The sun was setting down, so Joshua ordered the group to make camp. The group erected their sole ragged tent and settled in for the night. As they gathered around the fireplace to keep warm, dreading having to chew on the stale jerky, Altan came carrying two rabbits on his back, and everyone rejoiced, looking forward to the hearty meal.

Herbert wanted to enjoy a roasted rabbit, but that was quickly shut down as Jasmine and the twins quickly jumped forward and said: "Two roasted rabbits won't be enough to feed all of us. Stop being selfish! We should make a stew; it should last us a few meals," and started preparing the pot.

They threw in whatever ingredients they could forage: a few herbs like rosemary, thyme, and wild garlic. Soon, the pleasant smell of the dish started leaking out as it was nearly ready.

Taking turns to eat and stand guard due to the lack of bowls, the group munched on their plates, the warmth in their bellies helping them stave off the chill as the night grew colder.

It had been three days since the group had set off to the capital. Despite everything that happened, their spirits never wavered. All these kids once had to stave off for themselves as they were abandoned by society. Each of them has their own story, but they all shared the resolve and determination needed to survive.

The swift response to the emergency and quick acclimation to their new situation was a testament to the tenacity they possessed, accumulated through facing many hardships.

Indeed, for these children, the situation wasn't all that unfamiliar. It felt as though they had just woken up from a years-long sweet dream and went back to their past selves, living in a harsh world that forbids complacency, where they had to fend for themselves as everyone was out to get them.

It showed in their eyes as they kept glancing at their surroundings, the wariness of a danger that could appear at any moment. They all had to sleep with one eye open once, be it in the slums or on the battlefield. It was a different foe for each one of them, but that is a story for another time.

But for now, weariness from the long march ached their bodies, and they needed to rest, for they would continue their journey at first light.

---

**Clang! Clang! Clang!**

Vorkunn had picked up his greatsword. He was frustrated with himself as none of his melee attacks managed to even scratch Dirrar, and he realized that his opponent was more formidable than he had thought. This prompted Dirrar to unleash his saber as he continued to masterfully avoid the slashes and thrusts in a rhythmic manner.

He occasionally used his saber to gently guide the greatsword away as if leading Vorkunn in a dance, as his foe's face started growing red. The crowd was unsure if this was due to anger or embarrassment.

Nonetheless, he continued swinging his sword. The warrior started adapting his movements and began incorporating feints and strikes where he predicted Dirrar would dodge. He was growing within the fight.

Impressed with the young man's learning speed and feeling a little pressured, Dirrar started attacking at last. His saber moved like a serpent as he swirled it around, aiming at the exposed joints through Vorkunn’s armor.

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Vorkunn was initially overwhelmed by the nimble strikes, struggling to read the sword’s path, but soon he proved to be more than a dull muscle-head as he started deflecting a majority of the strikes. He switched his stance and grabbed the blade with one arm, swinging it around as if it were but a dagger. The speed even caught Dirrar off guard.

As the fight reached its climax, for the two combatants, the entire world turned silent as they poured their entire being into the upcoming attack, realizing that the next move would decide the duel.

Dirrar started questioning the need to take things this far. He had no intention of killing his opponent. The Anorithiana Confederation officially honors the results of duels by the candidates, but murdering a candidate would prompt the Septem order to investigate, and he didn't want trouble to follow him all the way back to the orphanage. However, upon seeing his opponent's determination, he realized that half-assing it would only cost him his life.

He assumed a kneeling position while holding his saber upwards in front of him, like a tiger getting ready to pounce on its prey.

As the crowd waited with bated breath, their eyes glimmering with anticipation. Would they go home richer, or would their wagered pouches of coin go up in smoke? Who would be the victor in this clash between a rock that proved it could mold itself like clay and the playful jester whose initial goofy smile was hiding his venomous fangs?

All eyes were fixed on the duo as the answer hinged on their next strike...

As they made their move, time appeared to compress for the two. They both heard a whooshing sound in the distance but couldn't afford to take their eyes off their opponents. Then **THUD!**, there was a loud noise as a spear planted itself in the ground between them, prompting the duo to stop dead in their tracks.

Everyone’s gaze fixed on the source of the spear. It came from the top of the roof of the guild’s headquarters. There sat a cross-armed individual, a mask hiding his facial features, and his coal-dark hair tied back in a ponytail. He was well-built despite his small stature. As he lowered his mask, his androgynous look further exacerbated the confusion as to his gender, if not for the clear masculine voice that calmly left his lips: “Make way for the duke.”

Then, two men started making their way out of the building as the mercenaries stepped aside.

“Tsk, I told him not to make a fuss. I didn’t want to interrupt such a lively duel,” one of them said as he scratched his beard. “Is that the man you were telling me about?”

“Yeah, that’s him,” responded the other. “I heard you weren’t going to show up for my invitation tonight, and coincidentally, our little Mary also seemed to excuse herself early,” he said while glancing at Dirrar and smirking.

“It seems he has a playful side to him. It makes sense for him to want to spend his evenings with a young lady,” stated the duke, “especially with his time away from home so limited, as I heard.”

Dirrar could tell that the man was fishing for a reaction. He knew that his association with the general was an open secret among the old guard of the kingdom, but he ignored his remarks and explained: “I'm just tired of speaking to myself every time after you pass out drunk. You've gotten on in years, old man, lay off the booze.”

A few in the crowd were enraged at this sudden halt in the duel, as all their wagers hung in the balance. “Betting outside the Colosseum is illegal. I am sure Guard Captain Lorenzo would agree,” asserted the duke as he glanced toward a few guards who were among the audience menacingly.

The guards, wishing to avoid potential punishment, quickly moved to disperse the crowd. They seized the bookie and started reimbursing everyone, nearly overwhelmed by the sheer number of people demanding their money back.

While this was going on, the duke invited Dirrar inside to rejoin him, his tone making it sound like a grave topic was to be discussed. Dirrar agreed to accept his invitation, wondering what had caused the duke to come all this way from the frontier and seek a meeting with him. This was a chance to make things clear.

As Dirrar started making his way outside of the courtyard, an annoyed Vorkunn cried out: “Where do you think you're going? The duel isn’t over yet!” as he started charging towards him.

But Dirrar kept walking, indifferent to his rambling. Soon, Vorkunn was stopped from chasing after him as the spear-man descended onto the courtyard, recovered his weapon, and blocked his path.

“Make sure not to kill him,” advised Dirrar.

“Don’t order me around, and don’t keep the duke waiting any longer,” responded the spear-man as he glared back at him.