The tournament arena of Elyndor put the Sealrite arena to absolute shame. It was larger, more luxurious, and brimming with enchantments activated by House Alistar mages for various purposes. One enchantment in particular caused massive walls to grow from the tournament floor, dividing the space into four independent quadrants and splitting the enormous stadium into four smaller stages.
The circular arena featured tiered seating that wrapped around in perfectly aligned rows. The seats, though made of stone, were enchanted for a cushioned comfort. The arena floor itself lay two dozen feet below where I sat, a grassy expanse interrupted only by stone stages where combatants would battle.
The air buzzed with excitement, reminiscent of the Sealrite slave arena, though without the heavy undertone of bloodlust. Here, the atmosphere was jubilant, driven by the thrill of competition and the spectacle of combat.
And to see who the strongest fighter in Elyndor is, I thought.
The most significant difference between the Elyndor arena and Sealrite, at least for me, was that I was not in the arena. Nor was I a slave.
No, this time, I was in the audience, comfortably seated in a VIP section of the lower rows for prime viewing. High-ranking Elyndor officials, nobility, and heir candidates had been provided private seating options adorned with red velvet walls and railings for leaning. While I’d been offered a similar section, it was too far from the action for my liking. Likely some political ploy to annoy me by someone.
So, I adapted.
I now sat, quite comfortably, in the private seating reserved exclusively for direct descendants of the current House head. Since the Duke had no descendants and the temporary matriarch was technically not head of the household, the section was empty.
Except for me.
I flipped the House Coin into the air, snatching it mid-flight with a smirk toward the guard stationed outside. Though he didn’t look in my direction, the tightness of his jaw and the faint grinding of his teeth betrayed his annoyance.
The only warning I had of an interruption to my peaceful enjoyment was the sagging of the guard’s shoulders, as if relieved by the approach of someone.
“You cannot be here,” barked a light-haired, pompous boy I immediately recognized as Darrow, the leading heir.
“Come in, come in, young lord,” I said with a mocking flourish of my hand, not bothering to stand. “Take a seat, if you’d like. The show is about to begin.” He opened his mouth, but I cut him off with a sharp glance, letting a trickle of energy seep from my core—an unspoken warning. “You may sit, or you may leave.”
Alaric, the boy’s formidable knight, remained outside, taking position by the entrance alongside the now-relieved guard. Darrow hesitated before sitting, his earlier bluster tempered by an unmistakable hint of concern. Or was it worry? The guard's eyes widened as Darrow sat, likely shocked by the fact his young lord was listening to my command. I doubted Darrow saw it as obeying an order, but nonetheless I found the interaction quite amusing.
“You cannot be here,” he repeated, still staring at me from his seat near the entrance a few rows behind me. His tone was less aggressive this time and more… uncertain.
I sighed. “I can, actually. Ask the guard.” I waved his worries away dismissively and he moved to stand, clearly intending to confirm my claim as prompted, but the booming voice of the tournament commentator interrupted him.
That voice is familiar, I thought. Was he the commentator from Sealrite?
“Laaaaadies and gentlemen! Welcome to this grand tournament of celebration, honoring the legacy of Duke Collin Alistar!” The crowd roared in response, fists pumping into the air. While the stadium’s energy buzzed, it lacked the deafening frenzy of Sealrite that had shaken the arena's very foundation—though it did at least still cause a soft hum in my ears.
“Today’s tournament is divided into four tiers!” the commentator continued. “The first is the Novice Tier, featuring a preliminary stage to cull weaker fighters, hence the divided stadium. Then we have the Advanced Tier for bronze and first-realm cores, followed by the Expert Tier for silver and second-realm warriors. Most of these expert warriors have traveled far and wide to fight for the King's proffered sword, so keep your eyes open to spot a potential rising star among the fighters! We might witness history in the making. And finally, the Legend Tier—for those above the second or silver realm! Though we have only two combatants in this tier, I assure you, their battle will be like nothing you have ever seen before. Please give a thunderous welcome to Duke Conley Goldenhearts and Dame Annalise Blakely, Royal Captain of the Guard!”
