Chapter 36

Gurion made his way back to the fighter's waiting area, rubbing at his eyes as his vision gradually began to return. The world was still a blurry haze, the shapes and colors bleeding together, but he could tell he was no longer completely blind. His muscles ached from the grueling fight, his body protesting with every step, yet the adrenaline still lingering in his veins kept him steady.

Suddenly, a heavy arm wrapped around his shoulders. The weight of it was unmistakably armored.

"Congratulations on your victory!" a familiar voice rang out beside him.

Even through the haze, he recognized Calvinel. The young knight's voice carried its usual warmth, his tone genuine.

"Thank you," Gurion replied, shifting slightly to slip out from under Calvinel's arm.

"You fought well," came another voice.

Gurion turned, blinking as his vision sharpened just enough to make out Bryanard's imposing form, arms crossed over his chest. The old knight studied him with an expression that held something close to respect.

"Even though the odds were greatly against you," Bryanard continued, "you endured."

Before Gurion could respond, another voice chimed in.

"That was a surprising turn of events," said Mae as she stepped closer, her hands neatly folded behind her back. There was a certain amusement in her tone, her lips curving into a sly smile. "I was expecting you to lose. The other one was simply… more noteworthy."

Gurion scratched the back of his head, unsure how to take that. "Thanks, I think? But I definitely feel like I'm fighting an uphill battle here."

"You definitely are," Zeva said, giving him a sidelong glance. "But there's no denying you have the skills to keep up."

"I mean, you beat the Bandit Lord," Xain added, folding his arms. "One of the most wanted criminals around. That says a lot, I think."

Before anyone could say more, a familiar voice cut through the conversation.

"Talking about me?"

They all turned to see Ulrich Claw being carried in, slung between a man and a woman, both arena staff. He looked battered but still carried himself with a certain roguish ease, his grin as sharp as ever despite his injuries.

"We were congratulating him on beating you," Zeva said, her tone cold as she crossed her arms.

Ulrich chuckled, wincing slightly as he shifted his weight. "How cold. I know I'm a criminal and all, but aren't we all friends here?" He gave a dramatic sigh. "Also, I did just get my ass kicked, so some worry would be appreciated."

The staff members, satisfied that he could stand on his own, released him and stepped back, heading toward the exit.

"Don't worry, Mr. Bandit Lord," Mae said smoothly, a teasing lilt in her voice. "I expressed my desire for you to win."

Ulrich scoffed, shaking his head, but before he could fire back a response, Gurion stepped forward.

With little fanfare, he extended his hand.

Ulrich blinked, his expression shifting slightly as he stared at it. Then, he looked up at Gurion, a question in his eyes.

"Come on," Gurion said, keeping his hand steady. "Even with you throwing glass and bombs at me, that was a good match."

Ulrich exhaled, his shoulders relaxing just slightly. Then, after a brief pause, he reached out and clasped Gurion's hand, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Yeah," he said. "It was a good fight."

As Ulrich and Gurion released their handshake, Calvinel's voice cut in smoothly.

"By the way," he said, his ever-present charming smile unwavering, "a good number of us are planning to arrest you once this tournament is over. Just so you know."

Ulrich let out a sharp laugh. "Ha! I figured that was something I'd have to deal with when coming here." He flashed a smirk, completely unfazed. "Don't worry—I've got plans. And tools. When the time comes, I'll be long gone."

Calvinel's smile didn't falter. "Well then, it's good that we have a week to figure out what those plans are… and arrest you before you can use them."

From the sidelines, Even scoffed. "That's the second time I've heard that line today."

He turned toward Xain, his expression shifting, his tone losing its sarcasm.

"Speaking of which, after seeing the absolute piece of shit my father is, are you still planning to change my mind?"

Xain met his gaze without hesitation. "Yes, I am!" he declared, his voice steady, conviction burning in his eyes. "I will show you that there are other ways of doing this—ways that don't involve death."

Even let out a dry chuckle. "You're an annoying little brat, you know that?" He exhaled sharply, then jerked his chin toward the fighter waiting nearby—a man with shaggy black hair and a beard. "But instead of thinking about how you're gonna fix me, maybe you should focus on yourself. You're up next."

Xain turned his gaze to his opponent, studying the man. He was lean, almost unassuming in stature, his posture relaxed. There was nothing overtly intimidating about him.

Even smirked. "Then again, maybe you don't have to worry. Guy doesn't exactly look all that impressive."

Xain didn't share the sentiment. "I won't judge a book by its cover," he said, still watching the man closely. "Besides… I feel like I've seen him somewhere before."

Even hummed in vague agreement, nodding along—before suddenly pausing, his brow furrowing.

"Judging a what now?" he asked.

Xain turned to him, just as confused. "Huh?"

Even crossed his arms, tilting his head. "What book are you talking about? And why'd you change the subject all of a sudden?"

Realization struck Xain like a brick.

"Oh! I wasn't talking about a literal book," he explained quickly. "It's a metaphor—just a way of saying—"

But as he spoke, a thought flickered in his mind.

*I've been talking to Ercale too long. His way of speaking is rubbing off on me!*

Even still looked unconvinced. "Uh-huh. Well, whatever." He waved a hand dismissively before stepping away. "Just don't get your ass kicked out there."

Xain let out a slow breath, turning his focus inward.

"Well, better ready myself to face the storm."

His heart pounded faster at the thought of stepping into the arena, of feeling the weight of the crowd's eyes on him. But then, a single image rose in his mind—'Nerissa' signing to him:

"Good luck. I'm cheering for you."

The memory settled something inside him, steadying his pulse.

His fist clenched. *Come on, Xain. It's time to keep your promise.*

He exhaled, shoulders squaring, as he waited for his match to begin.