Free Web NovelChapter 82: Tournament (2)
The herald raised the ornate staff.
The carved wood struck the polished floor of the hall, a sharp, decisive sound that echoed like a war drum.
The impact reverberated through the stone walls, climbed toward the crystal chandeliers, and made the candle flames flicker for an instant.
The music gradually ceased. The violins fell silent first, then the harps, and finally the flutes. The final notes lingered in the air as if sighing before disappearing completely.
The conversations diminished until they vanished.
First the louder whispers, then the polite laughter, and finally the hushed exchanges between the guests. The great hall of Castle Hark sank into respectful silence.
All attention was directed toward the center of the hall.
Servants had moved part of the tables aside, revealing a circular area enclosed by dark-blue decorative ropes adorned with small golden tassels at their ends. A small arena.
The herald stepped forward. His formal robe shimmered beneath the chandeliers, the golden embroidery catching the candlelight.
"Ladies and gentlemen, noble guests, and honored visitors of the Kingdom of Rhyne." His voice echoed throughout the hall, powerful and trained to fill empty spaces.
"As the traditions of our land dictate, the young heirs who wish to participate shall have the opportunity to demonstrate courage, discipline, and martial spirit."
Lukas noticed several guests nodding. Naturally. As though this tradition were as common as the banquet itself.
"The rules are simple." The man continued.
"The weapons used shall be exclusively made of wood."
Servants raised short swords, spears, and small training shields. The weapons were light, with rounded tips, yet still solid enough to appear real.
"The use of mana is strictly prohibited."
"Victory shall be declared in the event of disarmament, a fall, surrender, or by decision of the appointed judges."
Lukas cast a glance toward the judges.
Count Hark remained seated near the arena in a chair taller than the others, its armrests carved in the shape of eagles. His expression was unreadable.
Beside him sat a captain of the guard, a tall man with short graying hair, an impeccable uniform, and a thin scar cutting across his left eyebrow, as well as a gray-haired veteran whom Clavor discreetly identified as a former military instructor, now retired but still possessing eyes that missed nothing.
"All participants are here of their own free will." The herald concluded.
"This celebration exists to encourage the healthy growth of Rhyne’s youth, never to cause unnecessary harm."
Lukas crossed his arms.
’Even a children’s party has a military component.’
That said much about the kingdom. Count Hark rose to his feet. The silence deepened.
"Have fun." He said.
A rare smile appeared on his face, softening the harsh lines carved by age and war.
"And give it your best."
Lady Elara, seated beside her father, clapped excitedly, the blue ribbons in her hair swaying with the motion.
"Good luck to everyone!"
The tension in the atmosphere immediately eased. Polite laughter arose here and there.
The participating children began to be called forward. freewebnovel.cσ๓
Judite took a deep breath upon hearing her name. She was on the list.
"Participants, step forward for the drawing!"
There were many children. Some appeared confident, shoulders back, chins raised, smiles on their faces.
Others clearly wished to be anywhere else, sweaty hands, glassy eyes, trembling legs.
Judite squeezed her own hands together, the knuckles white with tension.
The children drew small numbered plaques from an ornate dark wooden box decorated with silver details.
The herald announced the matchups.
"First match!" His voice echoed.
"Lady Cecilia Verdan versus Young Theo Falk!"
Small murmurs spread throughout the hall. Judite quickly returned to her family, the plaque bearing the number three in her hands.
"I’m third!" She announced, her voice a mixture of relief and anxiety.
Lukas raised an eyebrow.
"That means you’ll have time to observe."
The arena was prepared.
Cecilia entered first. She had brown hair tied into a simple bun, with a few loose strands falling over her ears. Her eyes were far too serious for a six-year-old child. She wielded a short wooden sword with ease, as if she had done this hundreds of times before.
Theo entered shortly afterward. He looked uncomfortable, shoulders hunched, his gaze unfocused. His movements were rigid and uncoordinated. He held the sword like someone holding an unfamiliar tool, as if expecting it to explode at any moment.
"Begin!" Announced the herald.
Theo charged immediately, perhaps driven by fear, perhaps by pressure.
His strike was wide. Awkward. The sword cut through the air in a broad arc, easy to predict, easy to evade.
Cecilia dodged. She did not attack. She waited.
Theo struck again. This time, he lost his balance, his foot slipping on the polished marble, his arms spreading apart.
Cecilia moved. Fast. Precise. The tip of her wooden sword lightly touched the boy’s shoulder.
One point.
Theo took a deep breath. He tried again. Another strike. Another dodge.
This time, Cecilia touched his chest. Two points.
The boy bit down on his lower lip, nearly drawing blood. He charged a third time, with all the strength his thin arms could muster.
The girl spun gracefully, a fluid movement, almost a dance. The wooden sword rested against his back. Three points.
"Victory to Lady Cecilia Verdan!"
Applause filled the hall. Theo lowered his head, his shoulders slumped. Cecilia approached him.
"You were brave." She said. In her mind, it was obvious she would win, the young boy came from a family of scholars.
Theo blinked. Then he smiled.
Lukas watched attentively.
’She isn’t especially strong. But she knows exactly what to do.’
Apparently, she possessed experience and proper training. That mattered. Perhaps more than natural talent.
The second match was announced.
"Lady Mira Volkar versus Young Garen Holt!"
An enormous boy stepped into the arena.
He was taller than some children two years older than him. His arms were thick, his legs sturdy. He wielded a wooden axe, the heaviest weapon among those available.
Mira seemed tiny by comparison. Her frame was slender, almost fragile. She held a spear, its shaft made of pale wood, its tip rounded.
Lukas leaned slightly forward.
’A spear.’
Mira assumed her stance, feet apart, body slightly inclined, the spear pointed forward.
Garen smiled.
"I’m going to win quickly."
"I doubt it." The girl replied, her voice calm.
