The day of the Sharil Tournament had finally arrived. The town square was bustling with excitement as people from all over the surrounding area gathered to watch the fighters compete for a chance to join the ranks of the town guard. The square was transformed into a sprawling arena, with a makeshift stage set up at one end and rows of wooden benches for spectators on all sides.
Remoran stood nervously in the square, his sword at his side. He watched as other fighters warmed up, practicing their moves and exchanging trash talk with their opponents. The air was thick with tension and excitement.
The commissioner and judge of the tournament, Malic Havenstone, slowly climbed the makeshift stage, the boards creaking as they supported his girth, to be able to look over the arena and also to project his deep, melodious voice to the crowd.
“Morning people of Sharil”, he began as his mustache puffed out from his speaking.
“Today is a special day where we will add another capable man to the ranks of the Town Guard.” Malic took a breath and began coughing, his face turning red with effort. A steward quickly ran up with a mug and offered it to him, Malic quickly grabbed the mug and took quick swigs in between coughs. Some of the liquid dribbled down his beard and onto his expensive looking shirt.
The crowd quieted down as Malic Havenstone cleared his throat, his hand gripping the railing of the makeshift stage. "I know you all were expecting the usual rules, but we've hit a small snag," he announced. "Our town mage, Norlan Swith, is under the weather and can't be here with us today. As you know, he's the one who normally makes sure all the weapons used in the tournament are safe for use. Unfortunately, that means we have to take some precautions."
There was a murmur of concern and curiosity from the crowd, and Malic paused to let it die down before continuing. "We're going to have to issue blunt weapons to all the contestants for these first rounds. We've done everything we can to ensure the weapons are safe and effective, but they won't be the same as your usual equipment. I know it's not ideal, but it's the best we can do given the circumstances."
There was a general groan of disappointment from the contestants as the news sank in. Remoran frowned, feeling uneasy about the change. He had trained extensively with his sword, and it was his most prized possession. He didn't relish the idea of having to fight with a blunt weapon that he wasn't familiar with.
Malic held up his hand to silence the protests. "I know this isn't what you were hoping for, but I assure you that the weapons are perfectly safe and will allow you to show off your skills. Just remember, the rules are the same for everyone. You'll all be fighting with the same type of weapon, so it's up to you to make the most of it."
Remoran exchanged a worried glance with a few of his fellow contestants. He couldn't help but wonder if this change in the rules would give some fighters an advantage over others. But there was nothing he could do about it now. He would just have to make the best of the situation and hope for the best.
Remoran's thoughts drifted to the elusive Norlan Swith, the town mage. He had lived in Sharil for years and had only seen the man a handful of times, which only added to the mystery and intrigue surrounding the mage. Remoran couldn't help but wonder why they even bothered having a mage in town when magic wasn't commonly used in everyday life. As far as Remoran knew, magic was reserved for special occasions, like battles and royalty, where it was necessary. And even then, it seemed like a luxury that only the elite could afford. Now, with Norlan Swith under the weather, Remoran couldn't help but feel frustrated that magic was causing a disruption to his life. The tournament was supposed to be a chance for Remoran to prove himself and join the ranks of the town guard, but now he would have to use a weapon he wasn't accustomed to, all because of the town's reliance on magic.
Remoran made his way to the table where the blunt weapons were being distributed. A young squire was busy handing out swords, clubs, and axes to the contestants. Remoran took a deep breath and tried to steady his nerves as he reached for a blunted sword. He ran his fingers over the dull edge, feeling a sense of disappointment. This was not the weapon he had trained with, and he wasn't sure he would be able to use it effectively. But he had no choice. He had to make do with what he had been given, even if it meant sacrificing his chances in the tournament. With a heavy heart, he strapped the blunted sword to his side and made his way to the ring, ready to fight.
Remoran stepped into the ring with a sense of apprehension. The blunted sword he had been issued felt awkward and unbalanced in his grip, throwing off his sense of timing and accuracy. He tried to adjust to its unfamiliar weight as the referee signaled for the start of the match. His opponent was tall, towering over Remoran with lengthy arms and a wicked grin on his face. Remoran tried to keep his cool, but his nerves were getting the best of him.
The match began, and Remoran circled his opponent, trying to keep a safe distance. But the man was fast for his size, and before Remoran knew it, he was on the defensive. The man swung his sword with brutal force, and Remoran struggled to block the blows.
Remoran tried to take a step back, but his foot caught on a loose stone, and he stumbled. The man seized the opportunity and swung his sword, catching Remoran off guard. The blunted sword struck Remoran's shoulder, sending a jolt of pain through his body.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Remoran gritted his teeth, refusing to give up. He swung his own sword, trying to strike his opponent, but the man was too quick. He dodged the blow and countered with a swift strike to Remoran's chest.
Remoran stumbled back, gasping for air. He could feel the eyes of the crowd upon him, watching him as he struggled to get back on his feet. His opponent loomed over him, grinning with satisfaction.
