This wasn't just skill. This was precision, the kind only honed through years of training.
Before she could follow up, guards flooded the arena. Their spears glinted in the sunlight as they encircled her, weapons raised.
"Stand down," one of them barked. "By royal decree, you are unfit to compete. Leave, or be removed by force."
The girl's gaze darted to the towering Garruk, then to the guards. A slow, almost amused smile tugged at her lips. "You can't handle a girl fighting, but you send an army when one holds her ground?"
Garruk let out a low chuckle, rubbing his sore ribs. "She fights better than half the men here," he muttered under his breath.
But the decision had been made. Two guards stepped forward, ready to escort her out. She sighed, raising her hands in mock surrender.
__________________________________________
The sun had barely set, yet the echoes of the tournament still roared through the city. The air smelled of sweat, dust, and the faint lingering trace of blood. The betting pits were in chaos, with men shouting accusations of rigged fights, broken odds, and the unfair disqualification of the mysterious cloaked girl. The stands were still full of murmurs—some laughing at the absurdity of two queens, others grumbling about the wasted spectacle.
Karthen, leaning against the edge of the arena's holding grounds, watched with sharp eyes as the last few victors left the battleground. The excitement had settled, but the hunger for violence still buzzed in the crowd. His ribs still ached from the previous fights, but he knew that was just the beginning.
"Did you see the size of that brute?" a voice scoffed nearby. It was a burly man with a missing tooth and a swollen cheek, clutching his jaw as he spoke. "Damn near had my spine bent backwards."
Beside him, another fighter spat blood onto the ground, wincing as he wiped his lip. "Could be worse. At least you still have teeth."
"Not for long if the next rounds get worse," another fighter muttered.
From the far end of the preparation hall, a group of noblemen whispered among themselves, occasionally throwing sneering glances toward the pit fighters. Their expensive cloaks and well-groomed appearances set them apart from the bloodied combatants, but they weren't here just to watch—they were here to choose.
Karthen exhaled, his fingers flexing as he adjusted the bandages wrapped around his wrist. He couldn't afford to lose focus. This tournament was no mere spectacle—it was a battlefield for those willing to seize power. And right now, they needed to be on top.
From the private viewing stands, Karthen clenched his fists, tension evident in his posture. "Micah, don't do anything reckless..."
Meanwhile, in another part of the arena, the next fight had already begun. A cocky swordsman grinned at his opponent, his gleaming white teeth flashing as he taunted, "Hope you have a good healer, friend. You're gonna need one."
His opponent—a grim-faced brawler with knuckles already bloodied from previous matches—simply cracked his neck and spat onto the ground. "Talk less, fight more."
The duel was brutal. The swordsman's movements were flashy, but the brawler's strikes were devastating. A well-timed feint led to an opening, and with a sickening crunch, a fist connected with the swordsman's jaw.
A tooth flew from his mouth, landing in the dirt.
The crowd erupted in a mix of cheers and groans as the swordsman collapsed, moaning in pain. The brawler dusted off his hands and stepped back, unimpressed.
The announcer raised his arms. "Victory goes to—"
Before he could finish, another fight nearby ended in an even more violent fashion. A long-haired rogue took an elbow to the ribs, sending him sprawling into the dust. His opponent wasted no time, landing a swift kick to his face.
Another tooth joined the collection in the dirt.
"I guess this tournament is gonna leave a lot of people smiling with gaps," Karthen muttered to himself, shaking his head at the brutality unfolding before him. Despite the chaotic atmosphere, his thoughts kept circling back to Micah. What was he thinking, fighting in Karthen's place? And who was the girl who had taken on such a dangerous fight?
As the fights continued, the tournament grew fiercer. Warriors were battered, bruised, and left limping from the field, while others stood tall, basking in their victories. The sun continued to shine mercilessly overhead, illuminating the blood and sweat that soaked the ground.