Underdog's Triumph

Ivaim stood at the edge of the group, surrounded by warriors dressed in polished armor and carrying weapons that gleamed under the midday sun.

Swords, axes, and bows hung at their sides, their owners shifting restlessly as they waited. Some adjusted their straps or checked their gear, but most exchanged knowing glances.

"Bet it's gonna be the underdog," someone muttered, not bothering to lower their voice.

"Of course it is," another replied with a scoff. "Nine wins in a row. Who else has a chance?"

Ivaim tried to ignore the whispers, keeping his gaze fixed on the stone platform at the center of the square.

His arms crossed loosely over his chest, he leaned back slightly, exuding a calm confidence that only irritated his competitors more.

The crowd gathered around the warriors was just as animated. Townsfolk whispered among themselves, glancing frequently at Ivaim.