Chapter 22: Sword Falls

  Marcus stepped off the arena floor, his breath steady despite the intensity of his last match. His body ached from the exertion, but his mind was already a few steps ahead, analyzing the fight and preparing for whatever came next. The adrenaline from the fight was still coursing through him, but he’d learned to control it, to use it to sharpen his senses rather than let it cloud his judgment.

  The roar of the crowd followed him as he walked toward the rest of his team, their voices mingling in a cacophony of excitement and praise. Yet, Marcus was lost in thought, his focus elsewhere. The arena, the crowd—it all faded into the background as he assessed what had just happened, what he had just learned about his own abilities.

  Vira was the first to greet him, her arms crossed and a smirk on her lips. “You really don’t do things halfway, do you?”

  Marcus gave a half-shrug, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension. “She pushed me. I had to push back.”

  Grek, who had been leaning against the stone walls, let out a low whistle and shook his head. “Had to? Marcus, you damn near broke her.”

  Marcus smiled faintly, but there was no pride in it. “I didn’t break her. I just... made sure she knew who she was fighting.”

  Boruk, who had been silent until now, spoke up, his gravelly voice full of quiet intensity. “It’s not the strength that’s frightening, Marcus. It’s the control.” His sharp eyes locked onto Marcus’s. “No wasted movements. No hesitation. The Mastery you displayed with that style of yours makes you dangerous.”

  Marcus met his gaze evenly, a spark of defiance in his eyes. “I just do what I need to.”

  Vira stepped closer to him, her expression softening as she lowered her voice. “Marcus… what happened toward the end there?”

  Marcus hesitated for a moment, the gravity of what had occurred still settling in his chest. “I acquired a new skill.”

  A collective gasp came from the group. Grek’s eyes widened, Boruk raised an eyebrow, Vira’s lips parted in surprise, and even Ragn looked up, clearly stunned.

  “What!?” Grek, Boruk, Vira, and Ragn all shouted in unison.

  Marcus blinked, momentarily taken aback by their reaction. “Why are you all so shocked? I’ve unlocked abilities before.”

  Grek stepped forward, his voice dropping to a low tone. “The System knows.”

  “Knows what?” Marcus asked, puzzled. He had never heard of the System “knowing” anything, let alone anything that would prompt such a reaction.

  Boruk scratched his temple thoughtfully, trying to find the right words. “How do I put this... The System’s fair, normally. It grants expirence, levels, titles, buffs, debuffs—everything. But during events like tournaments, it stays impartial. You don’t gain anything, even when you win.”

  Marcus frowned, the thought not sitting right with him. “But I’ve been fighting non-stop...”

  Boruk continued, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air. “Exactly. No levels, no rewards. But sometimes… sometimes the System shows favoritism.”

  Marcus’s eyes widened. “Favoritism?”

  Boruk nodded slowly, his gaze steady. “If you truly unlocked a skill here, you’re probably one of those people—the Chosen.”

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  “Chosen?” Marcus repeated, his voice tinged with disbelief. “Chosen for what? I’m not some kind of hero.”

  Grek leaned in, his expression serious. “If anyone caught wind of a ‘Chosen’ being around, the nobles and elites would be after you. They’d try to use that power for themselves. It’s dangerous, Marcus.”

  Marcus raised his hands in exasperation. “I’m not some Chosen! I just—”

  Boruk gestured for calm, his voice firm. “No one said you were. Just... be careful what you reveal. You can trust us. No matter what, you’ve earned a copper rank already. And you’re part of the clan now, too.”

  Marcus felt a weight lift from his chest. Boruk’s words were more than just reassurance—they were a promise. A promise of family, of loyalty. That meant more to him than he could express.

  Vira smiled, her eyes softening as she stepped closer. “That’s amazing,” she said, her voice filled with admiration. “You’re amazing.”

  Marcus smirked, the corners of his mouth curling up with a hint of mischief. “You just figuring that out?”

  Vira blushed, her cheeks flushing pink. She quickly turned away, as if trying to hide it. “Shut up,” she muttered, though the smile on her lips betrayed her.

  Before Marcus could say anything else, the announcer’s voice rang out, drawing everyone’s attention back to the arena.

  “Next match, Thalron versus Korrak!”

  The match that followed was intense—Thalron, the Mana user with his elegant swordplay, versus Korrak, a towering beastfolk warrior and Ki master who wielded a massive double-headed axe. Korrak’s raw power and unrelenting force were enough to send tremors through the arena as he took his stance.

  Thalron moved first, his sword flashing in the air as he darted toward Korrak with precision, his Mana flowing effortlessly through his strikes. Each cut was like a thread weaving through the air, guided by his sharp senses and enhanced by bursts of wind and fire. His style was fluid, artistic even, as he danced around Korrak’s brute strength. But Korrak wasn’t to be underestimated. His Ki flared as he swung his axe with explosive force, and Thalron had to dodge fast to avoid being crushed by the heavy weapon.

  For a while, it seemed like Thalron had the upper hand—dodging Korrak’s strikes with practiced ease and countering with devastatingly precise blows. But then, the first axe landed. A glancing blow, but the force behind it was enough to send Thalron stumbling. He regained his footing quickly, but Korrak wasn’t about to give him any room to breathe.

  Korrak pressed forward with a savage grin, his Ki surging through his body. Each strike was faster, harder, and more relentless than the last. Thalron’s precision began to falter as Korrak’s power overwhelmed him, and the Mana user’s reserves started to run low.

  Marcus clenched his fists, watching with growing concern. He knew Thalron’s style—his precision, his planning. But this wasn’t a fight of finesse. This was a battle of attrition, and Korrak’s brute strength, amplified by his Ki, was starting to wear Thalron down.

  The next few moments happened in a blur. Korrak swung his axe in a wide arc, and Thalron was forced to leap back, but the follow-up strike came too fast. Korrak’s Ki pulse crashed against Thalron’s defenses, shattering his guard and sending him crashing to the ground. Blood trickled from Thalron’s forehead, but the Mana user still managed to grin as he pushed himself up.

  “It’s up to you now,” Thalron said, his voice hoarse as he passed Marcus, still limping from the fight.

  The referee announced Korrak as the winner.

  The next match was announced almost immediately. The next match will determine our finalists.

  “Vealeth!” The announcer shouted, and the crowd erupted in applause. Vealeth, the massive drake warrior, stepped forward with an air of quiet confidence. His opponent was an upstatt warrior known in small circles for his speed and skill, but against someone like Vealeth, it didn’t matter. The System’s blessing equalized both their strengths, forcing them into a battle of pure skill.

  But it was clear from the start that Vealeth’s stamina, resilience, and technique were too much for his opponent. The fight wore on, each of Vealeth’s movements calculated and perfect. The warrior didn’t stand a chance, and soon Vealeth emerged victorious, the crowd roaring in approval.

  Marcus leaned forward, studying Vealeth carefully. The drake’s every movement was deliberate, controlled—this was not just about strength. It was precision, mastery of his body and mind.

  Grek nudged Marcus, a playful grin on his face. “You’re thinking too hard.”

  Marcus smirked, his focus unwavering. “Just trying to see what I’m up against.”

  Grek handed him a small piece of parchment—Vealeth’s recorded fights and abilities. “Call it scouting, not cheating.”

  Marcus chuckled. “Watching fight tapes.”

  The arena fell silent as the announcer’s voice boomed over the crowd, filled with energy and excitement.

  “THE FINAL MATCH WILL BEGIN AFTER HEALER ASSESSMENT!”

  Marcus stepped forward, the weight of the moment settling over him. He was ready.