"Do we really have to sit through this again?" Falkurs groaned, his brow furrowed in exasperation as the second round of the knights' bouts came to an end. The event organizers had decided to intersperse the matches between the knights and the commoners.

Each battle was an event in itself, an intricate dance between the armored elegance of the knights and the unpolished fervor of the peasantry. The knights embodied years of rigorous training and discipline, moving with a precision and grace that was almost artistic. Their strikes were calculated, their footwork measured, they were the embodiment of martial finesse.

In contrast, the commoners brought a raw, practical approach to the arena. Their movements were less refined, their attacks lacked the sophistication of the knights', but they made up for it with a fierce determination and an unrelenting tenacity. Their fights were gritty and aggressive, punctuated by unexpected maneuvers and a tangible will to win.

Yet, many of the knights found themselves irked, even insulted, to watch these non-nobles' brawls interspersed with their own distinguished duels. They considered these bouts less a showcase of talent and more an unsophisticated brawl.

Only Joren seemed interested in the fights, musing between their bouts about the potential some of them offered. Only to be shot down by Fraven or Falkurs. One believed talent was earned through proper trials, the other dismissed those who started late in life, suggesting true warriors start at a young age.

“Oh, it’s her!” Ravina cried as she spotted the women with blue hair once more.

“Oh, you like the blue one?” Elysia called in response.

For some reason the girl felt a little embarrassed. “Yes.” she answered, sinking further into her seat.

A strange embarrassment bloomed in Ravina's cheeks, she mumbled a shy affirmation and sank further into her seat.

"Lords and Ladies, I present to you Cedric, champion of the Iron Bound Guild!" The announcer's voice rang out, echoing across the bustling amphitheater. "He faces Rowan, the hero of Kelkourten!" As their names were announced, the two muscular combatants waved in acknowledgment, stepping confidently into their designated quadrant of the arena amidst a chorus of cheers and applause.

"Next, we have Leoric, of the Bronze Tree Guild, ready to face off against his arch-rival from the Krowned Guild, Emeric!" The crowd erupted once more as these names were called, their eager faces turned towards the remaining quadrants of the arena.

"And now, Dolyn, the fierce contender from the Krowned Guild! He faces Flink, the fiery devil armed with twin axes! And finally, we have Isolde, the grand barbarian, against Aurelia!"

A ripple of laughter broke out among the spectators at the final pairing. Confusion furrowed Ravina's brow, "Why are they laughing?" she turned to Elysia, seeking an explanation.

“Well, women don't make good fighters,” her matter of fact answer surprised the girl. She noticed the surprised look on Ravina's face and added, "I am a battle mage. My expertise lies in the mastery of magic, not in the wielding of a blade. There is a stark difference between swords and magic.”

Jarona Madeen chimed in then, "The only reason she's made it this far is because her team has been carrying her. I doubt she'd hold her own for more than a few moments. You should keep your eyes on Flink—the man with the two axes.” he fingered the man he was talking about, nodding in self-agreement, fully invested in the fight. “His fighting style is unique and it is interesting to watch. All of us could stand to learn how to defend against such a deceptive skill.

As the order discussed strategize and fighting styles, Ravina's gaze landed once more on the blue-haired woman. Introduced as Aurelia she pulled out her thin blade in one beautiful, fluid motion. Ravina spoke up, “Fraven, how about another bet?”

“I don't take easy money from kids.” The man returned, after receiving a stern look from Varis before he could say what he truly wanted.

“Well, just because you know you're going to lose is one thing but don't suggest that it's my age that makes you falter.” her purple eyes reflected the blue light that bounced off Aurelia’s hair. She pulled the small purse she received from the butler, before joining Varis to watch the games. A failsafe incase she got lost. Withdrawing five silver coins she placed it on the table beside her. “It's not much I know, but hopefully enough to place on her,” she pointed to Aurelia.

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“My lady,” Varis began, “you should not bet money so easily.”

“No one should, but then, where is the fun with that?” She then took out the rest of the coins from her bag, placing them all on the table. The ten coins glinted in the light of the shaded sun."Besides," she continued, cutting off any further objections from Varis, "it isn't gambling if it's a certainty." Turning to the other members of the Order, she challenged, "Or are you all too faint-hearted to accept a wager from a mere child?"

