The crowd didn't drift away after Kaelen's bout. They pressed closer to the ropes instead, as if proximity could warm them against the river mist and the chill that violence left behind. The flats were damp and dark, the churned mud still bruised where blood had mixed into it and been stepped deeper by every boot. Even with the ground raked, the place carried a stubborn iron smell that clung to Alaric's tongue.
He remained on his observation step, his cloak clasped neatly at the throat and his hands folded beneath it to keep them still. The platinum ring on his left hand sat cool against his skin, the runes seeming to press a little harder than usual. Dawn stood beside him with her quarterstaff upright, her midnight hair tied back and already shedding loose strands. Her eyes were fixed on the gates with the unblinking focus of a child trying very hard to be brave.
Asimi sat behind them, composed, her metallic gaze moving across the rope line and the crowd. The Knights Gallant and Theurge held steady in disciplined lines, but Alaric could feel the tension in the way grips tightened and helmets turned. This fight promised something uglier than the last: less song, more impact.
The herald stepped into the ring and lifted his arms. "Second phase, second fight!" he thundered. "One more contender will be chosen for the finals!"
The eastern gate opened first. "Entering—veteran of the mountain wars, rusted dwarven plate and a hammer that breaks shields—Thodin Thunderforge!"
Thodin stepped out as if applause were merely weather he'd learned to ignore. His rusted dwarven armor looked damp in the mist, pitted and dark, its edges scarred by old impacts. His greying beard was bound with a simple iron ring. The war hammer in his hand carried a weight that seemed to lean the very air away from it. He didn't bow or glance at the crowd; he simply set his stance and stared toward the opposite gate.
The western gate opened. "Entering opposite—rapier and buckler, western mercenary, and the one who bled her way here—Vesper!"
Vesper stepped out with dust still clinging to her cloak and bandages visible beneath it. She carried her rapier and buckler with practiced ease, her posture too clean to be truly roadside-born. Her gaze flicked toward the platform for a heartbeat—past Asimi, directly to Alaric—then returned to Thodin as if the glance had never happened.
The bell rang.
Vesper moved first, because she had to. She angled light-footed around Thodin, keeping the hammer from lining up with her ribs. Her rapier flicked in probing jabs toward gaps: the wrists, the seam under the arm, and the inside elbow where plate met leather. Each thrust was quick and precise, a needle searching for a seam.
Thodin advanced anyway, heavy boots digging into the mud. He didn't chase her point or flinch from feints. He walked forward like a siege engine, hammer held low and small round shield up, letting the little taps bounce off his rusted plate.
The first real swing came compact and brutal. Thodin's hammer rose and fell with indifferent force. Vesper snapped her buckler into place, and iron met steel with a dull impact that made Alaric's teeth clench. Her knees bent under the weight. She slid half a step back, mud spraying, and the buckler strap creaked under the strain.
Thodin pressed immediately. He didn't swing wild; he swung to limit her, to corner her. The hammer struck the buckler rim and made Vesper's arm shudder. The next blow landed flat and drove the shield face inward toward her forearm. Vesper pivoted out, her breathing sharper now, then thrust under his guard and found the seam beneath his arm.
The point bit. Dark blood welled.
The crowd roared, and for an instant, Vesper's mouth tightened as if she'd tasted victory. Thodin's expression didn't change. He blinked once—slow—and then swung anyway. Vesper barely caught the hammer again. The buckler rang and her arm trembled. Alaric saw the pain in the small tightening of her shoulder and the way she refused to let her posture show it.
Thodin's next move was uglier. He hooked the hammer head behind the rim of Vesper's buckler and yanked hard. Vesper's arm jerked forward, her balance breaking for a heartbeat. Thodin stepped into that broken beat and slammed the hammer down onto the buckler again, aiming to ruin the shield rather than her skull.
Metal buckled. The strap strained. Vesper's fingers flexed as if they might cramp. She retreated quickly, boots skidding.
She must stop his march, Alanor's voice slid into Alaric's mind like cool water. Or she will be pinned and broken.
Vesper seemed to understand the same truth. She changed tactics, dragging Thodin through the worst patches of mud where his heavy boots sank deeper. She baited swings not to block them, but to make them miss and steal a fraction of his stamina. Her rapier stabbed low at knee seams and ankle gaps, forcing him to plant his feet more carefully.
It worked—just enough. Thodin slowed like a man deep in thought. Then he swung low, sweeping for her shins. Vesper hopped back, but her boot slipped in a soft patch. For a fraction of a second, she was off-balance, and Thodin's hammer was already rising again.
Vesper did the only thing she could. She stepped in.
Her buckler punched up under the hammer's haft, spoiling the angle. Her rapier drove forward into the gap beneath Thodin's collar line. The thrust was deep enough that Thodin's breath hitched. Blood welled quickly, darkening the rusted plate near his throat.
Vesper used that heartbeat like stolen coin. She twisted, yanked the rapier free, then stabbed again into the inside elbow seam. Thodin grunted, not in pain so much as acknowledgment, and surged forward anyway. He slammed his round shield into Vesper's chest. Air burst out of her. She staggered back, and Thodin's hammer came down in a compact arc.
Vesper raised her buckler. The hammer struck. The strap finally snapped, and the buckler tore free, dropping into the mud with a wet slap.
The crowd screamed. Vesper had no shield now, only a rapier and the thin hope of distance. Thodin advanced, hammer rising again, and the size difference suddenly mattered in a way it hadn't before. Vesper's eyes hardened into something colder than fear. She lowered her rapier tip, inviting him in.
Thodin took it, stepping in for the finishing blow. Vesper moved at the last possible instant, twisting so the hammer grazed her upper arm instead of crushing it. Pain flashed across her face, sharp and involuntary, but she stayed standing. Her rapier slipped under Thodin's guard and drove into the same throat-line gap again, deeper and angled.
Thodin's knees flexed. His hammer dipped. Vesper followed with a vicious thrust to the wrist seam, and the dwarf's fingers spasmed. The hammer fell from his hand into the mud.
Silence dropped over the arena like a curtain. Thodin stared at the fallen weapon as if it had betrayed him. Then he lifted his head, blood dark on his collar, and met Vesper's eyes. There was no anger there. Only tired recognition.
Vesper held her rapier poised at his throat, her chest heaving and her stance shaking slightly. She locked her knees to hide it. Thodin's shoulders sank a fraction. He nodded once.
Yield.
The bell rang, and sound exploded back into the world. The herald screamed Vesper's name. Thodin stooped, picked up his hammer slowly, and walked out without ceremony.
Alaric watched Vesper sway, catch herself, and keep her spine straight.
"She survives," Asimi murmured behind him.
Alaric swallowed, his throat tight. Kaelen and Vesper: song and steel, both bleeding, both stubborn. He couldn't decide which was more dangerous—the one who danced, or the one who refused to fall.