A Drink After The First Round

Back in Yorg, the first round of the preliminaries had concluded, leaving thirty-two participants. The announcer had informed them all to be ready for the next day's contest, which could either be a free-for-all or a team battle.

The deadline to determine the final four who would represent Yorg in the capital was approaching fast, and by the evening of the next day, only the strongest would remain.

As Turai and Gareth made their way back to the motel, Turai could feel eyes on them. He heard whispers from the crowd, snippets of conversation about his swift and brutal victory.

"That's the boy who fought without a weapon," someone said. "Did you see how fast he moved?" another voice added. It was all the attention Turai had never sought, but he couldn't deny it: they were watching him now.