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Chapter 196: The tournament

In the city of Andelheim, the Ventor Martial Tournament was about to begin, and the streets buzzed with life. The entire city seemed to pulse with energy, as if the very air itself was alive. Drums echoed through the narrow alleys and broad plazas, their steady rhythm calling to the masses who had gathered for the grand event. People moved through the streets in a swarm, their voices raised in excitement, shouting to friends and strangers alike. It was as if the entire city had been transformed into one vast festival.

Marquis Aldrich Ventor had seen to that.

From the brightly colored banners draped across every building to the musicians stationed at every street corner, the Marquis had orchestrated every detail. He didn't just want a tournament—he wanted a celebration of martial spirit, a spectacle that would be remembered long after the final bout had been fought. The Marquis' vision was clear: the Ventor Martial Tournament would be both a proving ground for warriors and a festival for the people.

As the crowd flowed toward the grand arena at the city's heart, the sounds of laughter and lively conversation mixed with the pounding of drums and the occasional cheer from those already inside. Children darted through the crowd, waving flags emblazoned with the golden phoenix of House Ventor, while vendors hawked everything from roasted meats to colorful trinkets. The scent of sweet pastries and spiced ale filled the air, adding to the festive atmosphere.

The arena itself loomed large, its stone walls towering above the city like a fortress. But today, it wasn't a place of defense—it was the center of celebration. Bright banners flapped in the wind, their vibrant hues a sharp contrast against the stone. The arena was already packed with spectators, eager to witness the opening ceremony and the first bouts of the day.

In the streets, performers twirled flaming batons, their movements precise and graceful. Acrobats leaped and spun, their feats of agility drawing gasps from the crowd. Everywhere, the energy was palpable. Music floated through the air, the high notes of flutes mingling with the deep, resonant beat of the drums, creating a symphony that perfectly matched the mood of the city.

A group of travelers, new to the city, paused near one of the performers. "This is incredible," one of them remarked, his voice barely audible over the noise. "I've never seen anything like it."

His companion nodded, her eyes wide as she took in the scene. "They say the best fighters in the realm are here this year. Even someone from the Azure Isles."

"That's the rumor. And the Marquis himself will be overseeing the final rounds." The traveler leaned in conspiratorially. "They say he's looking for new recruits."

The woman grinned, her excitement mirrored in the faces of those around her. The tournament wasn't just a competition—it was an opportunity. For the fighters, it was a chance to gain glory. For the spectators, it was a chance to witness history.

The streets grew more crowded as the day wore on, the flow of people moving toward the arena like a river. The clamor of voices, music, and drums created a cacophony that filled the air, giving the entire city an electric energy. Every street corner was alive with activity—whether it was street performers, vendors, or simply people excitedly talking about the matches to come.

The woman's grin widened as she leaned closer to her companion, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper.

"And that's not the only exciting thing," she said, her eyes glinting with anticipation. "Two of the most famous sects in the realm have shown their faces this year—the Cloud Heavens Sect and the Silver Flame Sect."

Her companion's eyebrows shot up, his surprise evident. "Both of them? In the same tournament?"

She nodded, clearly relishing the chance to share this rare piece of information. "Exactly. Their rivalry has been brewing for years, and now they're going to clash in the same arena. This isn't just any ordinary tournament anymore. With both of them here, it's bound to get intense."

The tension between the Cloud Heavens Sect and the Silver Flame Sect was well known across the land. For as long as anyone could remember, the two sects had been at odds. Their methods, their philosophies, even their reputations—everything about them stood in opposition to each other. The Cloud Heavens Sect, known for their ethereal, sky-reaching techniques, prized elegance and control in battle. Their disciples moved like the wind, swift and precise, their attacks like a sudden storm.

The Silver Flame Sect, on the other hand, was all about power and destruction. Their techniques were as fierce as they were overwhelming, channeling fire and explosive energy to burn through any obstacle. Their fighters were notorious for their aggression and their unwillingness to back down.

For years, skirmishes and challenges had erupted between the two sects, but never in a venue like this. The Ventor Martial Tournament was neutral ground, and with both sects present, the rivalry was set to explode in front of thousands of spectators.

CRANK!

At that very moment, a resounding crash of drums echoed through the streets, silencing all conversations. The rhythm swelled, its deep, booming beats reverberating through the air like thunder rolling across the plains. Every head in the crowd turned in unison toward the source of the sound. The unmistakable convoy of the Marquis was approaching.