"You're not much of a swordsman, are you?" the man taunted. "Maybe you should stick to something safer, like knitting."
Remoran felt his blood boil with anger. He was not about to let this brute bully him. He pushed himself up, his sword held tightly in his hand.
The man charged, swinging his sword with all his might. Remoran dodged the blow and swung his own sword, but the man blocked it. The two fighters clashed, their swords ringing in the air.
Remoran fought with all his might, his muscles straining with the effort. He tried to compensate for the sword's awkwardness, but it seemed to be working against him rather than for him. Despite his best efforts, Remoran was soon disarmed and defeated. As he left the ring, he couldn't help but feel frustrated with the faulty sword that had been his downfall, rather than his own lack of skill or strength.
After his loss, Remoran made his way over to the bracket board to see where he would be placed. He scanned the list of names, his heart sinking as he saw his own marked in the losers bracket. It was a devastating blow to his confidence, but he refused to give up. He knew he still had a chance to redeem himself, to fight his way back up and show everyone what he was truly capable of. With a determined look in his eye, he clenched his fists and headed back to the sidelines.
As he watched the rest of the fights from the sidelines, he saw Keth step into the ring. He was facing a young boy, no older than 16, who looked scared and out of his depth. Keth showed no mercy, pummeling the boy with brutal blows until he was lying unconscious on the ground.
Remoran felt his blood boil with rage. He couldn't stand to watch someone like Keth, who had no respect for the art of sword fighting, succeed in this tournament. He knew that he had to face Keth in the final round, no matter what it took.
The next few rounds went by quickly, and soon it was time for the semifinals. Remoran stepped into the ring to face a fierce-looking woman with long, dark hair and piercing blue eyes. She wielded a longsword with skill and precision, and Remoran knew that he would have to be at his best to beat her.
The fight was intense, and Remoran struggled to keep up with the woman's speed and agility. She landed blow after blow, but Remoran refused to give up. He kept pushing, using his own strength and quick reflexes to dodge her attacks and counter with his own.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Remoran saw an opening. The woman overextended herself, and Remoran was able to land a clean blow to her chest. She stumbled back, gasping for air, and Remoran moved in for the finishing blow.
But at the last moment, he hesitated. He couldn't bring himself to strike down an opponent who was already defeated. He lowered his sword and stepped back, letting the woman regain her footing.
The crowd cheered, impressed by Remoran's show of mercy. He had won the match not just with his sword, but with his heart.
As he walked back to the sidelines, Remoran felt a sense of pride and satisfaction. He had proven himself, not just as a skilled swordsman, but as a person of honor and integrity.
In his next two fights, Remoran found himself facing opponents who were even tougher than the woman. The blunted sword felt awkward in his hand, but he was slowly getting used to the unbalanced weight. With each fight, he grew more confident in his ability to wield the unfamiliar weapon. He adjusted his stance and technique, focusing on speed and agility rather than brute strength. And despite the odds against him, Remoran refused to give up. He fought with every ounce of strength and determination he had, knowing that this tournament was his chance to prove himself and earn a place in the town guard with his adopted father.
Remoran's heart was pounding with excitement and anticipation as he made his way to the bracket board. As he scanned the names and saw that he had made it to the semifinals, he felt a surge of pride and accomplishment. He was only two matches away from winning the tournament and achieving his goal of becoming a member of the town guard.
But as he made his way back to his prep area to retrieve his sword, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. When he picked up the tournament sword, he felt a strange familiarity, as if he had held it before. He examined the blade, and to his surprise, it felt and moved exactly like his own personal sword that he had found in the forest all those years ago.
Remoran couldn't believe this. How was it possible that the tournament sword was a perfect match for his own sword? Had he really developed and grown accustomed that quickly to this tournament sword? Or was it just a coincidence?
He couldn't dwell on it for long, as he knew he had to focus on the task at hand. He was tired and worn out, but he couldn't let that stop him. He had come too far and he needed to win this.
With a deep breath, Remoran stepped back into the arena for the semifinals. He knew that his opponent would be tough, but he was ready for anything. As he gripped the sword in his hand, he felt a surge of confidence. This sword was meant for him, and he was meant for it, no more doubts. Together, they would win this tournament.
Remoran made his way to the arena to watch and wait for his next match. He decided to take a moment to rest and collect himself. As he looked around, he caught sight of his father, Demoris, standing in the crowd with a sly smile on his face. Remoran walked over to him, feeling a mix of pride and pleasure at the chance to speak to his father before the semi-final. "Father, what brings you here? I thought you would be standing guard over the judge as is customary?" he asked.
Demoris chuckled. "Just wanted to come and see my son before this big fight, of course. And I must say, I'm impressed with what I've seen so far." He gave Remoran a knowing wink.
Remoran couldn't help but feel curious about his father's cryptic words. "What do you mean, Father? Is there something I should know?"
Demoris put a hand on Remoran's shoulder. "Just trust in yourself and in the tools you've been given, my boy. You have everything you need to win this tournament." With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Remoran with more questions than answers.