They arrived at the arena. They hopped off the carriage, and before them was a massive stone-structured arena with instructors directing the participants to a massive hall within the arena.
"This is it, Daylan. This is where everything might change or go down the hill." Astara said, staring up at the arena.
Daylan nervously swallowed and nodded.
They were led to a vast hall on the upper floor, overlooking the lower level where the average participants gathered. The battlegrounds were projected across the massive walls, displaying each ongoing fight in vivid detail. As Daylan took his seat, his eyes darted around, taking in every corner of the hall.
From the look of things, Daylan realized the tournament had already begun—yet Astara remained completely calm.
"Hey, Astara. The tournament seems to have started already, why so?"
Astara turned to him, her expression calm but unreadable. "Actually, the tournament started three days ago. We'll be fighting those downstairs. They believe our strength matches theirs, so they've already cleared out the weak ones… It's their way of saying they don't want us to be disappointed."
Daylan leaned back in his seat, his fingers instinctively brushing against the blade of his dagger. His heart pounded faster with each passing minute, his mind running through dozens of imagined fight scenarios—analyzing, predicting, and crafting counters for every possibility.
Before long, the tournament began. Daylan's eyes flickered toward the projection screen, his leg bouncing uncontrollably, betraying the nervousness he was trying to hide.
The announcer laid out the day's schedule clearly: forty of the average participants would face off against the forty Chivalries.
That would conclude the matches for the day.
"Medora Isla and Luther Brown."
Dora?… oh yeah, if this is a tournament for scouting, then her mother will force her into it.
Her massive sword rested on her shoulder as she strolled to the duel ground. Daylan leaned forward, propped against his knees, and a gentle smile.
Daylan had seen Luther around the monastery a few times, and he certainly looked skilled—skilled enough to make Daylan question whether he could beat him. But for some reason, he felt certain that Medora would handle him with ease.
Soon enough, the duel began. It was a hard-fought battle, with both sides holding their ground. Daylan watched as Medora was pushed close to her limit, her clenched teeth betraying the effort it took to keep up. Yet her strikes remained sharp and relentless—each one driven by sheer determination and speed. It didn't take long before Luther began to falter, overwhelmed by the force of her assault.
Daylan leaned back with a smile, his eyes sparkled with pride. Yet, his leg continued to bounce uncontrollably, worried about his duel.
As the tournament progressed, Enyo's turn came. Daylan watched in stunned silence—despite using no weapon or artifact, Enyo dominated the match with nothing but his fists, winning effortlessly.
Over twenty duels passed, and by then, Daylan realized he would be the last to fight—being the final one to register. Taking advantage of the time, he carefully observed each participant, analyzing their strengths and thinking of ways to counter them. He knew he'd face some of them in the later phases of the tournament. Still, most were careful not to reveal their full abilities, making it difficult to form a clear strategy.
"And now, let's welcome our one and only—Princess Astara Quincy, the pride of the Divine Citizens—facing off against none other than the Captain of the Honor Guards, Rhea Ledger!"
Daylan's head instinctively turned to Astara. "What?… you are a princess?" His mouth was slightly parted, and wore a shocked expression.
Astara's lips played a gentle smile. She got up from her seat and headed for the dueling ground.
He sat frozen, arms resting on the armrests, stunned by the announcement. He had always suspected Astara was of noble blood—that much was obvious. But a princess? That was the last thing he expected, especially considering she once said Daylan always ignored her.
Daylan wore a sudden smile and leaned back into his seat.
A princess, huh?… not bad.
Daylan leaned back, determined to absorb every detail of their match—it wasn't every day you got to witness a duel between a princess and a captain.
The captain looked young—about the same age as Daylan. Yet, leading a force of seasoned adults at such a young age spoke volumes. If nothing else, it told Daylan one thing: she would be in trouble.
In an instant, Astara held a sword and Rhea wore massive metallic gloves, smirking with her sharp teeth.
The moment the fight began, Rhea clashed her gloves together, unleashing a shockwave of sound that rippled across the field. Astara remained motionless, but blood began to trickle from her ears.
Whoa… she's a bad match for Astara.