The crowd erupted, but the fervor was noticeably skewed. While Duke Conley received polite applause, the stadium practically shook with cheers for Dame Annalise. The chant of her name, rhythmic and fanatical, rivaled anything I’d heard—even during my time in Ordite.
“Annalise! Annalise! Annalise!”
A knot of rage formed itself in my stomach as Lilliana's emotions surged forward at the introduction of her grandfather, a bottomless pit of revenge stirring with bloodlust and need to commit violence upon the man.
What did he do to her, I wondered, turning away from the arena in an attempt to distract myself from the overwhelming negative emotions Lilliana was causing.
I raised an eyebrow at Darrow, but before I could speak, Hannah’s bouncing pigtails rounded entrance, followed closely by Brianna and Victor. They both eyed Darrow suspiciously as they passed him, and the boy met their gazes with a calm, cold glare. They claimed seats to my left, placing themselves between me and Darrow, who still sat by the entrance.
“I can’t believe Dame Annalise is participating!” Hannah exclaimed, then screamed “Annalise, you're the best!” at the top of her lungs.
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“Who is she?” I asked once the cheers subsided somewhat.
Hannah’s joyous expression shifted to bewilderment, her eyebrows rising so high they nearly got lost in her bangs. “You don’t know?”
“Imagine I’ve been imprisoned in an underground slave dungeon and, before that, was severely sheltered,” I replied, lacing my words with sarcasm and resisting the urge to roll my eyes.
“Oh… right.” Hannah’s smile turned sheepish and she straightened her slouching posture. “Dame Annalise Blakely is—”
“A peasant with undeserved status,” Darrow interjected, narrowing his eyes at Hannah. “Isn’t that what you were going to say, cousin?”
“Nope,” Hannah replied, dismissing him entirely. “Dame Annalise is a hero of the people, Lady Lilliana. Born in the back alleys of Lysoria, she rose to a position even most nobles can only dream of.” She smirked, tilting her chin toward Darrow. “He dreams of being Captain of the Royal Guard alllll the time.”
Darrow’s face reddened and he turned away his gaze, but he didn’t refute her claim.
“What type of core does she have?” I asked, grinning at the flustered heir.
“Energy core. Early or mid-gold realm,” Hannah said. “She was the direct apprentice of Duke Alistar.” Her tone grew somber. “That’s why she’s here.”
I exchanged a glance with Brianna, who nodded and whispered something to Victor. That was news I hadn’t known and it created an unknown factor in my plan. We needed to determine if Dame Annalise’s presence was solely to honor her teacher’s memory or if she had another agenda. The last thing I needed was another gold-realm warrior complicating my plans. Unlike Duke Alistar, this one wouldn't be as easy as just killing her off. One dead gold realm awakener was an unfortunate accident. Two was intentional.
That, and I somehow doubted she would be open to the idea of working with the Cael Marquess who allegedly killed her mentor, and who was likely already nearby.
“By the heart of Mother Aedonia, what a cheer for our local hero!” the commentator’s voice boomed. “Now, let’s begin with the Novice Tier! My name is Jarold Evergreen and I will be your host for today's tournament. Will all novice tier contestants please start making their way to the arena grounds?"
Hannah leaped to her feet, squealing. “Oh crap, that was shorter than I thought! Why didn’t Grandmother make a speech? Ohhhh crap.” She waved over her shoulder as she darted off through the entrance. “See you all soon!”
Darrow stayed unusually silent over the next half hour as contestants filled the arena floor. By the time the matches began, the space was packed, with only the stone stages left empty. Jarold’s voice echoed as he directed fighters to their rings.
Why does he call them rings if they’re square?
Eight contestants struggled to filter themselves through all the living trash, finally able to climb the short set of stairs leading to the stadium after some tournament officials started yelling at waiting fighters to get out of the way. When all eight contestants faced their counterpart, Jarold’s voice sounded throughout the audience again.
“Here we go!”
I yawned loudly, momentarily forgetting my queenly decorum from the sheer monotony of watching mortals fight. The level of boredom from watching mortals slug each other with limited martial arts was the closest I'd come to being killed by something since arriving in Graedon.
