The arena floor was still being swept clean of debris when Kieran stepped into the ring.
His opponent, a stocky Iron Talon fighter, was already waiting, arms crossed, a confident smirk playing at his lips.
Alaric watched from their area, his arms folded as he leaned against the cool stone wall. The noise of the crowd was a constant drone. His eyes tracked Kieran's movements, the slight adjustment of his stance, the way his fingers flexed once before going still.
"He's tense," Verelia observed from beside him, her voice as composed as ever. "But he'll manage."
Alaric didn't respond immediately. His gaze remained fixed on the arena floor, analyzing. Down 0-2. Three fighters left. We need every single victory now.
"What a spectacle, folks. Silver Crown, our reigning champions are on the brink of defeat. If they lose this match, it will mark the end of their era."
The professor's voice rang across the arena.
"Is this the birth of the new powerhouse!"
The crowd cheered.
