The arena filled once more.
Spectators streamed back to their seats, mugs and cups in hand. The mood was high, everyone waiting for the third duel to begin. The sand of the arena was ready again—to be written upon with blood and glory.
This time, no noise came from the eastern stands. The Wolf Knights' cheering squad waited in silence, as though deliberately conserving their strength for Andrea Wolf's upcoming match. Thirty children sat with their flags resting in their laps, cracking sunflower seeds and sipping syrup as they watched the arena. After their earlier frenzy, the calm was almost uncanny: they sat like hunting dogs, waiting only for their master's signal to be unleashed again.
The rest of the arena, however, buzzed with life. After the excitement of the first two duels, the spectators were eager for another good fight. The air was thick with the scent of beer and brandy mingling with dust, loud laughter and wagers echoing across the stands. Already the crowd debated whether Christina Silverwood or the adventurer would emerge victorious.
The sand‑covered battlefield stood empty, yet every eye was fixed upon it. Five minutes remained before the third duel would begin. The tension rose slowly, like wind before a storm: everyone felt that another spectacular clash was about to shake the Royal Knightly Arena.
In the dim half‑light of the locker room, Lazuro sat alone on the worn bench. His right leg trembled nervously, as though every nerve in his body rebelled against the coming duel. The silence was oppressive—he could hear only his own heartbeat, pounding faster and faster. The weight of his opponent's reputation pressed down on him, yet he knew: he could not yield to fear.
"I've come this far; I cannot falter! I fight for a greater cause. A nobler cause than any knight." His eyes darkened as memories of the past returned.
He recalled his childhood: the narrow alleys of the northern slums, the poverty, the taste of dry bread his parents had worked so hard to earn. Then the bandits' attack… his father beaten, his mother violated and murdered. He was eight years old when the world cruelly tore away everything he loved. He had begged the Royal Knights for help, but they kicked him aside and turned away with cold indifference. By the time he returned home, his parents were dead.
That was when he swore to take fate into his own hands. He had no one but himself—but he survived. He took up the sword, became an adventurer, and slowly climbed the ladder of the slums. He became the strongest swordsman, and when nearly every adventurer stood beside him, together they defeated the bandits. The northern outskirts were freed, and children could live safely again. A year had passed since then—peace, a peace he had forged.
But he knew: it was not enough. The southern slums were still under the rule of criminals. He needed strength and allies to liberate them too. And now, here was the chance: the Knightly Tournament.
"The knights don't matter to me. But the Hero does. The Hero was chosen by the Goddess herself. She must have a good heart! If I can fight her, I can draw her attention to the slums. Perhaps she will help us. If she sees the children, she will understand how desperately the poor need aid. I must face the Hero, no matter what!"
Yet standing in his way was Christina Silverwood, Captain of the Silver Knights. Next to the Hero, she was considered the tournament's favorite. Lazuro's fists clenched.
"I must get past her to reach the Hero! Even if it kills me, I must defeat that Silver Knight!"
He rose from the bench, slung his sword over his shoulder, and drew a deep breath. The fear slowly drained away, replaced by resolve and fury.
"It's time. The battle is about to begin. I must go."
Lazuro, the adventurer, stepped out of the locker room door and made his way toward the battlefield. The sand, the crowd, and fate itself awaited him.
The arena's sand was once more ready to be inscribed with blood and glory. The sound of horns slowly faded, and the crowd held its breath, awaiting the start of the third duel. This time, two swordsmen of the earth element stepped forth—the element of defense and endurance, now arming two warriors from entirely different worlds.
From the left gate emerged Christina Silverwood, Captain of the Silver Knights. At thirty‑three, she was still a beautiful warrior maiden, her silver armor gleaming, her sword radiating the very strength of the earth. She was regarded as the strongest female swordsman in the Kingdom—until the Hero, Eris Scarlett, appeared. Now every eye was fixed upon her: would this tournament finally decide who was the greatest female warrior?
From the right gate came the tournament's greatest surprise: Lazuro, the Black Horse. Not a knight, but an adventurer—the only swordsman to advance from the group stage into the top eight. The crowd roared when his name was announced: he was the leader and founder of the Black Colts adventurer band, thirty years old. Already he could claim the title of the Kingdom's strongest adventurer, a man who had risen from the slums and now stood in the nobles' arena to prove himself.
The murmur of the crowd grew louder, wagers echoing across the stands. Would his journey continue, or would Christina be the wall that stopped him? The tension rose slowly, like wind before a storm.
The referee's flag lifted high. The third duel was about to begin.
The horns blared, and the crowd roared: the third duel had begun!
Christina Silverwood, Captain of the Silver Knights, launched forward with a lightning‑fast strike. Her sword gleamed silver as it slashed toward Lazuro. The adventurer managed to block, but slid backward across the sand, as though the knight's strength carried the weight of mountains. Christina gave him no time to recover: relentless assaults pressed down upon him, while Lazuro defended desperately.
"It's an honor to fight such a famous knight," Lazuro said, his sword trembling under the pressure.
"Your face and your words tell a different story," Christina replied coolly.
"Forgive me. I'm no knight."
"It doesn't matter what you are. In a duel, swordsmen clash."
"In the end, I might even believe you," Lazuro smiled bitterly.
The adventurer suddenly attempted a surprise counterattack, but Christina parried with ease—as though she had anticipated it.
"Strong defense and sly attacks," Christina remarked. "Do you have anything else hidden, or is it time to seal our battle?"
Inside, Lazuro already felt defeat closing in.
"Damn it! She's on a completely different level than the knights I've faced. So this is the strength of a Knight Captain. I can't hold out any longer—this is the end."
Christina's eyes darkened as she assumed her final offensive stance. Her sword tensed in the air, as if the very power of the earth had gathered within it.
"You're about the level of a Knight Lieutenant," she said. "Which is commendable—you're stronger than my previous opponents, all knights themselves. But this is the end. The gap between us is too great."
Lazuro raised his sword, then slowly lowered it.
"I surrender the duel! I've lost—you've won!"
The crowd watched in shock: the adventurer had yielded. The referee's flag dropped, declaring: the victor of the third duel—Christina Silverwood!
Christina's eyes flashed.
"You won't even try to block my final strike?"
"Of course not!" Lazuro replied. "I'm an adventurer, not a knight. I won't risk serious injury for foolish pride. As an adventurer, I can't afford to be incapacitated for a month."
"I see," Christina nodded. "Still, you have my respect for making it this far. I'm glad to know there are strong individuals among adventurers."
"Hmph! If you ever want to hire me, you'll find me at the Adventurers' Guild."
"I'll keep that in mind," Christina smiled.
The third duel was over, and this time there were no injuries. The healers breathed a sigh of relief: their aid was not needed. The crowd erupted in thunderous applause for Christina, while Lazuro departed quietly, knowing that despite defeat, his message and his purpose still lived on.
The day's final duel awaited—but first, another half‑hour break was given, so the spectators could prepare for the next great clash.