People surged toward the main thoroughfare, their murmurs of excitement building into a steady roar. The Marquis Aldrich Ventor, the man who had organized this grand tournament, was passing through the city, and the spectacle of his arrival was one few would want to miss.

Banners bearing the golden phoenix of House Ventor fluttered in the wind as the convoy appeared. At the front, mounted guards clad in gleaming armor flanked the Marquis' carriage, their spears held high, reflecting the sunlight as it pierced through the gaps in the crowd. Behind them, musicians marched, beating the massive drums that had drawn the city's attention. The rhythmic pounding was hypnotic, each strike matching the pulse of the festival itself, shaking the very streets beneath the people's feet.

The carriage carrying the Marquis was an imposing sight. Crafted from dark wood and adorned with intricate gold detailing, it was a moving monument to the wealth and power of House Ventor. Windows of polished crystal allowed glimpses of the man within. Marquis Aldrich Ventor sat in regal poise, his sharp eyes surveying the masses, his expression one of satisfaction. Dressed in robes of deep crimson and gold, he looked every bit the noble he was, a man of influence who had transformed the tournament into not just a contest of martial skill, but a celebration of culture and tradition.

Following the carriage were dignitaries, noblemen, and notable figures from various factions across the land. Even they could not hide their excitement, knowing the tournament was more than just a gathering of the strongest. It was a political arena, a place where alliances could be forged, rivalries renewed, and opportunities for glory seized.

The crowd cheered wildly, waving flags and reaching out as if they might touch the carriage, desperate for even a passing glance from the Marquis. The musicians following the convoy filled the air with triumphant melodies, and entertainers—jugglers, acrobats, and fire-breathers—danced along the edges of the procession, adding to the vibrant chaos that now defined the streets of Andelheim.

A young boy near the front of the crowd leaped excitedly, trying to catch a better view of the Marquis' passing, while an elderly woman beside him clapped her hands in time with the beat of the drums. Everywhere, the same sense of exhilaration rippled through the gathered spectators.

As the convoy reached the gates of the grand arena, the thunderous cheers from the crowd seemed to swell, echoing off the towering stone walls that enclosed the massive structure. The sound of drums and music gradually faded as the Marquis' procession slowed, coming to a regal halt before the arena's grand entrance. The golden phoenix banners fluttered in the breeze, casting long shadows over the wide path that led into the arena, now packed with eager spectators craning their necks to get a glimpse of the spectacle.

Inside the arena, the anticipation was palpable. The seats were already filled with thousands of onlookers, their eyes fixed on the center stage, where the action would soon unfold. At the heart of the arena stood a raised platform, ornately decorated with House Ventor's insignia, its purpose clear—it was where the Marquis would make his grand introduction and the tournament would be officially declared open.

Suddenly, the amplified voice of the spokesperson boomed across the entire arena, startling some of the onlookers who hadn't noticed the man's arrival. He stood tall, positioned near the platform, holding an intricately designed artifact in his hand—a glimmering orb of crystal surrounded by intricate gold filigree. The artifact hummed faintly with power, its magic amplifying his voice so that it resonated through every corner of the arena. His voice was strong, theatrical, and filled with exaggerated enthusiasm, as if each word was meant to stoke the crowd's already burning excitement.

"Welcome, one and all, to the grandest event of the year—the legendary

Ventor Martial Tournament

! Brought to you by none other than the esteemed

Marquis Aldrich Ventor!

"

The crowd erupted in wild applause, their roars echoing back like waves crashing against a cliff. The spokesperson, basking in the adoration, waited a moment before continuing, his voice filled with dramatic flattery.

"The Marquis—visionary, noble, protector of our great city—has brought together the finest warriors from across the realm! Today, we witness strength, honor, and skill in its most glorious form! A tournament like no other, where the brave rise to claim their place among legends!"

As the spokesperson spoke, his gestures were broad and theatrical, clearly designed to whip the crowd into a frenzy. He was a master of hype, each sentence dripping with overblown praise and excitement.

"And not only do we have the honor of witnessing such martial prowess, but we do so under the watchful eyes of the

greatest families

from every corner of the land! Nobles, warriors, and champions alike gather here to witness history unfold! You, the people, are part of this moment, a moment that will echo through the ages!"

The crowd was hooked, every sentence drawing louder cheers, the energy of the arena building with every syllable the man uttered. The artifact continued to carry his voice clearly, cutting through the noise of the crowd and giving his words an almost larger-than-life quality.

