Farrow was almost a Silver.

After his sister, and that bastard Inaki had run away from the festival, the Silver duels began. Farrow just needed to win this one duel—he didn’t even need to win the finals—he would be one step closer to matching Hassai.

One step closer to achieving his revenge.

“Farrow-son-Yan Gael, Irod-son-Ronn Gael, step forth,” The announcer yelled out. Irod was as Gael as one could be, tall, muscular and with short blonde hair with a blonde goatee and mustache.

Farrow jumped down from the seats, and sauntered onto the raised platform. Irod, his opponent, followed. Both of them looked confident that they were going to win the fight, but only one of them would be right.

“Begin,” The announcer—whose name that Yan still hadn’t bothered to learn—yelled out.

Farrow decided that trying the Rain of Spears here once again would be foolish. So, he ran and began stabbing the man with his spear.

Irod dodged. The difference between the ranks in spearman was all about speed, and Farrow was faster. Irod didn’t have the opportunity to attack, he was locked into defense, and Farrow had enough endurance to stab at him for days. Irod rammed his spear into the ground and jumped into the air, trying to land a kick on Farrow’s face.

After all, Farrow’s grandfather was the Gael sage, people other than him would definitely also copy his grandfather’s moves. But still worse than him. Farrow stepped to the right and as he landed slammed his spear into the man’s chest. The spear hit hard, and it wasn’t Farrow’s fault. He began coughing when he hit the ground, and Farrow unleashed a barrage, alternating between swings to break his defense and thrusts to hit him.

After half a minute, the man hit the ground. He dropped his spear, cradling his ribs—which were probably broken or bruised. Farrow stepped forward and stabbed him in the hands, legs and stomach a few times, just to make sure that he had enough points. After all they were wooden spears, an experienced spearman wouldn’t mind a few extra taps.

“Winner, Farrow-son-Yan Gael,” The announcer yelled out.

And just like that, Farrow had become a Silver. It was an easy victory. Farrow wondered if he could even win the final, the Silver who would fight him in the finals would certainly be closer to being a Gold than to an Iron. Defeating a man like that would mean that Farrow was even closer to Hassai than he thought.

“That was a good fight,” Nayan said.

And for the first time in his life, Farrow agreed.

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Just like that, the three days between the second round of fights and the semi-finals passed. The days didn’t go any differently than they typically did for Farrow, train with Nayan in the mornings, spar with Silvers in the evening. Unfortunately, Farrow would have to wait to get his Silver band. The Coalition of Sages bureaucracy was something that Farrow would never understand, but Yan needed to get approval every time a person’s rank increased due to the festival. The Coalition would probably send a representative to give him a sort of mini-exam, and Farrow knew he would pass with flying colors. He couldn’t wait.

Farrow sat down in the participant's seating area, and saw Inaki walk over. Just behind him, Yaz walked in too. Inaki sat down, and so did Yaz, and the two of them were holding hands.

I thought I spoke some sense into her but it doesn’t seem like it.

Farrow would have a talk with both Yaz and Yan once he was officially a Silver. For now, he would let them do as they want to.

It wasn’t a surprise that Inaki won his fight against the youngest Wooden—whose name Farrow forgot the minute the announcer uttered it—leaving a final match between Inaki and the guy whose uncle got the Mark of the Clanless.

Farrow’s Iron fight wasn’t even worth mentioning. He basically just walked onto the platform, and his opponent did everything but piss himself and grovel in defeat, almost walking out voluntarily. Irod had broken his ribs, and maybe this Iron didn’t want to take a chance anymore. Farrow advanced to the finals against a woman—the woman that Yan put in charge of delivering food to Inaki as a punishment for swearing at a master—Farrow would win that much as easily as he did this one.

Farrow couldn’t wait for his duel with Inaki. Why isn’t Hassai in Gael yet? Does he not care about his son, or is he sure that he will win?

He would definitely show up if Farrow killed Inaki. Even if he was a changed man, he would definitely lose his temper. Like that embarrassment Taral had, and he will make the same foolish mistake. If he didn’t make the foolish decision, he would definitely come here to challenge someone, when Farrow would stand up and challenge him instead of waiting for his father.

Farrow could taste his revenge. He had been working towards this for his entire life. He didn’t remember people’s names. He didn’t go out, he spent most of his time in the training hall. And his efforts mixed with his superior talent, meant that he would definitely become the youngest Sage ever.

Now it was just time to wait. Farrow trained the next few days harder than he had ever trained in his life. His opponent in the Silver finals wouldn’t be an easy target. He didn’t need to win this fight, but if he couldn’t win a fake duel like this against a Silver who was nearing the level of a Gold, how would he defeat a Sage.

