Chapter 3: The Tournament of Blades

Liam stared at the training dummy, his muscles aching, sweat dripping from his brow. Van's technique, that seemingly simple thrust that used an opponent's strength against them, was proving far more difficult to master than he had anticipated. It required precise timing, a delicate touch, and an understanding of momentum that had eluded him. Strategy alone was not enough; he needed skill, strength, and something else… something he couldn't quite name.

The scroll Van left him lying discarded on the ground. It contained basic stance and footwork exercises, helpful but not transformative. Liam felt a surge of frustration. He was running out of time. The tournament was just days away, and he was still a clumsy, untalented disappointment. He needed something more, some spark to ignite his potential.

As the sun began to rise, casting long shadows across the training yard, Van Volgunder emerged from the keep, his travel pack slung over his shoulder. He paused as he passed Liam, offering a small, almost sad smile.

"Keep at it, lad," Van said, his voice low. "You've got more potential than you realize. Just… find your own way to unlock it." He hesitated, his gaze drifting towards the horizon. "The east is calling. Stay safe, Liam Volgunder. And remember all the family's teachings as that may help."

With a nod, Van turned and strode towards the gates of the keep, disappearing into the rising sun. Liam watched him go, a strange sense of unease settling in his stomach. He knew Van was returning to the front lines, to face the growing threat of the Rubak raiders. He wished he could do something to help, to contribute to the defense of Drakonia, but he was just a clumsy, untalented boy with a sword and a secret he didn't understand.

Turning back to the dummy, Liam resumed his training. He practiced the thrust over and over again, his movements growing smoother, more fluid. He focused on his footwork, trying to emulate the precise, lightning-fast steps of his father and brother. He pushed himself harder than ever before, his body screaming in protest, his mind teetering on the edge of exhaustion.

His efforts didn't go unnoticed. As the morning wore on, Gareth, Anya, and Freya arrived at the training yard. Their eyes narrowed with suspicion. They watched Liam silently for a few minutes. Their expressions were a mixture of amusement and disdain.

Finally, Gareth spoke, his voice laced with mockery. "Look at him, working so hard. Think you can actually win the tournament, little brother?"

Liam ignored him, focusing on his footwork. Anya and Freya exchanged knowing glances, but they didn't join in the taunting. Instead, they picked up their own swords and began to practice their forms. Their movements were precise and elegant.

To Liam's surprise, Gareth stepped forward, his expression shifting from mockery to something resembling… respect?

"Alright, little brother," Gareth said, his voice gruff. "I'll give you credit, you're actually trying for once in your life. Maybe with the tournament close you may achieve it. But don't think for a minute that makes us think otherwise of you." Now with no talk they all start training as with each movement Liam can see the change but they will understand all just after seeing him.

For the next few hours, the four siblings trained together, pushing each other, challenging each other, silently acknowledging the growing tension of the upcoming tournament. Liam found himself keeping pace with his siblings, his movements more fluid, his reactions faster. He wasn't as skilled as them, not by a long shot, but he was no longer the clumsy, hopeless disappointment he once was.

After this long training and seeing him going all the way, he may as well start gaining in one of the most known ways he should all the time. As 1 star was gained from each strike that he gave, Anya gasped, pointing at Liam's chest. "Ha look! He's gaining his own star!"

Liam stopped, his heart pounding in his chest. He felt a strange heat building near his heart, a subtle tingling sensation that spread outwards through his body. He glanced down, and saw a faint, nascent glow emanating from his chest, near his heart. His siblings were right. A single, faint star, barely visible, flickered there – his 1-star ranking, finally achieved.

"The tournament is a few days out," Gareth said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "Remember, we may not like you, but we still need you to make the family look good, okay? So just try to uphold the family name." He paused, then added a hint of brotherly concern to his tone. "Look, just try not to be completely pathetic out there, alright? If you are... well, we'll just pretend we don't have a brother, got it?" With that, Liam's brother and sisters left, leaving Liam to contemplate his sudden, unexpected progress.

