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Chapter 66 - Sooner better than later [ II ]

The sun hung high in the sky, its golden rays scorching the sand-covered arena. The coliseum roared with life, the crowd's cheers a deafening mix of excitement and bloodlust. Betting pits overflowed with gamblers shouting odds, coin pouches exchanged hands, and anticipation thickened the air. Vendors weaved through the stands, selling cheap ale and roasted meats, their voices lost in the overwhelming noise of spectators hungry for battle.

The announcer stepped onto the raised stone platform, clad in an extravagant red and gold robe, his voice booming through the coliseum. "Lords and ladies! Mercenaries and wanderers! Welcome to the Tournament of Heirs!" The cheers surged again, and he raised a hand for silence. "Now, feast your eyes upon our next challengers! On one side, standing at a towering six feet and eight inches, a warrior who has crushed his way through his foes—Garruk the Iron Mountain!"

The gates groaned open, and a behemoth of a man lumbered forward. Muscles rippled beneath thick, scarred skin, and his plated fists looked as if they could crumble stone. His dark eyes scanned the crowd with indifference before settling on the opposite gate.

"And facing him…" The announcer's tone shifted, laced with intrigue. "A figure shrouded in mystery, smaller than any competitor before them. Who could this be? Let's find out!"

From the other side of the arena, a much smaller individual stepped forth, clad in a long, tattered cloak. Their head was bowed slightly, obscuring their face, and they moved with an eerie grace. The crowd jeered, laughter rippling through the stands.

"A dwarf? A beggar?" someone yelled.

"I've seen rats bigger than that!" another mocked.

But the cloaked figure remained silent, unfazed. The announcer raised his hands. "Let the match… BEGIN!"

Garruk wasted no time. He lunged forward with terrifying speed, his massive fists swinging in an arc meant to crush the cloaked challenger in a single blow. But the moment his attack landed, the figure was gone. A blur, a gust of wind—the cloak fluttered as its wearer ducked low, slipping beneath the strike with inhuman agility.

The crowd gasped. Garruk turned, confusion flickering in his dark eyes. He threw another punch, aiming straight for the figure's center, but again, they twisted away, narrowly dodging the blow. Sand exploded from the impact, a small crater forming where the fist met the ground.

The cloaked challenger retaliated. Darting forward, they aimed a precise kick at Garruk's knee. A sharp crack rang through the arena as the brute stumbled, gritting his teeth. But he was not so easily felled. With a snarl, he swung his arm wide in a sweeping motion, forcing the figure to leap back. This time, he was ready. Predicting their movement, Garruk lashed out with his other hand mid-air. The cloaked challenger barely managed to twist their body, but the brute's fingers grazed the edge of the fabric.

A sudden gust of wind. The cloak billowed outward, caught in the momentum, and then—

It flew off entirely.

A collective hush fell over the arena as the small figure was revealed.

A girl.

She stood poised, dark blonde hair cascading down her back, her sharp eyes burning with determination. Clad in a simple tunic and leather arm guards, her slender form was deceptive—every muscle in her body coiled like a predator ready to strike. The silence was shattered by a wave of laughter.

"A girl?!"

"Disqualified! She cannot compete!"

"There cannot be two queens, what would our kingdom even look like?"

The announcer, having caught his breath, raised a hand. "By the rules of the tournament, all competitors must be men! This contestant is hereby DISQUALIFIED!"

The jeering increased tenfold, and the girl's jaw clenched. She made no move to protest, nor did she cower at the insults hurled her way. Instead, she merely exhaled, her posture relaxing slightly.

Garruk, however, was not pleased. He stomped forward. "I don't care about the rules," he growled, his voice like grinding stone. "We fight until one of us falls."

The crowd erupted at the defiance, some chanting for blood, others screaming for order. The announcer tried to settle the chaos, but it was too late—Garruk had already moved. His massive fist came down like a war hammer, aiming for the girl's skull.

She sidestepped, quick as lightning, before launching a powerful kick to his ribs. The sound of impact echoed through the coliseum. Garruk grunted, stumbling sideways. He snarled, but his expression shifted slightly—was it… respect?

A split second later, he charged again. The girl ducked, spun, and landed a brutal elbow strike to his gut, sending the giant reeling. The crowd gasped. 

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