At first glance, it seemed Astara was at a disadvantage—but the duel was far from over. Without warning, she began launching blades of light toward Rhea.
Daylan leaned forward, watching the duel carefully.
The duel raged on with intensity. Rhea kept trying to close the distance, clearly aiming for close combat, which made Daylan chuckle—she wouldn't get the chance. Even with her ears still bleeding, Astara held her ground, overwhelming Rhea with swift, precise strikes of light blades.
Astara couldn't join Daylan upstairs. The moment she won the duel, a few healers rushed to her, checked on her ears and escorted her to the infirmary.
Daylan remained seated, his heartbeat rising as he found himself lost in thoughts.
Astara is strong… very strong. Was she going easy on me all this while?
The tournament carried on, but Daylan's thoughts grew heavier with each passing match. He had always believed he stood a chance against Astara—but now, that belief wavered. Rhea was a captain, yet the only damage she managed was Astara's bleeding ears. That single fact shattered everything Daylan thought he understood. Still, one truth remained—everything would be revealed when it was finally his turn to fight.
"Ragnar Push and Daylan Rhys."
The sound of his name broke through his thoughts. Gripping his dagger tightly, Daylan made his way downstairs. Just before the entrance to the dueling grounds, he found Astara standing, arms folded across her chest, waiting for him.
"Good luck, Day… remember, fight to kill."
Daylan chuckled. "Thank you, Princess." Astara gave him a lazy look as Daylan waved at her over his shoulder.
"How lucky… who would have thought I would have the easiest way out." Ragnar sneered.
His massive hammer instantly disappeared.
"I was curious. Was it really that Daylan I used to know? The one I'd beat up for amusement? And what do you know—lucky me, it's you. No need for a weapon. I'll crush you with my hands and wipe those delusional dreams right out of you." His laughter echoed darkly.
"I have a reason to defeat you then," Daylan smirked and dropped his dagger.
"Fight!" They announced as the audience cheered.
Ragnar lunged at Daylan, his massive frame closing the distance in an instant as he reached for him. Daylan barely dodged the grasp, and Ragnar's momentum sent him crashing to the ground. But without hesitation, he quickly sprang back to his feet.
Ragnar charged forward, swinging his arm at Daylan with brutal force. Daylan dodged effortlessly, then landed four quick punches in rapid succession. The final blow sent Ragnar crashing to the ground.
"You've gotten stronger, huh?" He spat on the ground. "In that case, let me give you the honor of crushing you with my hammer!"
Daylan took a few steps backward and grabbed his dagger.
He grabbed it tightly, watching as Ragnar easily flicked his massive hammer. Ragnar charged forward and swung his sword, Daylan avoided it by a hair's breadth. The impact of the strike left the ground shaking.
Daylan's eyes widened as he realized the force behind his strikes. The damage he could cause was far greater than he expected. He knew he had to end this quickly—before Ragnar could recover and deliver a counterattack.
Seizing the moment, Daylan slashed Ragnar's shoulder open. His warm blood splattered everywhere as he screamed in agony.
Daylan's blade was sharp, and Ragna nearly lost his hand. Goosebumps course through Daylan's skin as he watched Ragnar cry out with fluids all over his face.
He was immediately declared the winner as guards rushed to carry Ragnar off the field.
Daylan couldn't help but feel uneasy watching Ragnar's reaction. Judging by the severity of the wound, the pain would be unbearable, and if he were in Ragnar's place, he feared he might die of fever.
He stood in the middle of the arena, his head slowly spinning around as he watched the crowd cheer.
Ragnar could die from this, and yet, these people just laughed it off as entertainment. Where had all the sympathy gone? Are we even human anymore?
As he stood there, the announcer closed the tournament for the day. Medora walked to him.
"That's it, Day. Death only scares the weak. And none of these people would feel that fear until they face death."
Daylan tilted toward Medora and smiled. "It is inevitable, isn't it?"
They both watched as the audience filed out of the arena, exchanging congratulations for their victories. As they glanced beyond the arena, Daylan spotted Astara waiting for him in her carriage. Though he longed to see Zari, the hour was growing late, and Astara needed rest. Medora and Astara exchanged farewells, wishing each other the best for the day ahead.