"Did you catch that?" I said, biting into one of the crisp, complimentary apple slices in the VIP room. The ambiance around us was luxurious yet tense; even the polished marble floors and ornate chandeliers couldn’t distract from the intense energy buzzing from the arena. Jane, wide-eyed and a bit pale, replied, "Yes. I 'caught' all of it." Her hands were clenched.

"His durability and endurance are off the charts." she continued, still shaken. "Each one of those special techniques Noah used would be a win condition against most martial artists. I can see why he’s won eighty-six fights." I leaned forward, chewing thoughtfully before I responded. "Lucas most likely has a blessed body." "Blessed body?" Jane’s head tilted in curiosity, her eyes narrowing slightly. In response, I straightened my middle finger, gripping my forearm firmly before making a deep cut across the skin. Blood pooled but barely trickled, and I held my arm out to her, unflinching. "That barely hurt me," I said calmly, "and this will heal within twenty minutes. That’s my blessing: pain tolerance and rapid recovery."

I continued, seeing the understanding dawning in her eyes. "There are three types of bodies. Blessed bodies, normal bodies, and rough bodies. Rough bodies are unsuitable for martial arts—people with illnesses, deformities, things like that. Normal bodies are the opposite; nothing really setting them apart, but they’re capable, functional. Most martial artists have normal bodies. But blessed bodies… these are rare. They’re mutations from birth or inherited traits from powerful lineages that make the martial path much smoother. Mine, for example, grants me increased recovery. Lucas must have one too to be that durable." Jane nodded thoughtfully, her gaze shifting between me and the arena where Lucas had just left his mark. "I see, I see. So what do you think his mutation is?"

I leaned back in the plush leather chair, tapping my fingers against the armrest as I considered. "Unless I’m horribly mistaken, it’s muscle density. He can pack far more muscle than the average person with the same frame. I was already suspicious when I heard rumors of him weighing two hundred and fifty pounds, even though he’s only five eleven and looks like a super middleweight at best." She looked back toward the viewing glass, eyes narrowed in thought as she absorbed what I said. "He's the one to beat in this tournament.” I concluded, crossing my arms. "Not Ryan. Unless Ryan’s hiding something extraordinary too."

The announcer’s voice filled the arena with a lingering hum of energy. "That's the end of the first round, folks!" he declared, his voice crackling slightly through the speakers. "Bets will increase tomorrow! Our four semi-finalists are Lucas, Vellin, Hal, and Ryan! The second round will be even better! These four are on the same level, I'd argue. Who knows, though? They could be hiding things from us!"

With that, the speakers clicked off, and the murmur of the audience filled the arena as people began to pack up their things. Despite the brevity of the round—just an hour of high-octane matches—people were happy. I stretched my armst, and popped a small, savory chunk of cheese into my mouth, savoring the sharp flavor as I turned to Jane. "I need to show you something," I said, swallowing the last bite. "I want to reassure you that I will win this." Jane raised an eyebrow, intrigued, and stood up from her seat. "I'll follow you." A small smile crept onto my face. "Actually, I need you to take me somewhere. To where you bought that armor a few days ago." Her expression shifted as she folded her arms across her chest, giving me a scrutinizing look before nodding. "This way, then." She turned, leading me out of the VIP area and through the rows of chairs and tables

We headed down the stairs, weaving through the crowd, a voice suddenly rang out behind me. "Yo, is that Vellin?!" I felt a hand clasp my shoulder before I could react. There were people packed around us on all sides—I really didn’t want to make a scene. I kept my tone even, barely turning. "Yes." The woman wasn’t satisfied with a simple acknowledgment. Her grip tightened on my shoulder. "You beat up Aiden. Come here!" she demanded. Without looking at her, I took hold of her wrist, my gaze fixed straight ahead. "There are two reasons I’m holding back right now," I said in a low, steady tone. "first, because you’re a woman. Second, and much more important, because I don’t want to get others involved." People around us stopped, their conversations trailing off as they turned to watch. She tried to pull her arm free, though not very forcefully, her defiance faltering.

