence commanding respect even among the elite of the empire.

As he returned to his seat, people from across the hall approached to offer their congratulations. Nobles, knights, and even rival mercenaries shook his hand or clapped him on the back, their praises heartfelt. It was clear that Nathanos had become the highlight of the evening, his name a topic of admiration.

“Nova has earned its place,” Silvana remarked, raising her goblet once more.

The Queen’s gracious acknowledgement and the overwhelming support from those present left no doubt—Nova had not only participated in the tournament; they had left an indelible mark.