Her small provocation goated the two men into accepting, only Elysa, Varis and Joren didn't accept her bet. Leaving her money on the blue knight against two men. With 30 coins on the table Ravina watched as the fight commenced. As the matches began, the crowd's focus was torn between the match of Dolyn and Flink, the clear favorites. However, Ravina's gaze never wavered from the lithe figure of Aurelia, her every movement a dance against her opponent, Isolde.

True to the commentators' words, Isolde was a massive hulk of a man. He dwarfed her by four heads and two body widths, his serrated short sword looking no more than a knife in his giant hand, the crude counterpart to her refined blade. His other hand held a heavy iron ring, wielded like an impromptu carabiner knuckles.

Isolde, wasting no time, charged at Aurelia with the ferocity of a rampaging bull. Choosing the iron ring as his starting weapon over the sword, His massive fist swung down like a hammer, aimed straight for her face. But Aurelia was not there. She dodged it in a swift and smooth action, running her blade across his arm as she passed him by with smooth and nimble movements.

Unfortunately, the rules of the tournament dictated that the blades were blunt, as such all it did was run cool metal agents his iron hide like skin. Pushing his injured arm to follow her movement as she passed him, Isolde tried to predict her movements, thrusting the sword at where she would be, catching her shadow. In the dance of battle she spun with the skill and grace of a talented dancer, using her entire body to bring the blade over his outstretched hand. The deadly strike only caused him to grimish form the impact.

Growing impatient with her elusive tactics, Isolde attempted a kick, but before there was any true force to his blow, Aurelia brought her knee forward, catching it with her armored knee. She used it to catapult herself backward, creating some distance. As she caught her breath, Isolde lumbered towards her again, a relentless force of nature against her agile grace.

The fight seemed futile for her in this situation; without a sharp blade, her strikes were merely an inconvenience for Isolde. Were her blade real, his hand would have been severed, his arm deeply gashed. The loss of blood would have been her ally. But in the confines of this arena, yet he remained uninjured and just as deadly as before. Meanwhile Isolde was losing patience, Aurelia’s constant evasion was just as annoying as a buzzing fly. All it would take was one well-aimed swing, one crushing blow, and the fight would be over. If only he could make contact.

With one final breath before he reached her, she dashed forward as well. As his gray eyes looked for ways to stop her movements, her eyes sparkling with a new strategy as well.

Closing the gap, she spun, a hair's breathe away from his grable, her hair teasing his thick skin as she danced past him. A well-placed kick to his bent knee knocked him off balance. Seizing the moment, she drove her blunt sword towards the nape of his neck.

But Isolde was quicker. Realizing her intention, he dug his other leg into the ground. He toppled backward, nearly trapping her between his massive body and the ground. His actions surprised her, the delay, not even a fraction of a second, cost her the skirt cape, as he tore it from her. Yet she succeeded in escaping.

Without a moment's hesitation she dug her feet in and charged. Driving her full weight into her sword, she put everything into a gamble as she sent it plunging towards Isolde who was still struggling to get up. Crimson beads splashed on the sandy floor, and a curse fell into the air. The referee called it right then and there. First blood went to Aurelia.

“You nimble bitch,” he cursed as he finally picked himself up. The blade barely made a dent to him. Its dull edge made it practically useless as a weapon. As such it had only grazed his collar, cutting a small wound in his collar, just below the neck. He chuckled as he balled the shirt into the wound, “I almost had you dead to rights.”

“I would have had your hand.” she replied, her voice a mythic angel's call. “If not for these stupid rules.” She swords her neutered blade a few times for emphasis.

The man lifted his hand, unscathed and free of any weapon. "Hey, your gear is half the battle," he countered nonchalantly. He gestured towards the other contestants with a flick of his thumb. Only one group was still immersed in their duel. "So," he began, cocking an eyebrow suggestively, "did I do well enough to earn that date?"

"I believe he might have," she replied, nodding towards the victor of the other duel, their fight just now coming to a close. "but you, unfortunately, came up short." she finished as the crowd voiced a thounderious cheer at Flink’s victorious battle cry.

He shrugged at her words, “well, next time.”

"Perhaps," she offered nonchalantly, lifting her shoulders in a graceful shrug. “It was a good fight.” She told the same lie over and over again, yet the truth was none had ever impressed her so far. Her deep blue eyes strayed from the arena to the private boxes perched high above the chaos of the common seats, to the box reserved for the esteemed members of the city's grand order. They fell on one man, his eyes, a piercing gray, cut though the wave of color and splendor of everyone else. In the distance she could barely make out his form, but he was simply too unmistakable.

A soft hum of disappointment escaped her lips.