Len shrugged out of his armor, undoing his bracers. "Feels just so wrong being out of armor."

"Freeing, though, ain't it?" Rick said.

"I guess in a way, but it also makes me feel vulnerable. Only idiots walk around without armor and at least a blade on them," Len said. He took off his scabbard from his belt, tapping his thumb against the blade.

He set it down and looked around his room. Lydia had headed off in the morning for the arena.

Len held out his arms, normal clothes, reinforced boots and his working blade on his belt.

“Passable,” Rick said and turned, his clothes worn and patched from their travels.

“You think Lydia is going to win?”

“She’s my sister after all,” Rick said.

Len chuckled as they headed out.

***

Len and Rick found their seats around the midway point of the arena, facing the spectator box it held. The Ascendia spectator box was on the other side.

"What the hell is she playing at?" Rick muttered as they navigated through the crowd to get to their seats.

They watched and waited, feeling eyes upon them. Rick glanced upward, noticing someone speaking into the ear of another man. In Tyrus's ear, Rick's father's eyes were locked on not Len, but Rick beside him.

"Ah, shit," Len thought to himself. He could see the man's recognition flash through his eyes, the way his jaw clenched and a vein started to throb on his forehead. He turned his head, ripping his eyes away from Rick, and barked something to the messenger. They snapped upright, firing off a salute before hurrying away.

"So, welcome one and all to the finals of the Ascendia Annual Tournament!" the announcer barked out. People shifted forward, drawing their attention to the arena. Len checked both edges of the aisle they were seated in. Getting out was going to be difficult, if not impossible.

Rick raised his eyes, watching the arena. "Your father knows," Len whispered. Rick's eyes snapped to his, then over to the spectator box. He clenched his teeth so hard Len could swear that they creaked.

"Whatever. Not even he can stop me from watching Lydia."

"On the right, we have Quillen!" The crowd erupted into cheers as the gate opened, revealing a man wearing an all-too-familiar set of armor. The thick-set man walked out with a smirk on his face, his helmet underneath his arm. The cheers dulled as gossip and rumors spread in its space.

"That emblem... what's that emblem?" one spectator asked.

Rick knew it only too well. The Hunter's Guild.

"Here, you should look over to Rick. I never knew who won the last fight," Rick said, his eyes affixed upon the challenger.

"The challenger? Why would they be here?" Len asked.

"The Ascendia family is one of the largest mercenary groups in all of Plentia. What better way to show off your strength than to beat them at their own damn tournament?" Rick shook his head.

So Quillian smacked his chest and saluted one of the spectator boxes. In a flurry of movement, men and women within stood up, removing their cloaks and revealing their own emblazoned jackets with the crest of the Hunter's Guild upon their breast. Movement stirred within the Ascendia spectator box and among all of the other boxes held by noble families and various training facilities.

Len focused his eyes upon Quillen. There was something familiar about him, just on the edges of memory.

"He's got mana," Rick hissed through his teeth.

“So does Lydia, he only feels like level four or five, Lydia reached level seven right?” Len said.

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“Yes, but with her being stronger, they’re going to pay attention to something like that,” Rick said.

"And on the other side, we have Isendia's own Blackthorn," the announcer continued, pushing onwards. The other gate opened to cheers as Lydia stepped out. The cheers only doubled as she was revealed. She didn't hide her face or hair anymore, standing proud and defiantly in the face of Quillen.

The other man frowned, then started chuckling, pulling on his helmet. Len could read his lips from this distance. ‘Looks like I'll finally get a taste of Isendia blood. Wonder if it's as weak as all of the others.’

Quillen pulled his halberd out of the soft sand, shaking it free and clean, before leveling it in Lydia's direction. Len glanced up to the Isendia spectator box. People were talking throughout, behind hands, while Tyrus's eyes held a murderous rage, directed towards his niece upon the arena sands.

Lydia turned to face the box, raising her sword parallel to the ground and touching it to her forehead. A swordsman's salute.

"For the Isendia family," she yelled. The cheers doubled throughout the arena. Lydia twirled her sword and turned to face Quillen.

"Let the Isendia annual competitions final begin," the announcer said as a gong rang out. Both fighters shot forward, throwing up sand underneath their feet.

