Episode 25: The Grand Tournament – The Pulse of Elysium
The capital of Elysium awoke in splendor.For the Grand Tournament, the very breath of the city carried the scent of festivity. Crimson banners rippled in the wind; great pennants stretched across boulevards, shimmering beneath the sun. The air trembled with the clamor of merchants hawking their wares, the pounding of hooves, and the sharp ring of steel as warriors checked their arms.
What had once begun as Emperor Merslin's contest to prepare against the threat of Titans had long since become more than a competition. It was a symbol of the Empire's might—a stage upon which warriors carved their names into legend.
From the palace balcony, Lian gazed upon streets swollen with multitudes. Fighters from every corner of the Empire filled the avenues, their foreheads glistening, their eyes fierce as flame.
"This year, my name will be remembered!" muttered one, twirling his daggers."Not this time. The Empire will speak of me!" growled another, his spear clenched tight.
Around them, vendors shouted with vigor:
"Steel blades! The strongest forged in Elysium!""Freshly baked bread! Cheer the champions as you eat!"
The aroma of roasting grain mingled with the gleam of polished steel. Inns were overflowing; street performers played drums and pipes while children weaved through the crowd. The entire city pulsed with anticipation.
⚔ The Balcony of the Palace
Lian stood with a scroll in hand, yet his eyes never left the throng below.
"So many have gathered," he murmured.
Serin inclined her head."This is more than a contest of arms. It is a chance to prove the unity of the Empire."
Ivela's lips tightened as she watched the square."These are no mere brawlers. Many are formidable. The duels will be fierce."
Lian drew a steady breath."This is no simple tournament. It is the stage upon which we show the Empire's strength—its resolve, its unshakable heart."
At his words, drums rolled, and the roar of the city rose like thunder.Elysium lived, fierce and unbroken.
**
Episode 26: The Late Arrivals
The Tournament roared at its height. Dust glimmered in shafts of sunlight as cheers shook the grand arena.
Then, a stir broke at the gates. Three warriors, hemmed in by guards, stood their ground. The tension about them was like a drawn bow.
At their head stood Elahar, the greatest swordsman of the Elves.He held his blade loosely, yet his gaze cut like steel.
"I came to fight," he said in a voice low and honed like a blade."Have you not heard the name Elahar?"
One of his companions rumbled, "We are warriors. We will not withdraw. Bounties on our heads? That is no reason to deny us battle."
The guards faltered, their spears shaking in their grip—unable to strike, unwilling to yield.
Then came the command from above:"By order of His Highness, let them pass. They shall fight in the Tournament."
The guards lowered their weapons. The warriors entered in silence, their footsteps measured, echoing on the stone.
🏰 The Palace
When the report reached him, Lian raised his head, intrigued."Warriors who defied the gate itself? Tell me more."
A soldier swallowed before replying."They named him Elahar, sire. The greatest of the Elves. The guards could not stop him."
Lian's lips curved faintly."Elahar…"
He turned to Serin and Ivela. Both shared knowing smiles.
Ivela said, "Yes. He was no foe to dismiss. I still recall his blade."Serin added softly, "He was once our enemy—yet later our ally. His skill was unforgettable."
Lian gave his order."Then let them fight. If they came late, let them prove themselves swiftly."
As the soldier departed, Lian looked out across the city."Elahar among them… This Tournament will not be ordinary."
Serin's voice carried a note of quiet wonder."This may become more than a contest, Your Highness."
Ivela's eyes gleamed."To meet him again—who knows how the balance of this Tournament may change?"
And so Elahar's name once more spread through the Empire, his presence alone enough to shift the very air of the Games.
**
Episode 27: A Belated Entrance, A Display of Might
The Grand Tournament of Elysium had already surged ahead toward the Round of 64. The arena's sand floor, trampled countless times, gave off a haze of dust that floated in the air. Steel clashed, voices roared, and victory-hungry warriors hurled themselves forward as the crowd thundered in unison. Under the cloudless sky, the city itself had become both battlefield and festival.
Then, from the entrance of the coliseum, a commotion swallowed all sound.
Elahar. Brakka. Caron.Three figures emerged—slow, deliberate, unyielding.
Their footsteps were heavy, like drums echoing through the earth. With each pace, it felt as if the ground itself sank. Murmurs replaced cheers. No one shouted; instead, whispers spread like wildfire.
"Is that… Elahar, the greatest swordsman of the Elves?""And Brakka, Caron… they've come as well?"
Their mere presence reshaped the air. Hearts quickened, breaths faltered. The arrival of true warriors turned the arena into something wholly different.
But not all voices bowed.From within the tournament grounds, warriors who had fought through the grueling qualifiers gripped their weapons and spat out their anger.
