The third round of the tournament had ended, but the real battle was only beginning. In the noble stands, in the competitor's quarters, and throughout the academy, everyone was talking about the fights, dissecting the performances, and analyzing the implications.
Kalem and Nara, however, were far less concerned with the political angles.
Kalem sat in the forge, wiping down one of his short swords, uninterested in the murmurs of noble schemes and alliances. He was thinking about his fight with Lucian Valehart. The swordsman had been fast, but Kalem had adapted. He had made use of his weapons, switching between them to throw off his opponent's rhythm. More than that, he had learned.
"That was fun," he muttered.
Nara, sitting nearby with her arms crossed, raised a brow. "Fun? You nearly got stabbed in the neck."
Kalem shrugged. "That's what makes it interesting."
Nara scoffed and turned her attention elsewhere. The evaluation committees were undoubtedly reviewing all the fights, and she had no doubt that someone, somewhere, was furious about what had happened.
And she was right.
Noble stands
In the noble stands, the murmurs had yet to die down.
Lyra, sitting beside her father, kept her face neutral, but she could feel the weight of dozens of watchful eyes. Many of the noble families had vested interests in this tournament, and the results of the duels were not just about individual skill. They were about influence.
Her father leaned slightly toward her. "Lucian Valehart's loss will not go unnoticed. His family will seek to undermine yours however they can."
Lyra sighed. "It's just a tournament."
Lord Evernwood gave her a sharp look. "You know better than that."
She did, of course. But it frustrated her how the others—Kalem, Nara, and even Jhaeros—would not fully grasp the depth of these feuds. They fought their battles as if they were simply fights, but the consequences of each match rippled outward.
Across the stands, Lucian Valehart sat stiffly among his own family, his expression carefully schooled into neutrality. But his grip on the armrest of his chair was white-knuckled. He had lost to Kalem—a commoner with no noble ties, no political standing, no business being in the tournament. And worse, Kalem hadn't even cared. That was the real insult.
The Valehart family would not forget this.
The Competitor's Quarters
Jhaeros sat on the edge of his bed, methodically cleaning his weapons. Velka lay at his feet, gnawing on a bone. He had fought well, and Vorrik the Unbroken had been a worthy opponent. But he had felt the stares—especially from certain noble competitors.
Some of them weren't just evaluating his skill. They were assessing his place.
Ilvaar were uncommon in high-ranked combat tournaments. His performance had likely stirred talk among those who valued tradition over ability. He didn't care. He had bested Vorrik. That was enough.
Across the room, another competitor muttered under his breath, rubbing his bruised ribs. "That damn Nara—she doesn't fight like a noble. No finesse, just brute force."
Jhaeros raised a brow but said nothing. It wasn't worth arguing.
Meanwhile, Nara herself was sitting on a bench outside, cracking her knuckles. She didn't care about noble politics. She didn't care about the hidden messages in these fights.
She did care about Seraphina Duskwhisper.
The alchemist had used poisons, illusions, and underhanded tricks. Nara had barely come out on top, and she hated feeling like she had been at a disadvantage. Next time, she'd be better prepared.
"I should burn her lab down," she muttered.
Kalem, passing by with his crate of weapons, glanced at her. "What?"
"Nothing."
Instructor and Administration department
The academy officials had gathered in a private meeting room to discuss the results.
Headmaster Valdris leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "So," he said. "The third round has concluded. And it seems our wildcard competitors continue to cause waves."
One instructor scoffed. "Kalem's ability to adapt is impressive, but he is disruptive. First the ruin incident, now this duel. His presence alone shifts the balance of these matches."
Another instructor shook her head. "Nara is just as much of a problem. Her fighting style is raw and unrefined, but it's effective. Seraphina was nearly killed."
"She shouldn't have used hallucinogens in the first place," someone muttered.
"And then there's Jhaeros." Valdris glanced at his notes. "Many didn't expect him to advance this far, but he has. His fight against Vorrik was clean, strategic, and decisive. But more importantly, he has caught the attention of several noble factions."
The instructors exchanged looks.
"And what of the evaluations?"
Valdris tapped the table. "The noble families will be making their own assessments. And they will not be pleased with certain results."
Silence settled over the room.
The tournament was not just about skill. It was about influence, power, and legacy. And certain competitors—Kalem, Nara, Jhaeros—had disrupted the expected outcomes.
Things were about to get even more interesting.
That should cover all the reactions from different perspectives! Let me know if you want any adjustments or expansions.