"Warriors of the Cloud Heavens Sect, masters of ethereal grace! And from the fiery depths, the relentless fighters of the Silver Flame Sect! Both have sent their finest to compete on this very stage!" His voice lowered conspiratorially, as if he were sharing a secret with the thousands watching. "The rivalry between these two great sects has spanned generations, but today, here in Andelheim, it may finally come to a head!"

The crowd murmured with excitement, the promise of a showdown between the Cloud Heavens Sect and the Silver Flame Sect stoking their curiosity and anticipation even further. It was clear that this rivalry was as much a draw as the tournament itself.

"And now," the spokesperson's voice swelled to its most dramatic yet, "raise your voices for the man who made all of this possible—the

Marquis Aldrich Ventor!

"

With that, the crowd surged to its feet, applause and cheers cascading through the arena as the Marquis stepped forward onto the platform, his imposing figure illuminated by the late morning sun. The crowd's energy was electric, and the spokesperson, his job done, stepped aside, allowing the moment to belong to the Marquis as he prepared to open the tournament that would shape the lives of many.

The Ventor Martial Tournament had begun.

Chapter 197: The tournament (2)

Valeria stood at the edge of the arena, the booming voice of the spokesperson reverberating through the crowd. The deafening cheers, the grandiose declarations, the never-ending praise for the Marquis—all of it grated on her nerves.

'Rubbish,'

she thought, her eyes narrowing slightly as she scanned the throngs of people swept up in the spectacle. The spokesperson's words were filled with nothing but hollow flattery, designed to stir excitement and inflate the egos of those in power.

She had seen this type of showmanship before—too many times, in fact. The words, the theatrics, the way he spoke of "honor" and "glory" like they were commodities to be bartered in front of a crowd. It reminded her too much of the banquets and gatherings she had been forced to attend in her youth, surrounded by nobles who wore their charm like a mask, hiding the emptiness beneath.

At those events, it was always the same: flattery, smiles, and political maneuvering. Everyone vying for influence, using compliments as weapons and alliances as shields. They would speak of "honor" and "duty" with the same hollow reverence she was hearing now. Words that meant nothing, spoken by people who cared more about appearances than about the principles they claimed to uphold.

Valeria did not like it.

'Sigh…..'

Valeria sighed quietly, shaking her head at the empty spectacle unfolding before her. She stood alone at the edge of the arena, surrounded by the roaring crowd, yet feeling completely detached from the excitement around her.

The cheers, the praise for the Marquis—it all felt hollow. She had seen it all before. It reminded her too much of the banquets from her youth, filled with false smiles and shallow words, where nothing was ever as it seemed.

She clenched her jaw, trying to push the memories aside.

It doesn't matter if I like it or not,

she thought, her hand brushing the hilt of her sword.

Today wasn't about those hollow words or the games of the noble class. It was about proving herself, about pushing past the stagnation that had held her in place for so long.

Still, despite her best efforts to focus, her thoughts drifted to Lucavion. '

Why am I even thinking about him?'

she scolded herself, but the memory of their argument from the day before lingered.

She had stormed off after his relentless teasing, her frustration boiling over. At the time, she had been so sure she needed to get away from him—to escape his constant jabs and that irritating smirk. He had a way of making everything seem trivial, and that had rubbed her the wrong way.

Yet, after spending time alone in her hotel room, she had started to feel… bored. The empty silence of the room had given her too much time to think, to reflect on the tournament, her stagnation, and even Lucavion's infuriating presence. She had tried to push him out of her mind, but the truth was, even his teasing had brought a strange energy to her day—something she couldn't quite define. Now, standing here in the arena without him, she felt a strange emptiness.

'I didn't even tell him where I'm staying,'

She realized this yesterday. She hadn't mentioned anything when she stormed off, too caught up in her frustration to care. It wasn't like Lucavion would chase after her, and honestly, she had preferred it that way at the time.

But now, the thought that he wouldn't be contacting her—wouldn't even know where she was—left her with a weird feeling.

'Why do I care?'

she asked herself, annoyed at the flicker of disappointment creeping into her thoughts.

I don't need him. I'm perfectly fine on my own.

She straightened her posture, determined to shake off the odd sense of loneliness that had settled in. There was no point dwelling on Lucavion or his absence. He had his own path, and she had hers. '

I don't need him',

she repeated in her mind, trying to convince herself of the fact.

