Chapter 47 - Outcome of the Preliminaries (2)

One Day Before the Main Tournament Begins:

The morning and afternoon of the day before the main tournament was uneventful. The only thing worth mentioning was the participants who had passed the preliminaries and would enter the main tournament. Their names, including the fighters who had passed the Test of Valor, and the order of the tournament matches were posted almost everywhere in the city.

The city of Asolance was in a fervor. The people could barely wait to see the fights and the bloodshed. They, especially the young men, were like hounds braying for blood.

My name was near the bottom of the list of contestants. The list was arranged by first names and I could recognize a few of the participants' last names. They came from the various noble families of Shail Kingdom.

There were thirty two people who would be fighting in the tournament at the arena located outside the city.

Judging from the names of the participants, the tournament would undoubtedly have favorites.

It was going to be an interesting tourney, especially since I had drawn the first match. It would take place early afternoon, and I was not the favorite—my opponent was. The reason I knew this? I had heard my opponent's name on the lips of everyone, whereas with my name, the people had only scratched their heads in confusion with a questioning movement of their mouths: “Who's Verath?”

Thus, the two days before the main tournament ended with the odds already against me. I could only chuckle in amusement at the upset I would soon make.

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"My lords, ladies, and gentlemen, I welcome you to the Tournament of the Wolf, where the winner will obtain a prize of a thousand gold coins and the reputation of the strongest warrior in the north, as well as a chance to meet the lovely eldest daughter of Baron Serle, our magnanimous host and ruler of the northern region of our fine kingdom," the announcer shouted from the center of the enormous circular arena. The arena was filled with thousands of spectators—both commoners and nobility—though the wealthier attendees enjoyed the better seating.

Despite the distance, the announcer’s voice carried clearly across the entire arena. It even reached the waiting room where I stood, along with fifteen other fighters. The clarity was thanks to an enchanted device shaped like a horn, which amplified the user's voice. It was an interesting use of magic, something I had never encountered before.

It reminded me of the compelling speeches given by the six Astlan eldests, though the intensity and power of this voice were far weaker in comparison.

"Without further ado, I give you the first match of today's tournament," the announcer continued, his excitement barely contained. "On one side, we have Verath, an unknown white-haired wanderer from a faraway land. And on the other side, we have one of the favorites to win the tournament, Sir Rowan Valterio, the Silver Knight."

The introductions were complete. That was my cue to enter the arena. I would enter from this side, while my opponent would come from the opposite entrance.

"Verath!" a guard bellowed. "You may now enter the arena!"

The twin doors opened just wide enough for a person to pass through. As I walked forward, the two guards nodded at me in encouragement.

"Good luck, you'll need it," they both said.

The hard, earthen floor of the arena felt solid beneath my boots, unyielding. I could hear the roars of the crowd, with the name of the Silver Knight dominating their cheers. Enthusiastic screams from women echoed across the arena, even reaching my ears.

In the middle of the arena was a rectangular white stone platform, large enough for both of us to fight comfortably. I walked toward it and took my place at one end. The announcer, a slim man in his twenties, stood at the center, holding his horn device in one hand and wearing a bright, excited smile.

A short distance from the platform, six grandmasters presided over the match. These old, hardened warriors sat together on polished, cushioned wooden chairs arranged around a long table. At the far end of the table, I spotted the short grandmaster who had gifted me my longsword. His taller brother sat to his left, and standing like a statue behind them was a white-robed man.

On the opposite side of the platform, the Silver Knight basked in the attention and cheers of the crowd. He wore a magnificent suit of silver armor that gleamed brilliantly in the sunlight. The steel plates were intricately designed, adorned with red enamel vines intertwined in mesmerizing patterns.

His hair was a shocking shade of blonde, so light it was nearly silver. His face was delicate and almost feminine, the kind of beauty that made women swoon and mothers dote. His slim body was encased in silver armor, giving him an agile, lithe appearance. He looked like a knight whose strength lay in his speed and agility. In his right hand, he gripped a longsword nearly four feet in length, the hilt adorned with intricate patterns and a small jewel embedded in it.

In contrast, I wore a borrowed suit of black armor over the clothing the eldest had crafted for me. A thin, plain black mask covered my face, leaving only my piercing green eyes and part of my mouth visible. My entire appearance, save for my white hair, was shrouded in black—from my armor to my steel boots and greaves.

In my right, black-gauntleted hand, I held a plain longsword of similar length to my opponent's. The short grandmaster had gifted me this weapon, and its quality was far superior to the stolen short sword I had used before. If compared, the short sword would be a mere pebble next to a mountain.

The announcer carefully glanced, first at me, then at my opponent. “You both know the rules,” he said in his normal voice without the horn. “Whoever surrenders first, is rendered incapable of fighting, or the grandmasters deem you unable to fight, loses the match. Only killing blows shall not be allowed. There is also a mage gifted in healing magic waiting behind the grandmasters in case of serious wounds.”

The announcer then turned his attention to the crowd and switched to his amplified voice using the horn. “Now then, what you all have been waiting for. Let the first match of the tournament begin!”

The announcer went to the edge of the stone platform and jumped off, lightly landing on the earthen ground.

Now, it was only my opponent and I who were on the platform.

We inspected each other cautiously, his face and my face giving away nothing. My opponent did not choose to wear a helmet, most likely thinking that it would only impede his vision; fatal blows such as beheading were not allowed anyway, so it was a prudent decision.

We circled closer and closer, our steps mirroring each other, until we were just within distance of each other.

He made the first move, a quick step instantly closing the distance between us. Then the Silver Knight pivoted, his longsword swinging down at me, fully taking advantage of his greater height. The downward killing arc of the weapon was quick, faster than what I would have expected from a human.

I caught the blow, barely turning it. I had not been expecting such strength from a human. He had the strength comparable to that of three strong men.

Surprise flickered on the knight's face, but it only lasted for half a brief moment before he moved back and smoothly transitioned into another attack, this time coming from the side. I blocked it once more, but with greater difficulty since he had attacked at a weaker spot.

I tuned my dragon strength and speed to his until we were evenly matched. Were I to fully use my full strength, the fight would have been long over, but that would have been suspicious to the onlookers. I needed to keep a semblance of appearance that I was within the realms of human strength.

If I were to estimate, I had no doubts that I was much stronger than two dozen men combined and my speed, magnitudes faster than the average human.

The fight between us was not graceful. Neither was it beautiful or crude. I only moved with minimum efforts to match all his sword strokes. For all the Silver Knight's graceful and skillful attacks, I matched them all with my own minimalistic defense.

Out of the corner of my eyes, I could see the crowd was fixated, their silence speaking volumes of how mesmerizing the match was. Neither of us relented, each only focused on the rhythm of our motions, the Silver Knight attacking, while I defending.

It seemed an eternity as the two of us hammered at each other, the silence permeating the air, with only the ringing of our steel for sound.

The moment was finally broken as beads of sweat dripped down the face of Sir Rowan Valterio, the Silver Knight. He was lightly panting from our fighting and there was a look of wonder in his light-grey eyes, almost silver in appearance, as our longswords met again.

“Who are you?” he said, his voice a thin whisper painted by his light exhaustion and incredulity.