As he considered everything, a commotion at the gates drew his attention. The trumpets blared, announcing the arrival of the noble families, each eager to prove their worth in the Volgunder Tournament. First came Vangoria, an ancient and storied house ranked third in Drakonia. Their reputation preceded them: master shield-bearers and wielders of short swords, a fighting style as brutal as it was effective. Whispers followed them like shadows, tales of their ancestors taming dragons five hundred years ago, a feat unmatched in the modern age. Their banner, a silver dragon coiled around a golden shield, rippled in the wind, a potent symbol of their power and heritage.

Next came the Pondoria, fourth-ranked and renowned for their mastery of the spear. Tall and lithe, they moved with fluid grace. Their long spears were held almost casually, yet radiated a deadly potential. Their banner, three crossed spears on a field of azure, spoke of precision, reach, and a tradition of unwavering discipline.

Other families followed, each with their own banners, their own histories, their own ambitions. The training yard, once a scene of quiet practice, became a buzzing hive of activity. Knights and squires bustled about, unloading wagons, setting up tents, and exchanging wary glances with their rivals. The air crackled with anticipation, a mixture of excitement, fear, and an age-old hunger for glory.

Then, with a final, particularly arrogant flourish of trumpets that seemed to grate on Liam's nerves, the Dergovia family entered. Lord Dergovia, a stern-faced man with eyes that seemed to pierce right through you, led the procession. He carried himself with an air of entitlement, the very picture of noble disdain. Behind him walked a youth about Liam's age, radiating an aura of arrogance and self-assuredness that surpassed even his father's. This was Kael Dergovia, heir to the Dergovia name and Liam's most formidable rival.

Liam watched the spectacle unfold, his own anxieties amplified by the sheer scale of the event and the palpable tension emanating from the newly arrived Dergovias. He felt like a small boat caught in a raging storm, surrounded by towering warships, one of which was bearing down on him specifically. He clenched his fists, trying to quell the tremor in his hands. He had to focus. He had to be ready.

As the Dergovia family made their way towards the main hall, Kael's eyes scanned the training yard and locked onto Liam. A smirk played on Kael's lips as he detached himself from his family group and strode confidently towards Liam, his footsteps echoing in the sudden silence of the yard.

"Well, well," Kael drawled, his voice dripping with condescension, "if it isn't Liam Volgunder. I heard even you were participating in the tournament this year. Trying to finally bring some honor to your family's name, or just aiming to be comic relief?"

Liam, despite the tremor of fear in his gut, met Kael's gaze. He remembered Van's words, "Be clever," and Gareth's grudging encouragement. A small, almost involuntary smirk touched his own lips. "See you in the arena, Dergovia," Liam replied, his voice surprisingly steady. "If you can make it that far."

Inside, however, Liam's heart hammered against his ribs. Could he really face someone like Kael Dergovia? He wasn't sure, but as he watched his rival rejoin his family with a dismissive laugh, a flicker of something other than fear ignited within him. It was resolved. He would face Kael Dergovia, and he would fight. He owed his family that much, and perhaps, just perhaps, he owed it to himself.

His mind flashed back to his mother, to her gentle smile and her words of encouragement. He wished she were there to offer him guidance, to tell him everything would be fine.

That night, Liam stood on the battlements of Volgunder Keep, gazing out at the vast, snow-covered landscape. He felt small and insignificant, a single spark in the face of overwhelming darkness. He thought of his father, Arthur, and the weight of responsibility he knew his father carried, though they rarely spoke. He knew the pressure on his family, the expectations, the constant threat from the raiders.

Liam closed his eyes, the wind whipping around him. He didn't know what the tournament held, or what the future held for Drakonia. But for the first time, a sense of purpose settled within him. He was Liam Volgunder, and he would face whatever came, blade in hand. His fate, and perhaps Drakonia's, was now his to fight for.