As the cheers of the crowd swelled again, Valeria focused her attention on the tournament. She needed to stay sharp, to keep her mind clear. There would be plenty of time to worry about everything else later—after she proved herself in this arena.

'I came here to fight,

she reminded herself, her grip on the hilt of her sword tightening.

Not to get lost in distractions.

*******

The thunderous applause for Marquis Aldrich Ventor had barely subsided when the spokesperson stepped forward once more, his voice booming across the arena.

"And now, to honor the start of this magnificent tournament, we shall witness a grand spectacle! A show match, the first of many to come, featuring none other than the

two great knights

of House Ventor! Let this be a display of discipline, strength, and the fierce spirit that resides within the Ventor family!"

The crowd roared with approval, the anticipation of seeing the Marquis' personal knights in combat adding a new surge of excitement. The arena floor was cleared, the dust from countless battles past swept away to prepare for the first clash. Two figures stepped forward, emerging from opposite ends of the coliseum.

Both knights were clad in gleaming armor, the sigil of the golden phoenix proudly emblazoned on their breastplates, the mark of House Ventor.

One knight, taller and broader, carried a large shield and a longsword, moving with the calm, steady grace of a seasoned warrior. His name echoed through the arena—Sir Gavron, the Shield of Ventor. Known for his unyielding defense and relentless patience in battle, he was a pillar of the Ventor family's martial force.

Across from him, a smaller, faster figure stepped into the arena, her movements fluid and light as a breeze. Lady Serine, the Falcon of Ventor, was the other knight, her reputation built on speed and agility, with a pair of short blades gleaming in her hands.

Her footwork was what she was good at and what she was famous for coupled with how she danced across the battlefield with a swiftness that made her a terror to her opponents.

The two knights took their positions at the center of the arena, facing each other with practiced focus. Though this was a show match, there was no question that both would give it their all. The honor of House Ventor, after all, was at stake.

The spokesperson's voice filled the air once more. "Let this battle be a demonstration of the strength that upholds the Ventor name! May the Shield and the Falcon of Ventor show you what it means to stand as champions!"

The crowd hushed, waiting for the signal to begin. The sound of the drums grew quieter, their deep tones underscoring the tension that now filled the air. Every eye in the arena was fixed on the two knights, their poised stances revealing the depth of their training and skill.

Then, with a single sharp note from a horn, the match began.

Sir Gavron charged forward with a surprising speed for a man of his size, his longsword raised and ready. His shield was a towering wall before him, moving like an impenetrable barrier. Lady Serine, however, was already in motion, darting to the side with a blur of agility, her twin blades flashing as she circled her opponent.

The first clash came swift and loud, Serine's blades meeting Gavron's shield with a metallic crash that echoed through the arena. The crowd gasped as the impact sent sparks flying, but neither knight faltered. Serine danced away from Gavron's counterattack, her speed keeping her out of his reach, her movements almost too quick to track.

Gavron, undeterred, kept his ground, his shield always between him and the relentless strikes of his opponent. He swung his longsword in powerful arcs, forcing Serine to stay on the defensive, but her agility was unmatched. With each swing, she seemed to slip just out of range, her blades striking back like a falcon's talons.

The crowd was on the edge of their seats, watching the display of skill and strategy unfold. Gavron's powerful, methodical style was a stark contrast to Serine's lightning-fast, precise strikes. It was a battle of endurance versus speed, strength versus finesse, and neither knight was giving an inch.

Serine leapt forward, aiming a flurry of blows at Gavron's side, but his shield moved swiftly to intercept, the clang of metal on metal ringing out once more. With a grunt of effort, Gavron pushed forward, using his weight and strength to drive Serine back. For a moment, it looked as though he might have the upper hand.

But in a flash, Serine pivoted, her footwork impeccable, and she slipped behind Gavron's shield. Her blades came down in a swift, cutting arc, but Gavron's sword was there to block, his reflexes honed to perfection.

The crowd erupted in cheers, marveling at the skill on display.

For several long moments, the two knights continued their dance of steel, neither able to gain a decisive advantage. The crowd could sense the tension between them, the respect they held for one another's abilities, but also the fierce determination to win this match for the honor of their house.

Finally, after a particularly fierce exchange, both knights stepped back, their breathing heavy but their resolve unbroken. The crowd roared in approval, their cheers filling the arena.

