Chapter 26

Xain and Mae stepped into the fighters' waiting area of the coliseum, the air carrying a subtle mix of sweat, polished steel, and the faint scent of stone. The space was surprisingly well-kept—better than Xain had expected. Smooth stone walls enclosed the room, their surfaces lined with sconces that cast a steady, golden glow, keeping the place well-lit despite the lack of windows. A few wooden benches were scattered around, some occupied by waiting fighters, while others sat empty, their surfaces worn from years of use. Along one wall, a weapons rack held a modest collection of practice swords and spears, though most competitors likely had their own weapons.

The atmosphere was thick with anticipation—some fighters sat in quiet focus, others spoke in hushed tones, their excitement barely contained. Across the room, a large reinforced glass window overlooked the arena, allowing those waiting to watch the ongoing fights. A set of brass speaking tubes lined the wall near it, presumably used by officials to call in competitors or relay important information.

"Wow, this place looks nice," Xain remarked, his eyes roaming over the details. It was simple, but there was something about the energy in the air that made it feel significant.

A voice from behind made him turn.

"I almost thought you bailed on me."

Xain turned to see Roland approaching.

"I wouldn't do something like that. I keep my promises," Xain replied, though the words barely left his mouth before a pang of guilt settled in. His expression flickered, and he rubbed his arm absently. "Most of the time."

Roland caught the change in tone but let it pass, waving a hand dismissively. "Don't worry, I was just messing with you."

His gaze shifted to Mae. "So, you're joining the tournament too?"

Mae smirked, tilting her head slightly. "I am. It seemed interesting."

Roland exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck, looking more nervous than before. "I, uh... really hope your 'interest' isn't stronger than Xain here. I kinda need him to win—or at least place in the top three."

Mae placed a hand on his shoulder—not too hard, but just firm enough that it made him subtly tense, discomfort flickering across his face from his broken back. Not enough to call attention to itself. But enough that he felt it.

"Don't worry," she said, her lips curling into a thin, almost knowing smile. "As long as he's not up against me, I'm sure he'll be fine."

Roland took a careful step back from her, his discomfort only barely concealed. "Uh-huh..." He quickly turned his attention back to Xain. "You just got here, right? You should take a look around—see who you might be up against."

Xain nodded. "You're right."

He turned, scanning the room as he muttered under his breath, "Still can't believe I'm actually going to be doing this."

Looking around, Xain took in the various competitors filling the waiting area. As expected, there were plenty of the usual types—ex-soldiers, hardened mercenaries, knights looking to test their mettle, and even a few criminals who had likely entered for the sheer thrill of violence. But amidst them, three figures stood out to him more than the rest.

The first was a demi-human man, likely in his mid-twenties, distinguished by a pair of sharp fox ears and a long, bushy tail. His oak-brown hair matched the keen, fox-like eyes that studied the room with a quiet intensity. He was tall, dark-skinned, and built like someone who had honed his body through years of combat, his torso lined with scars that spoke of past battles. His hands were wrapped in worn bandages, his feet bare, and he wore only loose-fitting pants, the lack of armor suggesting confidence in his speed and skill. He radiated a disciplined seriousness that made Xain uneasy. *I hope I don't end up fighting him.*

His gaze moved to the next person—this time, a woman in her thirties with long, vibrant orange hair pulled into a high ponytail. Her striking yellow eyes held a sharp focus, though there was a subtle nervousness beneath her composed expression. She stood taller than Mae but slightly shorter than Xain, clad in a mix of lightweight leather armor reinforced with metal plates for added protection. At her waist rested a longsword with a sheath intricately designed with snarling beast motifs, the craftsmanship exquisite and the weapon itself well-maintained. *A swordswoman? Hmm… I don't like my chances against her.*

Finally, his eyes landed on an older man, possibly in his fifties. His short-cropped hair had started to gray, and a shadow of stubble lined his strong jaw. His black eyes were sharp and unwavering, locked onto something across the room with an intensity that made Xain instinctively follow his gaze. He was only slightly taller than Xain and wore well-worn full plate armor, every scratch and dent a testament to experience rather than neglect. In his hands rested a heavy war hammer, the weight of it effortless in his grip.

Xain's eyes followed the older man's glare to another knightly figure—a younger man in his late twenties, clad in polished plate armor that looked practically pristine in comparison. A massive greatsword was strapped to his back, and his black hair was neatly styled, framing sharp blue eyes and a confident, almost cocky smile. The tension between the two was palpable. *Maybe they're rivals?* Xain mused.

These were the fighters that immediately caught his attention, but before he could take in anyone else, a voice suddenly cut through the air.

"Well, isn't this a surprise."

Xain stiffened, recognizing that voice instantly. He turned sharply, eyes widening as he came face-to-face with someone he hadn't expected to see again—especially not so soon.

"Jakel?" he asked, the name slipping out before he could stop himself.

The mercenary scoffed. "It's Even now. Even Mathers. Remember that," he corrected, his tone carrying an edge.

Xain shook off his initial surprise, recovering from the unexpected reunion.