"Hunter's bureau fighter with a halberd," Rick snapped his fingers. "Isn't that Velas?"

Len's eyes widened as the memory snapped into place. Velas, one of the Hunter Guild's finest trackers. He was the one sent after Hunters who had abandoned their posts or turned their back on the bureau. Many called him the blood dog, since he didn't care which way his sword went as long as it earned him coin.

Even after the Hunter's Bureau fell, he turned into one of the greatest bounty hunters. It was said when the blood hound was on your trail, there was no escaping it. That was until he tried chasing down the scarred sovereign.

His halberd shot out, stabbing and slicing as Lydia deflected his attacks with her blades. His confident grin fade away, his teeth no longer visible through his helmet as he fought with increasing intensity.

Rick grunted, his eyes not moving from the fight. The crowd's voices rose as Lydia slashed at Velas's throat. He jumped to the side, dragging his halberd across to try and bisect her. Lydia hit the ground, flipping over the halberd, using it as a fulcrum, and sent a kick at his head.

Velas pushed off the ground, jumping backwards, turning his head to the side to avoid the sand that came with her foot.

Lydia touched down on the ground, digging in her toes and leaping forward. He danced with his halberd as she closed in with her swords, driving him back further and further as he tried to turn so as not to push himself up against the wall.

His halberd darted forward, aiming for her throat, pulling her sword with it. Lydia let go of her sword, dropping to the ground and jumping forward to attack his knees.

He spun himself to the side, landing on his foot, slashing out with his halberd at her follow-up attack, gaining himself space to plant the other foot.

He used his halberd as a spear, jabbing as she used her single sword to deflect the worst attacks and bounce and twist her body to try and avoid the slashes.

"One point, Quillian," the announcer, yelled as Lydia missed her timing, a hit striking her as she staggered backwards.

"If that hadn't been enchanted or her body tempered, that would have probably broken her ribs. Gonna bruise anyway,” Rick said.

Quillien, or rather Velas, must have thought the same thing as she twisted with the hit instead of recoiling and launched her counter-attack. Getting a slash on his leg, he whipped his halberd around, raising the sand around him.

She jumped out of the way lest she be battered to the side. He came at her with his jabs as she lost space and room to move in.

Her hand shot forward, grabbing the shaft of the halberd, dragging herself forward. She snapped out a kick at his head. Velas' helmet rang out as sand was blown up around him from the power of the kick.

He released his halberd, dropping his shoulder to roll, rising himself up to his knee and hand, shaking his head to try and clear it, only to find his own halberd underneath his neck. His teeth were gritted in a snarl as cheers erupted throughout the arena.

Len's heart settled in his chest.

"Blackthorn, no, Lydia Isendia is the champion of this year's annual competition," the announcer yelled, barely able to get his voice over the cheers of the crowd.

Lydia drew away the halberd from Velas' neck, stabbing the butt into the sand as she raised her sword into the air in triumph. The crowd ate it up. Movement in the spectator box grabbed Len's attention as Tyrus shoved himself to his feet and stormed out of the box. The other members of the family quickly rose to follow him.

A messenger arrived next to the announcers.

Guards stepped out onto the arena grounds, indicating for Lydia to go with them. Rick and Len had stood with the rest of the crowd as she won the fight.

Rick gave her a small nod as she walked off towards them. The guards closed around her, escorting her through the gate.

Velas threw his gloves down as he reached his own gate, casting a glare in Lydia's direction.

"Looks like we have our own problems," Len said, looking down either side of the aisle. Guards of the main family stood on either side, waiting for them. Rick rolled back his shoulders and threaded his way down the aisle. Len followed him.

"Your father demands your presence at the main hall," one of the guards said, his hand resting on a baton at his waist. His body language spoke of one who wished to use their power but held back. There were five other guards with him, all with that cold look of displeasure.

"Lead on," Rick said. The guards led them away from the stand, people chattering to one another about what they had seen.

"Please try something, cousin," the guard's commander said. "We know plenty of ways to make it hurt without anyone seeing anything."

Rick didn't even slow his steps. His hand moved subtly. As he flexed his fingers, Len started circulating mana through his body.

Rick only started moving his hands that way if he was about to smith or fight. And he didn't see any anvil around.