With a final clash of blades, the horn sounded once more, signaling the end of the match. The spokesperson stepped forward, his voice booming again.

"And there you have it! A magnificent display of skill and honor from the knights of Ventor! Sir Gavron, the unbreakable Shield! And Lady Serine, the untouchable Falcon! Let their strength be the standard by which this tournament is measured!"

The crowd roared its approval once more, their applause echoing through the arena as the two knights saluted each other with the utmost respect. The tournament had officially begun, and the crowd was ready for the battles to come.

Chapter 198: The tournament (3)

With the show match concluded and the crowd's cheers still reverberating through the stands, the spokesperson took to the center of the arena once more, holding up his hand to quiet the masses.

"And now, the moment we've all been waiting for—the official start of the

Ventor Martial Tournament!

" His voice, amplified by the artifact, reached even the farthest seats in the arena. "Warriors from across the land will clash here today, facing opponents from all walks of life in a test of skill, strength, and spirit. Let the battles commence!"

As the horn sounded, the arena floor shifted into action. In each of the large, circular rings spread across the vast space, fighters moved to their designated areas, preparing to face their first opponents. The unique format of the tournament meant that the audience would have no shortage of excitement, as multiple matches would be held simultaneously in view of everyone present. Spectators eagerly shifted in their seats, choosing which ring to focus on as the first fights began.

Each ring represented a new story, a unique clash of styles and techniques. In the far left, two sword-wielders squared off, one armed with a long saber, the other with a pair of short daggers.

Sparks flew as their blades met in a deadly, rhythmic dance, each fighter pushing and countering with precise movements. Across from them, a pair of hulking brawlers prepared for their match, their bare fists wrapped in thick cloth, each sizing the other up with intense stares.

Further down the arena, a robed figure faced off against an armored knight. The robed fighter held a staff aloft, their eyes closed in focus, while the knight readied his shield, taking a defensive stance. As soon as the horn signaled the start, the robed figure's staff burst into flames, sending a wave of fiery energy toward the knight, who deftly raised his shield to absorb the impact, his steady form refusing to budge.

The crowd buzzed with excitement, heads turning from ring to ring, trying to keep up with the multitude of battles unfolding. The air was thick with the sound of clashing steel, the crackle of magical energy, and the grunts and yells of fighters locked in fierce competition. The diverse combat styles on display reflected the variety of martial traditions and backgrounds gathered for the tournament, from the disciplined, steady strikes of knights to the fluid, unpredictable moves of rogues and spellcasters.

In the center of it all, the Marquis watched with a sharp gaze, observing the early matches with a keen interest. Each fighter's performance in these first rounds would set the tone for the tournament, and for those seeking the Marquis' attention, these initial battles were crucial.

Meanwhile, the rivalry between the Cloud Heavens Sect and the Silver Flame Sect had already begun to cast its shadow over the event. The two sects' representatives would be fighting in different rings for now, but every eye watched their movements, speculating on who would rise to the final rounds. Fighters from each sect took to the rings with pride, keenly aware of the expectations and scrutiny placed upon them.

*******

Valeria leaned forward slightly, her gaze steady as she observed each ring. The crowd's excitement seemed to grow with every passing minute, but for her, it was mere noise. What mattered were the fighters and what they revealed in each move.

'A little finesse, a bit of strength,' she mused, watching the dagger-wielder dart back just out of the saber's reach. 'But he relies too much on that speed. If his opponent could just wait him out, he'd start to tire.'

Her eyes flicked to the robed mage, unleashing a fiery wave toward the armored knight. The knight met it with his shield, braced and steady, taking the force without budging an inch.

'Patience—he has that much, at least. Could be useful, though if he doesn't go on the offense, he'll be easy prey for someone bolder. And the mage? Strong but overzealous. If he doesn't land a hit soon, he'll burn himself out.'

As she assessed each fighter, her gaze shifted to the Cloud Heavens and Silver Flame Sect representatives, their rivalry palpable even from where she sat. Each move, each strike, felt laden with a weight of pride that went beyond the tournament.

'Stubborn people,' she thought, her face serious.

'They're too focused on each other. A distraction like that could be their downfall, though their skill is undeniable. Still…they're strong….Really strong.'

Observing her opponents she thought. Her gaze lingered on the disciples from the Cloud Heavens and Silver Flame Sects. Their techniques were honed, every strike carrying precision, a level of skill that most common fighters in the arena couldn't hope to match. She clenched her fist involuntarily, feeling a mix of frustration and anticipation.

