"This is one of the most impressive fights we have witnessed today. Short, yes—but absolutely outstanding," the emissary announced.
The crowd erupted into cheers, their voices rising like a storm, echoing through the grand arena.
Nolan, stepping out of the battlefield, whispered to himself, Neither did I fly. I only jumped as high as possible. His calm steps carried him away from the hole he had left in the ground.
From the noble balcony, Rovanis leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. "So this is the man you spoke of, Alaric. Truly outstanding."
"Yes, he is," Alaric replied with a measured tone. "And I’m certain now—I want to see how far he can really go."
Alvoryn scoffed lightly, swirling the wine in his cup. "Impressive, yes. But do you honestly think he can stand against Kyrion ?
Dalvin clenched his fist on the armrest. "He is strong, but it won’t matter. Kyrion will defeat him."
Alaric chuckled under his breath. "What do you mean? You’re wrong, Dalvin. Kyrion can’t defeat him. In fact..." His eyes narrowed. "...I’m sure Nolan might even surpass you—the so-called Hero."
The room fell silent.
Dalvin shot to his feet, rage burning in his eyes. With a sharp motion, he slammed his glass of wine to the floor, shattering it. "What did you just say, Alaric? What do you mean by that?"
Alaric raised both hands in mock surrender, his smile sly. "Oh, Mr. Hero, forgive me. I didn’t mean any disrespect."
At that moment, a butler in a perfectly tailored suit stepped closer and whispered into Dalvin’s ear, "Please, Sir Hero... mind your manners."
Dalvin’s knuckles whitened as he tightened his fists. After a tense pause, he forced himself back down into his seat, though the fire in his glare never dimmed.
Dalvin exhaled slowly, then drew in a deep breath to steady himself. He raised his right hand, pressing it firmly against his chest, before bowing his head toward Rovanis and Alvoryn.
"Forgive me, my king," Dalvin said, his tone subdued.
"Hey, don’t let it get to you," Malric interjected with a faint smile, trying to ease the tension. "I didn’t mean to say it like that."
Dalvin straightened, his expression calmer now, though his fists still trembled slightly at his sides. "It’s fine. I understand."
Rovanis leaned forward, his voice carrying the weight of command. "Good. But remember, the winner of this tournament will be joining your party. However..." His eyes sharpened as he glanced at Alvoryn, then back at Dalvin. "...if Kyron and Nolan fight, and one of them loses, you may still take both—if you so choose. Or any other contestant, should you prefer. The choice will be yours."
Dalvin’s jaw tightened. No. Never. I will never take a loser. To have someone who’s tasted defeat stand among my ranks would tarnish my image.
His lips curved into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He raised a hand and gave a casual wave, masking the storm boiling inside him. "Well then... let’s just wait and see, shall we?"
Despite the words, anger still smoldered in his chest, refusing to be extinguished.
"What a fine warrior you have. Shebi is from Sindra, right?" Alvoryn asked.
"Yes, father. She is from our village," Alaric replied.
"Very well. Let’s just watch the match and see. Perhaps we might witness other amazing fighters," Rovanis said.
All of them turned their attention toward the arena.
"Master, that was incredible!" Celia and Linda exclaimed in unison.
Tharion also rose to his feet, nodding in approval. "You are truly strong. That power... it’s overwhelming. I might not be able to win against you, but if we fight, I will give my all," he said.
Nolan glanced to his left and noticed Kyrion sitting there, fuming. As realization dawned—no one else could match their strength—he understood: the match was effectively over.
"Will I lose? No, no, no, no, no way," Kyrion muttered to himself. He was strong—no, not just strong, fast too. But even with all that speed, he still had one trick up his sleeve. I’ll finish him. I know I can.
He thought back to the moment he faced his opponent. Weak. Someone he could easily use as a punching bag. Yet, when they said the opponent was ranked, he put on a performance that even Kyrion himself couldn’t match. It was a struggle—an unexpected one. No matter what, I will win. I’ll beat him until he begs for mercy... but I won’t give him that.
Kyrion tightened his fist, determination blazing in his eyes.
Nolan glanced at him and his two companions, then averted his gaze, looking down instead. At that moment, Linda leapt onto him.
"Master, the performance you put on was incredible," she said. "Even without using your full power, it was one of the most amazing displays I’ve seen today."
Lyra added, "Truly outstanding."
Nolan smiled faintly, a quiet acknowledgment. Then Linda and Celia each took one of his hands, gently guiding him back to his seat. There was a serene beauty in the way they moved together, a moment of calm amidst the intensity of the arena.
The participants were also watching him. Even Tharion, along with other participants, observed nolan as took his seat with Linda and Celia .
"Hey, who is that guy?" one whispered. "Huh... look at the beautiful ladies by his side. He brought them along—lucky guy."
Another participant said, "Maybe he just came here to show off. He’s strong, but... why the ladies?"
One more added, "He just wants to oppress us or something."
"What the hell are these people saying?," Nolan said. As he could hear their whispers.
Meanwhile, on the ground, the mage prepared the arena. He cast a spell to reset it exactly as it was. "It’s ready," the mage announced as he returned to his seat.
"Now, are you ready?" the emissary called out. The crowd shouted in unison, cheering loudly. Original content can be found at novel⚑fire.net
"Once again, the fight by Nolan was truly one of the best," the emissary said. "And now we hope to see another performance just like that."