"What right have they, to step into the Round of 64 without battle?" one growled, jaw clenched."We bled in the dust from the very start—yet they walk straight in?" another roared, slamming his spear into the ground.
The protest sharpened into defiance. A handful drew steel, stepping forward. Sunlight gleamed along their blades.
"We'll test your worth here and now!" one shouted."The tournament must be fair!" another barked, raising his weapon high.
The air itself grew taut.
Elahar met their gaze. His eyes were cold, steady. His sword hung loosely in his hand—yet within that looseness lay the weight of restrained thunder.
He exhaled. Dust stirred across the sand. And then, in the blink of an eye, he moved.
Steel flashed.The clash rang out like a crack in the sky. In an instant, the defiant warriors found their weapons stripped from them, their defenses unraveled as if peeled apart by invisible hands.
One fell with a thud that shook the ground. Another staggered, collapsing under his own lost momentum. Their blades clattered across the dust, useless, while their bodies trembled with the weight of defeat.
Elahar lowered his sword without haste. His breath was steady, untouched by exertion.
"This is proof enough."
For a heartbeat, silence reigned.And then the arena exploded.
The crowd roared so loudly the stands themselves trembled.
"That… that is a true warrior," someone whispered. Another could only nod, awe-struck. Doubt gave way to reverence; protest turned into exaltation.
News reached the palace at once."Your Majesty, Elahar and his companions caused a stir—but stilled it with sheer skill. They have proven themselves before all."
Lian smiled faintly."As I expected. Let them enter from the Round of 64. Their place is earned."
At his side, Serin and Ivela exchanged glances.
"With Elahar, it is only natural," Serin murmured.Ivela gazed out toward the horizon."With them here, the tournament will burn hotter than ever."
Elahar. Brakka. Caron. Their arrival alone had shaken the tournament's foundation. The arena now throbbed with fresh anticipation and tension.
**
📜 Episode 28: The Stage of Reckoning, A New Arena
The Round of 64 pressed on at a furious pace—until suddenly, a command from Prince Lian halted everything.
"Stop the matches. The stage will be remade."
The words were few, but their weight was absolute. Confusion rippled through the crowd. Judges and stewards scrambled to obey, while murmurs rose like a tide through the stands.
"What happened?""Was there an accident?"
But Lian's eyes were steady. He sought to turn the tournament into something more—a crucible, not mere sport.
By dawn the next day, the arena had transformed.The sand was gone, swept away as if it had never existed. In its place stood a massive hexagonal ring. At each corner, steel pillars thrust skyward, and a lattice of iron mesh enclosed the battlefield. The iron glimmered under the sun, sharp and merciless.
"This isn't an arena," someone whispered, voice trembling."It's a cage."
The audience shivered. Some stared wide-eyed with fascination, others with dread."Must it go this far?" a woman murmured, clutching her child close. The child buried his face against her shoulder, frightened by the cage's looming presence.Her husband spoke in a low voice."Inside there, men will fight with no way out. They will wager their lives."
But elsewhere, excitement erupted."This is it! This is what true combat looks like!" a young warrior cried, fist clenched with fervor.
The voices clashed in the stands—fear and awe, dread and exhilaration.
Above them all, Lian gazed upon the ring. His eyes pierced through the steel mesh as though it were nothing.
"This cage," he declared to the judges, his voice calm but unyielding, "is the spirit of the Empire. He who triumphs here is not merely a warrior—but a hero of Elysium."
And so the matches resumed.
One by one, warriors stepped into the cage. The iron door closed behind them with a heavy clang. It was no longer a stage—it was a prison with only one path: forward.
Steel clashed, flesh struck flesh. The ring echoed with every blow, every gasp. Dust mingled with blood, and the scent drifted outward to the stands.
Elahar moved like wind, eyes burning with focus. His sword shimmered in swift arcs, slipping through defenses with lethal precision. His opponent fell to one knee, defeated before he understood how. Elahar's breath was unbroken.
Brakka roared with laughter, his axe cleaving the air. Each swing cracked the earth and crushed willpower alike. "Ha! At last, a battlefield worthy of me!" His voice reverberated like thunder.
Caron whispered words of arcane power, and the air shivered. His foe's limbs slowed as if caught in unseen chains, and his blade struck like lightning through the stillness.
The crowd gasped, then erupted."This is no game," a citizen whispered, hand pressed to his lips."It is war."
The sun dipped low, painting the cage in crimson light. Still the battles raged, warriors bleeding, refusing to yield.
Lian's eyes never wavered. He whispered to himself, though the wind seemed to carry his words across the ring."From this crucible, the one who rises shall lead the Empire's future."
And within the iron cage, the struggle continued into the night.