I rolled my eyes as one of the mortals won and there was a soft smattering of applause from the audience. Even the applause for the winner was lackluster.
Who applauds adults that fight worse than some children, anyway? I mused. This section of the tournament should have been made for children like Hannah only.
At that point, I simply stopped paying attention and slipped into a light meditative state. I couldn’t afford to go too deep; I needed to remain aware enough to react should Darrow or Alaric attempt anything untoward.
“Wow, this is actually pretty amazing,” Brianna commented a few hours later. I cracked my eyes open, taking in her slight figure leaning over the section’s railing and the sun having hit its apex in the sky.
“It’s just mortals,” I muttered, rising from my seated position. Still, I joined her at the railing to see what had caught her attention.
“True,” Brianna admitted, her gaze fixed on a particular combatant. “But that just means they’re entirely reliant on techniques.”
She motioned at a man in the ring below. He was dark-skinned, with short, tightly curled black hair and lean muscles that moved with unsettling precision. His opponent was massive, a bear of a man—no, not a man, I realized, noticing the two horns protruding from his mouth. An Orc.
Common sense suggested the Orc would obviously win. Unfortunately for the Orc, reality often rejected common sense.
The dark-skinned man proceeded to dominate the fight, performing a series of high-level martial techniques that no mortal should have been capable of executing. He moved with ruthless efficiency and inhuman flexibility, his reaction speed far outpacing the Orc’s. Each strike from the Orc’s massive war axe was effortlessly evaded as the man weaved through the blows like water around stone.
I yawned and turned away from the fight, heading back to my seat.
“You don’t want to see who wins?” Brianna asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I already know,” I replied, closing my eyes and resuming my meditation.
A few moments later, Jarold’s voice confirmed my prediction, announcing the dark-skinned human—Darrek Cling, a commoner—as the victor.
"Imagine if he awakens a core," Victor muttered. I grunted and ignored the subsequent chatting the sparked between Brianna and Victor at that possibility. Even Darrow joined in at some point.
Roughly half an hour later, the second-tier division began. There were far fewer participants this time, perhaps a quarter of the number from the uncored matches. When the announcement that the advanced tier was beginning, I stood again and leaned against the railing to scan the combatants for my Paragons.
Nida and Nasq stood side by side directly below my section of the stands. They didn’t glance up at me, their focus instead fixed on the crowd with an air of deadly seriousness, as though they were protecting me from the other combatants. Which, in a sense, I supposed they were.
I scanned the other participants, reaching out with tendrils of core energy. Only a handful had enough energy or magic to potentially match Nasq or Nida, though I didn't sense any that could outright defeat them without a drawn-out battle.
“It should be fairly easy for them,” I mused, “until the top eight. That’s when it will get challenging.”
Darrow, who had returned to being, snorted. “You place great confidence in your followers, Lady Lilliana.”
“They’ve earned it,” I said simply.
“How so?”
I turned to him with a smirk. “You’ll see.” Tilting my head, I regarded the princeling curiously. “Are you not participating?”
Darrow’s expression soured. “Nobles rarely join in,” he muttered. “We have others fight as our proxy. Hannah is simply… unusual.”
I blinked, realizing I’d entirely forgotten about the girl. “How did she do?” I asked Brianna.
“Fifty-second place,” Darrow answered before Brianna could speak, crossing his arms as his scowl deepened. “It was a terrible matchup for her. She could’ve easily made the top twenty-five if that round had been against someone else."
I raised an eyebrow at the heir's surprising interest in his cousin, but Brianna made a sound of complete exasperation before I had the chance to comment on it.
“I know,” she groaned. “It was completely unlucky she got matched against the runner-up.”
Darrow nodded. “It was the weight and reach difference. Until Hannah awakens a core and develops either long-range abilities or enhanced close combat skills, she’s just a teenage girl. She has no chance against opponents like Ul’Gesh who are overwhelmingly larger than she is."
"Is she injured?" I asked.
Darrow grunted again but shook his head. "She'll be fine. Probably just banged up."
"Hmmm," I hummed, putting the Orc's face to memory.