Bonds Forged in the Arena

Kieran sat in the quiet corner of the competitor's waiting hall, his mind replaying his fight with Selric. The Stone Blade Path's terrifying power haunted him, but it wasn't just Selric's overwhelming strength that lingered in his thoughts—it was the way Selric fought, an arrogant grace that seemed to mock every opponent.

Lost in contemplation, Kieran hardly noticed the figure approaching until a gentle voice broke through his thoughts.

"Your swordsmanship is impressive. The way you handled that man with the axe was masterful."

Kieran looked up to see a woman about his age, her auburn hair tied back, and striking green eyes studying him with curiosity. She extended a hand, her demeanor warm but confident.

"Liora Evershade. Group 3, like you."

He shook her hand, offering a small smile.

"Kieran. Thank you. You fought well too."

"Thanks, but I'm not sure I could've handled that guy as smoothly as you did. Your movements... they're different. Who trained you?"

Kieran hesitated.

"A hermit. I met him on the outskirts of the city. He taught me many things."

Liora's eyes lit up with curiosity.

"A hermit?! That sounds like a story worth hearing someday."

He chuckled softly.

"Maybe after the tournament."

Later, as the matches for Groups 4 and 5 commenced, Kieran and Liora joined the crowd in the viewing stands. The air was thick with excitement as warriors clashed in fierce melees, each fight showcasing unique skills and styles.

Group 4's matches were brutal and methodical, with several participants relying on clever tactics and unconventional weapons. Kieran paid close attention, noting their strengths and weaknesses. Liora leaned in closer, whispering observations that mirrored his own. Their shared analysis made the spectacle even more engaging.

When Group 5's turn came, the atmosphere shifted. One competitor stood out immediately. A broad-shouldered man wielding a massive claymore stepped into the arena. His strikes ignited sparks as his weapon moved with fiery precision. The crowd murmured in awe.

"That's Theron Ironvale," Liora said, her tone now serious. "He's using the Ember Path."

Kieran stiffened. The Ember Path—its fiery energy fueled devastating offense and unrelenting aggression. But it wasn't the Path's power that sent chills down his spine; it was the memory it unearthed. The bandit who had killed Kaelus, his master, had been an Ember Path user.

He clenched his fists, forcing himself to focus on Theron's movements. The man fought with controlled ferocity, dispatching opponents swiftly. Despite the Ember Path's chaotic reputation, Theron's technique was disciplined, almost graceful.

"He'll be a tough one," Liora remarked, glancing at Kieran. She frowned at his distant expression.

"Are you alright?"

Kieran forced a nod.

"Yeah, I'm just thinking about something."

When the match finally ended, the tournament staff announced a grand feast for the winners of Round 1. The dining hall buzzed with lively conversations as participants celebrated their victories and prepared for the challenges ahead.

Kieran and Liora found a table near the center. As they began eating, a familiar figure approached. Theron Ironvale, his presence as imposing as his fighting style, set down a plate and joined them.

"Mind if I sit here?" His voice was deep but friendly.

"No, not at all," Liora replied, gesturing toward the empty seat.

Theron nodded in thanks and began to dig into his meal. Between bites, he glanced at Kieran.

"You're the lad from Group 3, right? Kieran, wasn't it?"

"That's right. And you're Theron. That was an impressive fight."

Theron grinned.

"Appreciate it. You've got skill as well. I watched some of your match. Your moves were very precise, almost calm. Not many fight like that these days."

The three fell into easy conversation, sharing stories of their training and speculating about their future matches. Hours seemed to pass in mere moments as they laughed and bonded over shared experiences. Just as the atmosphere grew comfortable, an all-too-familiar voice cut through the noise.

"Well, isn't this a sight?"

Selric strode up to their table, his signature smirk in place. He crossed his arms, looking down at them.

"Enjoying ourselves, are we? Don't get too comfortable. None of you stand a chance against me in a one-on-one fight."

Theron's eyes narrowed, but Liora responded first, her tone icy.

"Confidence is one thing, arrogance another. We'll see how far that attitude gets you."

Selric laughed.

"We will indeed. But don't go crying home to mommy when you lose. After all, there's only room for one winner."

With that, he walked away, leaving a tense silence in his wake.

As the feast wound down, Kieran found himself reflecting on the evening. Liora's sharp wit and Theron's steadfast presence had surprised him. In a short time, he had found allies—friends, even—in this cutthroat competition.

As he lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling of his small room, his thoughts returned to his master's words.

"A blade isn't just metal, my boy. It's a reflection of the swordsman themselves."

Kieran smiled faintly. He had no intention of losing this tournament—not for himself, and not for the bonds he had begun to forge. The path ahead would be grueling, but he was ready for the challenge.

With that resolve burning in his chest, Kieran drifted into a dreamless sleep, ready for whatever came next.