'They may not be the strongest,'

she acknowledged, watching one of them execute a fluid series of strikes,

'but their training is evident. Their skill alone speaks volumes of what their senior disciples must be capable of. If the juniors are like this…'

She tightened her jaw, a rare flicker of doubt slipping into her thoughts. This tournament wasn't going to be a casual display of prowess. To reach the final rounds, she'd need to give everything she had—and possibly more.

Her fingers brushed against the hilt of her sword, grounding her when an unbidden thought crept in, tinged with annoyance and… something else.

Lucavion. She could almost picture him leaning against the wall with that infuriating smirk on his face, one eyebrow raised, casually dissecting every opponent with that detached amusement of his. He'd probably make some insufferable comment about the crowd's over-excitement, toss a casual insult at the sects, or just say something that would make her want to wring his neck.

'That guy….Why am I even….'

Just as Valeria attempted to shake off her thoughts of him, something in the periphery of her vision caught her attention—a familiar figure, moving through the throngs of spectators.

Her heart skipped a beat as she recognized him. There he was, Lucavion himself, striding casually toward one of the rings, his sword resting lazily on his shoulder. That infuriating smile was plastered on his face, his eyes scanning the crowd with that familiar glint of mischief.

'You've got to be kidding me,'

she thought, her fingers clenching around the edge of her seat. Of course, he would show up now, just when she had been trying to put him out of her mind.

Lucavion stepped up to the stage, his movements so relaxed it was as if he were strolling through a park, not walking into the heart of a battle arena. The crowd around him murmured in intrigue, sizing him up, whispering speculations. He seemed oblivious to it all—or worse, thoroughly entertained.

She narrowed her eyes, watching as he adjusted his grip on his sword with that same effortless confidence. He hadn't even acknowledged his opponent, a tall warrior armed with a menacing glaive who was already glaring daggers at him. But Lucavion? He just offered a lazy half-smile, as if daring the warrior to make the first move.

'Unbelievable,'

she thought, her frustration spiking.

'He's treating this like it's some game. He could at least take it seriously.'

Yet she couldn't look away, caught between irritation and curiosity. Lucavion's gaze finally shifted to his opponent, his smirk widening, and she knew instantly that he was about to say something that would rile the other man up.

"Well, shall we get this over with?" he drawled, his voice carrying just enough to reach her ears. "I'd hate to keep everyone waiting."

And he did it.

Just exactly what she had thought.

Valeria's gaze shifted from Lucavion to his opponent, sizing up the formidable figure on the other side of the ring. The man was massive, his broad, bare chest covered in scars, and his face adorned with jagged tattoos that stretched across his shaved head. Everything about him screamed raw power, from his thick, muscled arms to the fierce glint in his eyes as he regarded Lucavion with disdain.

Unlike most fighters here, the barbarian seemed uninterested in weapons—his own fists were enough. He cracked his knuckles, flexing his hands as if eager to crush Lucavion with a single blow. The crowd murmured in excitement, sensing the tension between the two, while the barbarian's lip curled in a sneer.

"Do you have a death wish, little man?" he growled, his voice dripping with contempt. "Coming here without anyone around… and no mana in that pathetic little core of yours that I can't even see? Or do you think your scrawny body alone can stand up to me?"

Valeria's eyes narrowed as she absorbed the man's words. No mana in his core? She focused on Lucavion, a frown deepening on her face. She hadn't paid it much mind before, but now that she thought about it, she couldn't sense anything from him—not even a flicker of mana. It was as if he didn't possess any core at all.

'Wait… how is that possible?'

she thought, her mind racing as she reviewed every moment they'd shared, every time they had crossed paths. All this time, she'd never sensed a core from him, any hint of his cultivation level. Yet she had seen him use mana, witnessed it with her own eyes.

But how?

How had he masked it so completely?

Was it even possible to do something like that?

As Lucavion raised his sword, his expression unbothered, Valeria could see the hint of a knowing glint in his eyes, as if he was fully aware of the effect his lack of presence had on his opponent—and was relishing it. He angled his blade slightly, his gaze almost bored, and the barbarian's face twisted with fury.

"You've got guts, I'll give you that," the barbarian spat, his fists clenching. "But that won't be enough to save you."

Lucavion tilted his head, the smirk never leaving his face.

"Come at me, big man, cease with the useless talk."

Chapter 199: The tournament (4)

"Come at me, big man, cease with the useless talk."