Soon, it was time for the finals. Inaki of course won the Wooden’s tournament, but that was useless to him. After his victory, Inaki had stepped forward and helped his opponent up, and then had a laugh with him. There was certainly something wrong with him. Who helped someone up after hitting them with a sword enough times to get thirty points?

The Iron finals went just as Farrow had expected. Farrow stepped up, and the woman—Trish—barely even stood on the stage, as if she was ready to jump out the minute the announcer yelled to begin. But to her credit, she didn’t. She fought as well as she could’ve. As well as a toddler could fight against the sun.

But was it her nose or her ribs that he broke? Farrow couldn’t remember. The fight lasted barely a few seconds, the woman was out of commission, and carried away on a stretcher. Inaki looked concerned, and began running with the stretcher.

“Hey,” Farrow yelled at him as he ran with the monks, “Don’t you want to watch my final duel.”

The bastard didn’t even look back at him. The woman’s brother, Yaz, and a few of the woodens—who she was in charge of training as a part of her punishment for swearing at a master—chased after her stretcher. In the end there was only Yan sitting there to watch his duel.

He looked up at his father and smiled. His father looked down at him in a mixture of concern and disgust. It was time for the finals of the Silver tournament.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Farrow walked onto the stage, and stood ready. His opponent was about twice his age, and in this year's exams, he had lost Gold by only two points. Two points more and he wouldn’t be fighting Farrow today. He would be too busy, being one of the greatest spearmen in the world.

“Farrow-son-Yan Gael, Yaron-son-Ishik Gael,” The announcer yelled out. “Begin.”

Farrow rushed at the man, but he turned into a blur. Farrow turned at the last second and drove his spear up to block a thrust.

Even though Farrow blocked, his own spear hit him in the nose, and Farrow fell back. The man jumped and stabbed Farrow in the chest. He didn’t know how many points he had lost in just that instant.

But he hadn’t lost yet. Farrow rolled under another spear thrust. He jumped up to his feet and swung at the man’s feet with the back of his spear. The man jumped and thrust his spear down at Farrow. Farrow stepped to the side just barely dodging the strike. He rammed his spear forward, but somehow the man twisted in the air, Farrow’s spear going under his arms. The man caught Farrow’s spear under his arms and thrust his spear into his chest a few times more.

Farrow pulled his spear back and stabbed, getting a measly one point.

I can still win this.

Farrow was being pushed back. He had no hopes of winning this on points anymore. If he allowed the match to be dragged out to the full two minutes then he would definitely lose. He needed to either get oldie out of commission or throw him out of the ring.

Farrow side-stepped a thrust and with one hand thrust his spear at the man’s knees, but he made it look like it was for the stomach. The man dodged a spear-strike that wasn’t even coming, and got hit in the knee. He fell to the ground, and Farrow whacked him across the face with the back of his spear.

He hit the ground. Farrow was ready to step out of the ring, knowing he had won. Just barely he heard the air swish behind his head. He turned back and slammed his spear forward. Normally, Yaron was leagues beyond Farrow when it came to speed and strength, but Farrow had tricks. The man now had a limp. With his knee injured he couldn’t put his lower body into his strikes as well, which meant that Farrow was now winning on the strength part. Farrow just needed to get rid of the man’s speed. Farrow feinted a thrust at the man’s neck. He raised his spear to block, but Farrow twisted his spear, a slight nudge from the back becoming a big move up ahead, and his spear hit the man’s shoulder with full force.

He fell back. Farrow didn’t have much time left; he needed to end this fight quickly. He rammed his spear into the man’s other shoulder. Yaron’s swings and thrusts were now lethargic.

Farrow landed a strike to the oldie’s face, blood leaked from his nose. Farrow then jumped twisted in the air, and with the force of his entire body slammed his spear into the man’s cheek. He fell to the ground and skid, nearly going out of bounds.

Farrow stood there, not turning this time. Yaron tried to stand up, but he failed several times. Farrow had really hit him hard. He didn’t get up. He was carried away to the monks on a stretcher too.

Farrow looked his father in the eye and smiled. Yan’s expression was now more disgust than it was concern, but Farrow couldn’t care less. If he was sure about a victory against Inaki before, now he felt his victory against Inaki was as assured as a lion defeating a toddler.

Farrow nearly danced out of the arena, listening to Nayan’s praise.

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“There’s no time for you to rest,” Yan said. “I know what I said about recovery. I had to fight with my entire kingdom, but I got this,” Yan said. It was a smaller vial of Urima herb solution. Inaki checked the vial that Yan had given him a month ago, and saw that it was about half empty.

