The dust still clung to Darius's arms, sweat cutting lines through the dried blood and dirt on his skin. He stood among the seven others who had survived the chaos, their bodies bruised, their eyes sharper than before.
A soldier stepped into the arena, his voice echoing through the stone amphitheatre."These are the eight cadets who have earned their place in the Round of Sixteen. Remember their faces. These are not boys, they are future warriors".
Cheers rose from parts of the crowd, mostly from the younger initiates watching from the higher rows. Darius barely heard them. His eyes were on the opposite gate, where the next wave of cadets was beginning to form ranks.
Group Two.
He spotted Cleon easily—back straight, spear at his side, a familiar grin tugging at his lips. Ajax stood beside him, already bouncing on the balls of his feet, eager for the fight. Thalon, more reserved, adjusted his grip on his xiphos and scanned the field with clinical precision.
Darius exhaled slowly and sat down on one of the stone steps, Red curling up beside him.
......
Up in the noble stands, Damacles leaned forward, eyes fixed on the boy from Limnai.
"That one," he said, gesturing toward the dust-covered cadet catching his breath near the center. "The one who fought off four at once. Is that the boy you mentioned?"
Thaleia, seated beside him in a posture of studied calm, nodded. "Yes. I saw him at the tavern. I thought he was a primus—or older. His build didn't match the younger cadets."
Damacles grunted. "And now he's proven himself to be far more than his age suggests."
There was a moment of silence before he spoke again. "If he continues to perform like this... would you consider him a match?"
Thaleia didn't hesitate. Her voice was low, and calm. "If he is truly strong and disciplined, then yes. It is my duty to choose the most capable man to father a worthy heir."
Damacles smiled faintly. "Good. Very good."
He leaned back as the arena shifted, horns announcing the arrival of the next round. "Look there. The second group enters."
......
Darius's eyes tracked the movement at the far end of the arena as the new batch of cadets marched forward. Cleon led them, his stride relaxed. Ajax followed close behind, buzzing with energy, while Thalon kept to the rear, scanning the field.
They looked ready, even anxious to fight.
Darius said nothing, only watching as they spread out along the edge of the sand, weapons in hand. The battle was about to begin—and this time, he wasn't the one stepping onto the field.
Cleon's boots hit the packed sand of the arena with a heavy thud, his breath calm, eyes sharp. Beside him, Ajax rolled his shoulders, and Thalon muttered something under his breath about bad odds. The sun had risen higher now, casting shadows across the worn battlefield. All around them, cadets from different regions shuffled into position, adjusting wooden shields and stretching fingers over blunted xiphos hilts.
Two of the nearest figures immediately drew Cleon's attention—towering brutes, each nearly as tall as Darius, with thick necks and arms like sculpted marble. Their presence felt like a wall of muscle. Cleon's gut tightened, those were monsters wrapped in crimson cloaks.
He looked at Ajax and Thalon, giving a subtle nod. No words needed. They'd dealt with worse—or at least, that's what he told himself.
From the stands, Darius leaned forward, elbows on his knees, Red resting still beside him. The moment the signal was given, the chaos began.
Thalon broke right, drawing the attention of one of the giants. Ajax lunged left, colliding with the other. Cleon, nimble and precise, slipped between them, targeting the knees and flanks. The giant facing Thalon swung with brutal force, catching Thalon's shield with a blow that shattered it in half. But Thalon didn't back down. With a roar, he drove his wooden sword into the side of the giant's leg, breaking the man's stance before being thrown back with a sweeping strike that knocked him unconscious.
One giant down. One still standing.
Three other cadets, unknown to Darius but clearly experienced, moved as a coordinated unit. While others were still finding their footing, they carved a path through the groups from Pitana, Mesoa, and Cynosura. Quick feints, precise strikes, and relentless pressure made them an unstoppable force. One used the xiphos with deceptive grace, the other two locked shields and drove forward like a moving wall.
Meanwhile, two lean figures danced through the field with swords, blades flashing in the sunlight. They didn't rely on strength or numbers—just speed, skill, and lethal intent. Five opponents fell before them in less than a minute, but their relentless assault cost them dearly, one was out of the match.
Darius narrowed his eyes. It hadn't been long. Five minutes? Less? And already, the battlefield was nearly clear. The outcome had written itself faster than he'd expected.
