Chapter 108: Grand Northern Martial Tournament [3]

The light of the arena hit me like a wave.

The roar of the crowd thundered down from the stands, thousands of voices blending into one overwhelming sound.

Cheers. Jeers. Gasps. Bets being shouted. I felt all of it vibrating in my chest.

The arena floor was massive—circular, worn down by countless battles. Stone tiles cracked and dented by years of weapon clashes and magic impacts.

The sun shone harsh and unforgiving from above, spotlighting everything.

Across from me stood my opponent—Jack Byron.

Broad-shouldered. Smirking.

The type of guy who probably bragged in taverns about the time he killed a wyvern or survived a storm at sea with only a toothpick.

He raised his axe lazily onto his shoulder. "You look a little young for this, boy. Sure you’re in the right arena?"

"Absolutely," I said, flashing a grin. "I wanted to see how easy it’d be to wipe the floor with someone overcompensating."

—Hahah did he really say that?!

—He sure is bold.



—Hey watch out! Don’t loose to a kid now!

A murmur of laughter rippled through the audience.

Jack’s smirk twitched. "Hmph. Cocky. I’ll enjoy shutting you up."

I drew my weapon slowly—nothing too flashy, just my trusted longsword. A little chipped around the hilt, but solid. Reliable. Like me.

The announcer’s voice boomed.

"—And here we are, folks! First round of the Northern Grand Tournament! On the left, Jack Byron, mercenary of Black Peak! And on the right, Julies Evans, personal retainer to the Draken family!"

The crowd roared louder.

From somewhere above, I could sense Alice’s presence, watching from the noble stand. Probably with her arms crossed and a judging look.

Good. Let her watch.

Let everyone watch.

BOOM!

The gong sounded.

Jack lunged first, closing the distance in two brutal steps, his axe coming down with enough force to split a tree.

I sidestepped smoothly, the wind of the blade grazing my shoulder.

"Fast," he grunted, swinging horizontally this time.

I ducked and moved inward. My blade lashed out, scoring a cut across his side before he could react.

It wasn’t deep. But it was enough.

The crowd gasped.

Jack growled and stumbled back, reassessing me. "You little—"

"Come on," I said. "I thought you’d enjoy shutting me up."

Jack snarled and surged forward again, this time with more weight behind his strikes. His axe swung in a wide arc, slicing the air with a sharp whoosh!

CLANG!

I blocked it at the last second, the impact jarring my arms, sending a shock up through my elbows. My boots skidded across the sand-dusted floor.

He was strong—too strong to trade blows with directly.

"Hold still, damn you!" Jack roared, winding up for another overhead strike.

I shifted left, forcing him to follow, baiting him.

THUD!

His axe embedded itself into the stone where I had just stood. Cracks spiderwebbed from the impact point. Dust flew up.

"Too slow!" I hissed, sliding in low.

SHIIING!

My blade scraped against the haft of his axe as he yanked it free—but not fast enough.

SLASH!

I spun, blade glinting in the sun, and —a clean cut across his thigh.

"Gahh!" Jack staggered back, limping now, blood beginning to soak into his pants.

The crowd went wild.

—Did you see that!?

—He’s bleeding!

—That kid’s fast!

Jack gritted his teeth, sweat and fury dripping down his face. "I’ll gut you like a boar!"

He charged again, this time going berserk. Wild, angry swings.

WHAM!



CLANG!

CRASH!

Each strike made the arena floor tremble. Sparks flew as steel clashed against stone, walls, my sword. I dodged most, deflected the rest—barely.

One grazing hit clipped my shoulder.

RIP!

My sleeve tore. A slight b lood trickled.

I hissed. He was fast when angry. Sloppy—but fast.

Time to end this.

I dropped low just as he raised his axe again. With a fwip! of my cloak, I vanished under the shadow of his weapon and struck.

THWACK!

The hilt of my blade slammed into his ribs. He gasped.

Then—

SLASH!

A deep cut across his chest.

He staggered back, coughing.

"Julies Evans!" the announcer roared above the crowd. "Countering with speed and precision—can he finish this?!"

Jack panted, blood dripping from multiple wounds now. He stumbled slightly, then roared one last time and charged with everything he had left.

"DIE!"

His axe came down like thunder.

BOOM!

I slid to the side in one smooth motion. My foot twisted in the sand. The world slowed.

I could see the exact moment he realized he’d missed.

Too late.

My blade pierced through the opening in his stance.

STAB!

Right in the abdomen. Not lethal, but enough. He dropped his axe.

Jack gasped, clutching the wound.

"Yield," I said softly.

He fell to one knee.

The crowd exploded.

"Winner! Julies Evans!"

The gong rang again.

BOOOOM!

The sound of the gong still echoed when I sheathed my sword.

My heart was pounding—not from fear or exhaustion, but from the surge of adrenaline still coursing through my veins. My body ached, my shoulder stung, but I stood tall.

Jack Byron was being dragged off by the arena’s medics, his hand still pressed to the stab wound. He wasn’t going to die, but he wasn’t going to fight anytime soon either.

The crowd kept roaring, chanting my name. I didn’t acknowledge it.

I looked up.

There she was.

Alice.

High in the noble stands, beneath a gilded canopy, flanked by house retainers and guards, she stood at the edge of the balcony, her eyes locked on mine.

She wasn’t smiling.



But she wasn’t looking away, either.

Our eyes met—and held.

A flicker of something crossed her face.

Recognition? Worry? Maybe a sliver of pride she wouldn’t dare admit?

I didn’t know. But it was enough.

I gave the faintest nod.

Then I turned away.

"Evans!" someone called.

A steward with a scroll rushed forward, huffing. "Congratulations, first round victory. Please proceed to the victor’s gate."

I just took the scroll. Probably the bracket for the next round.

My shoulder throbbed again. I pressed a hand to the torn fabric, checking the bleeding. It was minor, but annoying.

Still, not bad for a warm-up.