Kael watched silently from beneath the trees, arms crossed, eyes narrowed as the clash of blades echoed once more through the canyon clearing.
The next match had begun.
This time, the duelists didn't waste time with bravado or posturing. One wielded a short, single-edged saber; the other, a slim dueling sword. Their strikes were swift, sharp, and far more disciplined than the last pair. Sparks flew as metal kissed metal. Footwork slid over packed earth in practiced rhythm.
From the crowd, cheers and jeers erupted on both sides.
The boy Kael had spoken with earlier—"Little Abacus," he called himself—was practically bouncing with excitement. He punched the air with every successful strike from the saber-wielder.
"Did you see that turn? Hah! That's Lin Mo—our best blade. That fancy sword brat won't last three moves!"
Kael only nodded faintly, not taking his eyes off the match.
He wasn't interested in the spectacle for entertainment's sake. He was watching the footwork, the precision, the control. After years in isolation, seeing real martial skill again was both humbling and strange. He had focused so much on internal cultivation—breath, energy, incantation—that he'd nearly forgotten what it was like to watch someone fight.
Not posturing. Not sparring.
But truly fight.
The duel raged on, neither side giving quarter. Eventually, with a sudden low sweep and twist of the wrist, Lin Mo disarmed his opponent, the sword flying through the air and landing with a thud.
The crowd exploded in cheers—at least, half of it did.
The other half scowled, muttered, or crossed their arms.
Kael felt the shift in the atmosphere.
This wasn't just rivalry. This was something deeper.
He turned to Little Abacus. "How far is this going?"
The boy blinked. "What do you mean?"
"This—" Kael gestured toward the arena. "It's more than a grudge over a girl, isn't it?"
Abacus hesitated. "Well... yeah. I guess it's gotten a bit bigger than that."
"A bit?"
The boy sighed. "Okay, a lot bigger. You have the merchant families and the nobles backing one side. The orphans, servants, and field-born on the other. It's about money, bloodlines, and who gets to call the shots in this sect."
Kael said nothing.
Because that truth had already sunk into him long ago.
This wasn't just a duel.
It was a mirror.
A glimpse of what the sect truly was beneath the oaths and robes and ceremonies—a system, teetering between tradition and tension. And now, it was bleeding into the youth.
He felt the bottle against his chest again.
Cool.
Still.
And somehow… warning him.
The next pair was already stepping into the circle, weapons drawn.