Yan drained it into the vial that Inaki had now, and it about filled it back to the brim. The vial that Inaki had was about the size of his thumb, and in a month of training every alternate day he had gone through it half way, and now he would train everyday.

“We’re going to have to be economical about this boy,” Yan said.

There was true fear in his eyes, as if he was also losing faith that Inaki could defeat Farrow. Inaki couldn’t believe it. Yan was the one person who had been reminding him that he could win.

“Come on, we’re sparring today,” Yan said. Yan made Inaki spar him at a Silver level today. Inaki wasn’t winning against Yan at the Iron level, winning against him at the Silver level seemed impossible.

“The Coalition of Sages is sending a representative to confirm that Farrow is a Silver, at the same time, I will write for them to give you a mini-exam to become Iron. I will state the exceptional conditions of your loss against Yaz as the reason.”

“Thank you,” Inaki said. He was huffing and puffing on the ground. He didn’t know how he could win, Farrow was already a Silver, and becoming a Silver was definitely out of his reach.

“Come on,” Yan said. “We need to go on a run now.”

If Inaki thought that Yan had been pushing him to run before. Now he had practically held his spear in Inaki’s back. If he stopped drawing blood. Inaki didn’t know the limits of the healing of the Urima herb, and he definitely didn’t want to test it. And Yan didn’t seem averse to actually stabbing Inaki.

Inaki felt like his legs were going to fall off. He felt the tendons of knees and hips ripping apart, the muscles in his calves and thighs spasming as they tried to create enough energy to keep him running.

Inaki gasped for air but it wasn’t enough. He felt like if he breathed in all of the world’s air it wouldn’t be enough, but Yan’s spear kept him running. When the option was run or die, Inaki picked to run.

Once the run was over and Inaki couldn’t feel his legs anymore, cametime for the push ups. Till now he had been doing a hundred a day.

“Give me a thousand pushups, I don’t care how long it takes, take as many breaks as you want, but give me a thousand pushups.”

A thousand coins, a thousand arrows, a thousand meters. In Inaki’s head thousand had only been a number, and not a very big one. But having to do a thousand push ups quantified the number in his head as a very large one. When he did ten push ups—an easy task by now—having to do this a hundred times over didn’t feel like much of a commitment. When he finished fifty push ups—once again, an easy task after doing a hundred push ups—he thought that having to do this task twenty times over would be easy.

But by the time he reached the two hundredth push up, having to do that just five times over made Inaki want to fall. The muscles in all of his body seemed to be burning up. He felt as if his muscles were going to melt into a puddle of dew on the grass. His muscles ached as if he had lost a fight to a beehive, but he kept going. Each push up after the two hundredth one took all of Inaki’s focus, all of his energy. It was a true test of his will. He felt like he was going to fall over, but he held on just barely. By the time he reached two hundred and fifty push ups, the thought of having to do those four times over made Inaki want to vomit. It had been an hour, and a lot of breaks. Inaki chugged down some water. The muscles of his core felt like he had been punched by a titan. The muscles in his arms made him feel like he was carrying the weight of the earth on his back. The muscles of his back made it feel like the weight of the world was resting on it.

Inaki soldiered on. The vision in his mind of losing to Farrow in a few seconds gave him the motivation he needed to keep going. Each push up had him shaking. It was like his first day of training all over again. By the time he reached nine hundred, the thought of doing one more seemed as gargantuan as doing a hundred more. He took a break nearly every three push ups. Falling into the grass, trying to suck in the entire atmosphere into his lungs. By the time he reached the thousandth push up his entire body was numb.

“What now,” Inaki said, even though he wasn’t able to move.

“Duck walks,” Yan said.

Inaki’s training went on. In his mind all he could think of was losing to Farrow. Once Inaki was done with his training Yan helped him rub the Urima herb solution into his back.

Farrow had beat a Silver who was almost Gold. Inaki didn’t know how he would be able to go that high in less than a month. In one month of training he was barely at an Iron level.

Everytime he wavered doing the duck-walks the image of Inaki stepping into the ring, and immediately getting skewered by Farrow entered his mind. Inaki needed to push himself harder now than he had ever pushed himself in his life.

His leg muscles felt like they were going to combust. He felt like his muscles were rocks, and he was forcing them to move. He couldn’t finish all the rounds. He crashed, and hit the ground. He simply couldn’t move his legs. Yan put a drop of the Urima herb solution on his legs, and forced him to continue training.

“You don’t have time to waste,” Yan said.

Inaki finished the duckwalks. He sparred Yan at a Silver level, and lost once again. He kept sparring until he couldn’t stand anymore, and they couldn’t afford to use any of the Urima herb solution.

Inaki fainted from the exhaustion.