Chapter 17: The Tournament Begins

  The morning sun cast long shadows over the grand arena of Xenor, its stone walls humming with the restless energy of the gathered crowd. Beastfolk of all kinds packed the stands, their voices blending into a rising storm of cheers, growls, and chatter. The tournament grounds stretched wide in the center, a battlefield soon to be marked by sweat, blood, and ambition.

  At the heart of the stage stood a raised platform where an imposing figure—an elder Lion Beastfolk with a mane of silver and eyes sharp as steel—lifted a clawed hand to silence the crowd. The roar of the spectators softened to a murmur, anticipation crackling in the air.

  "Warriors of Xenor!" his voice boomed, deep and regal. "You stand before the greatest test of your strength, skill, and spirit! Only ten of you shall walk away as Copper-ranked adventurers. Many will fall, but the worthy shall rise!"

  A surge of excitement pulsed through the competitors. Marcus stood among them, arms crossed, scanning the faces around him. His human frame stood out, but he had long grown used to the curious and wary glances. This wasn’t about proving himself as a human—it was about proving himself, period.

  The elder continued. "The rules are simple! There are eighty of you. The first round will thin the herd to twenty. From there, only ten shall remain, and in the final stage, you will battle for rank. No killing! Severe injuries will be healed at the discretion of the judges. Victory is determined by knockout, surrender, or the judges' call. Break the rules, and you will be removed from the tournament!"

  The competitors gave nods of acknowledgment. Some cracked their knuckles, others adjusted their weapons, but all were focused.

  "Now, let the Trial of the Copper Fang begin!"

  The crowd erupted into cheers as the tournament official, a wiry-looking jackal Beastfolk, stepped forward. In his hands, he held a large parchment scroll.

  "The matchups for the first round have been decided!" His voice carried over the noise, and the tension among the competitors spiked. "Your names will be called, and you will step forward to the designated battle rings!"

  Marcus exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders. This was it. The first step toward his goal. Toward leveling up, toward mastering his three magic affinities, and toward truly carving out a place for himself in this world.

  Somewhere in the crowd, he spotted Grek watching from the shadows, likely already analyzing the competitors. Vira and the others sat further up, their expressions varying between excitement and focus.

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  He glanced at his soon-to-be rivals—Arixa stretched her arms, her grin wide and confident. Thalron adjusted his gauntlets with calm precision. And then there was the Drake, standing apart, his scaled arms crossed over his chest, eyes scanning the battlefield with unreadable intensity.

  Marcus smirked.

  Time to fight.

  The jackal Beastfolk cleared his throat before calling out the first matchup.

  "Marcus, the Human vs. Gorruk, the Ironhide!"

  A murmur rippled through the crowd at the announcement. Some scoffed, others whispered among themselves. A human against an elephant Beastfolk? It was almost laughable. Almost.

  Marcus exhaled, stepping forward onto the battlefield. Across from him, Gorruk stomped onto the stone platform, his sheer size casting a looming shadow. The elephant Beastfolk was a mountain of muscle, his thick gray skin resembling living armor. His trunk curled slightly, his massive fists cracking together like stone slabs.

  "You're unlucky, human," Gorruk rumbled, his deep voice reverberating through the arena. "I’ll try not to break you too badly."

  " Appreciate the concern," Marcus said smiling, and rolling his shoulders. "Hey no weapon, looks like I'm going to get a boxing match after all."

  Gorruk tilted his head, "The Seven Hells is 'Bocking'?"

  "BOX-ING...is it really that hard to pronounce, forget it, consider this your first lesson."

  The referee, raised his hand. "Begin!"

  Gorruk charged.

  For a being of his size, he was deceptively fast. The stone floor trembled as he closed the distance, his right fist rocketing forward like a battering ram.

  Marcus sidestepped, narrowly avoiding the crushing blow. The moment Gorruk's fist crashed into the ground, Marcus countered—a sharp jab to the ribs, followed by another, and another. His fists were blurred strikes, each hit precise and calculated.

  But Gorruk barely flinched.

  His thick hide absorbed the damage like reinforced leather. A tank. Marcus had fought tough opponents before, but this was different. His punches weren’t connecting deep enough.

  The elephant grinned. "That tickles."

  Without warning, his massive trunk whipped forward, aiming to ensnare Marcus. He ducked, but Gorruk’s knee shot up like a cannon, thumping against Marcus’s loward cross-guard and sending him skidding back.

  Damn. He can use his trunk to clinch.

  Gorruk stomped forward, fists raised as if playfully mimicking Marcus' stance. The crowd laughed at the comical taunt—an elephant using Marcus’s own style against him. It didn't register for Marcus. The beastfolk's form wasn’t sloppy. If anything, it was refined—his stance balanced, his footwork efficient.

  "You’re not the only one who studies the ways of body-combat, human," Gorruk taunted.

  Marcus wiped a bit of sweat from his brow, eyes gleaming. Good. This would actually be a fight.

  Gorruk took control of the fight, using his superior weight and reach to keep Marcus on the defensive. His jabs were like sledgehammers, his hooks sent shockwaves through the air. Marcus dodged, weaving in and out, but the ring was only so big.

  His shoulders ached. His breath came faster. Gorruk wasn’t just tanking damage—he was wearing Marcus down.

  Marcus had two choices: Try to outlast him or break through his natural defenses.

  He cracked his neck. No choice, really.

  Shifting his stance, he planted his feet. Gorruk threw another heavy right straight. Instead of dodging, Marcus—stepped in.

  Close range. His fists shot forward like a storm of bullets.

  Gorruk grunted. The difference was instant.

  Each strike carried something more now. Not just speed, but Ki-infused force, Psycha-precise targeting, and Mana-empowered impact. Marcus didn’t just hit—he dug in.

  A flurry of body shots.

  A right uppercut under the ribs.

  A liver shot, sending a ripple through Gorruk’s frame.

  For the first time in the fight, the elephant staggered.

  His eyes widened in shock. "What—"

  Marcus didn’t let him breathe. He danced around the bigger fighter, his strikes weaving like a butterfly, stinging like a wasp.

  And then, he saw his opening.

  Gorruk’s balance faltered.

  Marcus lunged—his fist driving into the side of Gorruk’s jaw.

  A shockwave rang out.

  Gorruk fell.

  The crowd was silent.

  The unstoppable elephant Beastfolk had just been knocked flat on his back.

  Gorruk groaned, blinking up at the sky. Then, after a long pause, he let out a deep, rumbling chuckle.

  "Hell of a blow, human."

  Marcus extended a hand. Gorruk hesitated before gripping it, allowing Marcus to help him up.

  The referee stepped forward. "Winner—Marcus!"

  The silence broke into cheers and roars.

  From the stands, Grek smirked. "The boy actually pulled it off."

  Marcus exhaled, stretching his fingers. One down.

  He looked up at the tournament board, already thinking ahead. Just a few more rounds to go.

  And from across the battlefield, a dragon-kin watched him carefully, arms crossed.

  Waiting...