Hearing that the barbarian's eyes were narrowed. How could he, whose body had been trained in the alleys for a long time and gone through countless street fights, lose to a weakling like him?

He looked at the referee.

Seeing that, the referee looked at both contestants and seeing them nod, he raised the whistle.

–WHISTLE!

As the whistle echoed through the arena, the barbarian lunged forward, releasing a long, exasperated huff and muttering under his breath, "Cocky little bastard…" His words trailed off, replaced by a guttural growl as he charged, each thunderous step seeming to shake the ground beneath him.

Lucavion, unfazed, simply waited, his body language loose and relaxed. The barbarian's massive fists swung forward with raw, brute force, aiming to crush him with sheer weight and power. Yet Lucavion only shifted subtly to the side, the edge of the barbarian's knuckles grazing past his shoulder with a hair's breadth to spare.

–SWOOSH!

The crowd gasped, and Valeria found herself leaning forward, her eyes narrowing as she focused on every detail. Lucavion's movements were almost languid as if he were dancing around a clumsy giant rather than facing a deadly opponent.

The barbarian, fueled by frustration, swung again, his muscles rippling with the effort. This time, he came at Lucavion with a sweeping hook, aiming to take him down by the ribs. But Lucavion sidestepped a quick, effortless pivot, causing the barbarian to stumble forward from the force of his own swing.

"Getting tired already?" Lucavion's voice held that familiar mocking tone, casual as if they were chatting over drinks instead of locked in combat.

The barbarian's face twisted with rage, veins bulging as he let out a snarl. "Stand still, coward!"

Valeria's lips tightened in a grim line, her gaze never wavering from Lucavion.

"Oh….is that what you want? Then, don't blame me for being impolite."

Finally, Lucavion lifted his blade, holding it at a slight angle, almost inviting the barbarian to charge again. His opponent growled in response, accepting the unspoken challenge, and barreled forward with all his strength, fists raised high to slam down on him.

Just as the barbarian's fists came down, Lucavion moved, stepping into the space within his opponent's reach, his sword slicing upward in one fluid, precise arc.

SWOOSH!

There was a flash of steel, and the barbarian froze, a thin line of blood appearing across his chest.

The crowd hushed, a ripple of shock spreading through the spectators.

"Yield?" Lucavion's voice was soft, almost a whisper, but the cold edge in his tone left no room for negotiation.

The barbarian staggered, his breath ragged, the realization dawning in his eyes.

He hadn't even landed a single hit, and just one strike from his opponent alone was enough to bring him down to his knees.

His vision was even getting blurry, and he felt like he was having a hard time standing. Something inside his body was boiling.

That cut just now, he knew.

'I won't be able to stand.'

That the fight ended.

In a single move.

"Yield," he rasped, his pride damaged as he stepped back, holding a hand to his wound.

Lucavion gave a satisfied nod, lowering his sword with a relaxed smile as if this had been nothing more than a casual bout.

Yet his gaze still lingered on the barbarian, appraising him with a quiet, almost begrudging respect. "Not bad," he remarked, his tone softer now, lacking the mockery from moments before. "For an alley fighter like you, your performance was... admirable. You're no suckling lamb."

The barbarian's eyes widened, confusion and something else flickering across his face.

"You have instinct," Lucavion continued, sheathing his sword with a slow, deliberate movement. "The kind that comes only from sharpening yourself on the edge of danger, fight after fight. It's rare to see that in this polished arena."

He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a murmur. "Stay alive. Keep that awareness of yours keen. Next time, trust it. Know when a fight is lost before it costs you more than a scar."

The barbarian, still clutching his wound, looked up at Lucavion, his expression somewhere between gratitude and shock. It was as if he had been stripped bare of his rage, forced to see his defeat as something other than humiliation.

"Let this be an experience for you," Lucavion added, his smirk softening into something almost genuine. "Learn from it, and maybe… next time, you will win, who knows?"

He didn't wait for a response, turning with his usual lazy grace and walking away, leaving the barbarian to process the moment.

Valeria grimaced, watching Lucavion stroll away as if he'd just finished a warm-up exercise rather than an arena match. His smugness grated on her, but as she recalled that single, precise slash, she found herself replaying the movement in her mind.