Eight remained: the surviving giant, one of the elegant swordsmen, Cleon, Ajax, the three in perfect unison—and one last boy who hadn't moved at all. He stood in a shaded corner, hands behind his back, he could not believe his luck, no one had approached him, the didn´t even try.
Darius studied the figure. In a way, it reminded him of himself in his earliest fights: letting the battlefield unfold before committing to action. Only this time, the boy hadn't needed to move at all.
The horn sounded to end the round. The dust settled. And just like that, the cadets' bracket had its eight survivors.
Drakos stepped forward once more, his voice carrying easily over the murmuring crowd.
"That concludes today's battles," he announced, tone as steady and commanding as ever. "You've shed blood, sweat, and spirit—but this is only the beginning."
The murmurs quieted. The cadets on the field straightened, some clutching bruises or limping toward the edge, others proud and unscathed.
"Tomorrow morning, the round of sixteen will begin for the Novices. Cadets will follow the next day, and after that, the Primus will begin their battles."
There was a shift in the amphitheatre, a tightening of posture. The weight of the announcement settled over every participant, not just those who had advanced, but also those who now saw the looming challenge ahead.
Drakos's gaze swept across the assembled warriors—village-born and noble-blooded alike. "This tournament will decide more than just rank. It will test your worth, your spirit, and your ability to endure. Use the time wisely. Rest, train, and prepare."
Then, with a simple gesture, he signalled the end.
"You are dismissed."
The streets of Sparta were quieter now, the red haze of dusk fading into the deep blue of night. After the end of the day's matches, most of the cadets had retreated to the barracks, their bodies sore and minds heavy. Darius walked with his group in silence, Red keeping pace at his side.
"Let's crash early," Ajax muttered. "I can still feel that giant´s
shoulder in my ribs."
"I second that," Cleon added, yawning. "Wake me up when the Primus start throwing each other off the cliff."
Darius gave a short nod and let them go. But instead of turning toward the barracks, his feet led him elsewhere.
He crossed the outer edge of the military grounds and walked into the city, eventually arriving at the familiar stone building tucked between two taller structures. The same bar Cleon had dragged him into days ago. A little haven of noise, warm light, and food.
Inside, the atmosphere was lively but not chaotic. Locals laughed at their tables, servers moved between the wooden benches, and the smell of roasted lamb filled the air. Darius found a corner table and ordered a plate of food with a cup of watered wine. He sat, quietly at the corner, finally letting the weight of the day settle over him. Red curled under the table, eyes half-shut.
That peace didn't last.
The soft scrape of sandals against stone made him glance up, long legs approaching his table step by step.
There she was.
Thaleia.
Her presence seemed to silence a portion of the room. Heads turned. Conversations stuttered. She moved with the grace of someone used to attention, a quiet confidence in every step. Her eyes found him instantly.
Darius tensed slightly as she approached.
"Twice in two days," she said with a small smile, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. "What are the odds?"
"Depends," Darius replied, leaning back. "Did you follow me?"
She laughed, lightly. "If I did, would you mind?"
Instead of answering, he took a slow sip from his cup, watching her carefully.
Thaleia didn't wait for permission. She sat across from him, her fingers resting lightly on the table. Her posture was relaxed, her words casual, but there was a sharpness behind her eyes. Every glance, every breath was calculated.
"You fight well," she said. "Brutally, but well. You don't seem like the others."
"Maybe I'm not," Darius said. "But that's not always a good thing."
She tilted her head slightly. "You sure are mysterious."
He simply nodded, silently.
Thaleia smiled again, but this one had a sliver of challenge to it. She leaned forward, just slightly, as if trying to see deeper.
"I'm just curious about you," she continued. "A boy from Limnai, strong, stoic, alone at a bar... That's unusual, isn't it?"
"Maybe?"
He knew the game she was playing. Light touches of interest, just enough ambiguity to blur the line between charm and flirtation. He'd seen it before. He wasn't uncomfortable—just cautious.
She looked young, but he didn´t know her age, even if he was a young boy right now he could´t strike a young lady, right? But if she was 18 then why not follow her games a little bit?
Darius watched her eyes, the way she lingered on his expression, gauging his reactions.
He gave her a smile, not flirtatious—just polite. "You're interesting too, but I don't think we're here for the same reasons."
That made her blink. Just once. Subtle, but noticeable.
She leaned back, the game temporarily paused.
"Maybe not," she said with a shrug. "Still... I like talking to you."
Darius nodded once. "Then let's talk."