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Before the situation could escalate, Jane stepped forward, her movements sharp and precise, and slapped the woman across the face. "It was a fair match!" she snapped. The woman’s face flushed with shock, and for a moment, everything seemed to freeze. Her posture shifted, her anger draining away as she looked down, her voice barely above a whisper. "I’m... sorry." I released her hand, and, as if the tension had been broken, people resumed their movements around us, the moment slipping back into the crowd’s buzz like a ripple vanishing in water. We continued down the stairs. That woman didn’t realize just how lucky she was—if she’d crossed the line, Jane would’ve taken her out in one swift punch.

Ten minutes later..

We stopped in front of a run-down, weathered blue shack with a battered wooden sign overhead that simply read, "smithy". No name, no details, nothing else to indicate ownership or credibility. I chuckled as I took it all in. "This is who you bought armor from?" Jane elbowed me, giving me a sharp look. "Don't judge things by appearances." Easy for her to say. Judging by appearances had worked just fine for me so far. Still, I kept quiet as she knocked on the door, calling out, "I’m coming in." She pushed the door open, and we stepped inside. The change was immediate—far from the rough exterior, the interior was surprisingly organized, with rows of finely crafted armor and weaponry displayed on stands and racks. Swords gleamed on one side, axes and spears on another, but not a single bow in sight. The craftsmanship was impressive; each piece looked durable and carefully designed, clearly meant for real combat, not just show.

Behind the front desk sat an old man, short and wiry, with a long white beard that reached down to his chest. He eyed us with a sharp, unflinching gaze. "What do ya want, twerps?" Jane nudged me forward, folding her arms. "Well, go on. Talk to him." I stepped up, glancing at the armors around me. "What’s your strongest armor?" I asked, keeping my tone polite but direct. Jane tapped my shoulder urgently. "Hey, armor isn’t allowed in the tourna—" I placed my finger over her mouth gently, giving her a reassuring look. "Trust me."

The old man grunted and leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "Usually people introduce themselves first. That’s strike one." I held back a smirk, deciding it was best not to push my luck. "Sorry. My name’s Vellin, and I assume you already know my girlfriend, Jane." I raised an eyebrow. "Didn’t you just call us twerps, though?" He slammed his cane against the floor with a loud thud, his eyes flashing. "I know who you are, kiddo! I watched the tournament. And she’s right—armor isn’t allowed in the tournament." Still grumbling, he got up from his seat, his movements slower but sure, and made his way to the back. He shot us a knowing look over his shoulder. "I’ll bring it out—wait here." He opened the door to a storage room in the back, disappearing and shutting the door firmly behind him.

No more than twenty seconds later, the old man returned, placing a dark, gleaming chestplate on the desk between us. It had a rugged, almost ominous sheen to it, like something forged from shadow itself. He tapped it with pride. "This is my strongest chestplate, made of darksteel. Fifty times stronger than regular steel." He gave me a measuring look. "If you want to buy it, it’ll cost you three gold."

I examined the dense, near-impenetrable surface, and said, "I don’t want to buy it. However…" I let the pause hang as he raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. I dropped my last four gold coins onto the desk. "Let’s make a bet. If I can pierce this plate with my finger, I keep my money, but you get to keep the armor. If I can’t, you’ll get these four gold pieces and still keep the armor. Good bet, right?" A glint sparked in his eye, and he let out a low chuckle. "Heheh… you may be strong, kiddo, but with a single finger?" He gave the chestplate an affectionate pat, looking at me with amused confidence. "Sure, sure. Pay me for something you won’t even own."

He held it up, steadying it in front of me. "Give it your best shot." I took a breath, focused, and straightened my middle finger, pulling my arm back slightly to chamber the strike. I felt the energy coil within my muscles, my finger sharpening to a point in both mind and motion. With a quick, precise thrust, my fingertip pierced cleanly through the darksteel plate, the resistance crumbling under the pinpointed force. The old man’s jaw dropped. I turned to Jane, who looked equally stunned, and offered her a small, confident smile. "This is the technique that’ll beat Lucas tomorrow." I said calmly. "Needle Point."