'Could I have blocked that?'

she wondered, narrowing her eyes thoughtfully. She put herself in the barbarian's place, visualizing the blade flashing toward her, its speed and angle almost impossible to anticipate until it was too late. Even if she could have moved fast enough, she realized, the impact would likely have staggered her, throwing her balance just enough to leave her open to a follow-up attack.

Her hand tightened instinctively around the hilt of her own sword. '

That wasn't just some showy attack… it was calculated. Exact. As if he'd been measuring that man's every weakness the entire time.'

Despite herself, Valeria felt a reluctant admiration for the precision Lucavion had displayed. That strike wasn't born of brute strength or overwhelming mana but pure, refined skill. She could imagine the force it would take to parry such a blow effectively, to counter it without missing a beat.

'It would've taken everything I had,'

she admitted to herself, almost begrudgingly.

'I'd have blocked it, maybe even stayed standing… but it would've cost me ground. And against him, that's all he'd need.'

The crowd began to murmur in awe as the barbarian, still clutching his wound, was led off the stage. Valeria's gaze remained fixed on Lucavion's retreating form, her jaw tightening. She hated that he made it look so effortless, that his every move seemed calculated without a hint of strain. But more than that, she hated the flicker of doubt that crept into her mind—the question of whether, in that single exchange, she would have fared any better than the barbarian.

*********

As the clashes continued across the arena floor, the lounge reserved for the Marquis grew tense, though none of the tension seemed to affect Marquis Aldrich Ventor himself.

He sat with a look of serene interest, his gaze sweeping over the rings below where fighters clashed, each bout adding to the mounting energy of the tournament.

The lounge, adorned with House Ventor's colors and symbols, exuded an air of authority and wealth, befitting the Marquis' reputation as a powerful figure in the realm.

Seated on one side of the Marquis was a woman dressed in a robe of deep blue and golden accents, a distinguished mark of the Cloud Heavens Sect.

Her presence was imposing yet restrained, her gaze sharp as she observed the battles below. She was Elder Xue of the Cloud Heavens Sect, a 6-star martial artist renowned for her mastery over wind techniques and ethereal combat.

She sat with a composed demeanor, though her fingers tapped rhythmically on the arm of her chair, betraying a barely-contained intensity.

On the other side, a man clad in reddish-grey robes sat silently, his expression stern and inscrutable.

This was Elder Kael of the Silver Flame Sect, another 6-star martial artist known for his ferocity and command over explosive fire techniques.

His robe bore the markings of his sect, a subtle flame design that seemed to smolder even in the dim light of the lounge. Though he maintained an outward calm, his jaw was set, and his eyes narrowed as he watched the tournament with a keen focus.

The atmosphere was undeniably charged. The rivalry between the two elders was evident even in their silence. They kept their gazes forward, ignoring one another, each aware of the other's presence yet unwilling to acknowledge it.

The ongoing tournament served as an implicit battleground, a stage for the sects' pride, and each victory below seemed to raise the stakes between them.

But amid the barely suppressed tension between the two sect elders, the Marquis remained the epitome of calm.

Aldrich Ventor sipped his wine leisurely, his face revealing little beyond a quiet satisfaction as he observed the tournament he had so meticulously organized.

His composure was a reminder to the elders seated nearby that, while powerful, neither of their sects held sway over Andelheim or its ruler.

House Ventor's influence and strength were renowned, and his forces were well-trained, more than capable of rivaling each of their sects. It was this reputation that kept the two elders in check, both aware that the Marquis could afford to host their rivalry yet did not fear either sect's power.

Marquis Ventor leaned forward slightly, watching a match between a Cloud Heavens disciple and a Silver Flame warrior unfold. The fighters were young, full of spirit, each move embodying the fierce pride of their respective sects. He spoke, his tone even and measured, but with an edge of curiosity.

"It seems the young talents from both your sects have risen to the occasion this year," he commented, his voice carrying a calm authority. "The audience has been drawn in by the clash of styles. It is a fine display of skill and tradition."

Elder Xue nodded, though her response was clipped. "Our disciples have trained rigorously for this moment. The Cloud Heavens Sect spares no effort in preparing them for excellence."

Elder Kael let out a quiet, almost dismissive snort. "Indeed, I see them flitting about. Though our methods may differ, the results will speak for themselves. The Silver Flame Sect values strength and impact above all."

Marquis Ventor's gaze flicked between the two, the faintest smile touching his lips. "Strength and elegance—both admirable qualities."

The Marquis smiled as he looked at the arena.

Someone was slowly stepping up at that exact moment, after all.