Chapter 24: The Weight of Victory

  The moment the announcement rang through the arena, Marcus barely had time to breathe before his friends rushed the stage.

  “Marcus, you madman!” Thalron laughed, grabbing him by the shoulders. “Did you have to put the guy through a wall?”

  Arixa crossed her arms, smirking. “Yeah, what happened to pacing yourself? I thought you were holding back before?”

  “I was,” Marcus muttered, still catching his breath. “That was... barely controlled.”

  “Barely controlled?!” Grek scurried up beside them, practically vibrating with energy. “That was insane! you took Vealeth apart like you’d been studying him for years!"

  Vira approached next, her expression unreadable. She looked him over, eyes lingering on his hands—bloodied but unshaken. “You weren’t even worried, were you?”

  Marcus met her gaze. “Not really.”

  She clicked her tongue, smirking. “You’re terrifying, you know that?”

  Before he could respond, a large hand clamped onto his shoulder.

  Boruk, the towering orc, grinned down at him. “You fought well, Marcus. Better than I expected.”

  Marcus raised a brow. “Expected?”

  Boruk chuckled. “We all placed bets. Vira thought you’d win, but barely. I figured you’d at least bleed more.”

  Marcus groaned. “Glad I could disappoint.”

  The banter continued, but beneath it, Marcus felt the shifting dynamics between them all. There was admiration, yes—but also something else. Rivalry.

  Arixa, for one, was fuming. Not in anger, but in a way that made it clear she hated placing third. She’d push herself harder next time.

  Thalron, while thrilled, also seemed more determined.

  Even Vealeth, still recovering at the arena’s edge, locked eyes with Marcus, something unreadable in his gaze.

  They weren’t just friends. They were competitors. And this was only the beginning.

  The air shifted as Ralkar stepped onto the arena’s center stage, his sharp eyes scanning the exhausted fighters. His presence demanded attention, and the noise of the crowd slowly died down.

  “This tournament,” he began, voice carrying easily, “was not just about strength. It was not just about skill.”

  He turned, facing the competitors directly.

  “It was about proving worth. Not to the guild—not to the city—but to yourselves.”

  Marcus watched, intrigued.

  “To be an adventurer is not just to fight,” Ralkar continued. “It is to survive. To face the unknown. To fight battles not for glory, but because if you don’t, then who will?”

  The arena was silent now.

  “The ten of you standing here today,” Ralkar said, looking across them, “have earned the right to call yourselves adventurers. And so—” He raised his hand, revealing a small stack of shining copper adventurer badges. “Step forward and claim your place.”

  One by one, the top ten contestants moved forward, receiving their official adventurer badges.

  When it was Marcus’s turn, he took his badge carefully. It felt solid in his palm. Heavy. Not in weight, but in meaning.

  He was no longer just fighting in this world.

  He belonged here now.

  As the ceremony neared its end, Ralkar held up a scroll. “For those who placed in the top three, the guild has seen fit to offer additional rewards.”

  The crowd murmured in excitement.

  “Arixa.” Ralkar gestured toward her. “For placing third, you are granted a token for one month of training with a Mythril-ranked adventurer.”

  Arixa’s eyes blazed as she stepped forward, accepting the token. Marcus could already tell—she would not waste it.

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  “Vealeth.” Ralkar nodded at the drake warrior. “For second place, you are awarded a single weapon commission from the guild’s finest smith.”

  Vealeth, despite his earlier loss, grinned as he accepted the token. “A fine prize.”

  “And finally,” Ralkar turned to Marcus, a glint in his eye. “For first place—Marcus Elder.”

  Silence.

  Marcus stepped forward.

  “You are granted an instant promotion to Iron-ranked adventurer.” The crowd exploded into cheers, but Ralkar wasn’t finished. “Additionally, you are awarded a small bag of holding.”

  A sharp gasp rippled through the competitors. That was no small reward.

  “And lastly…” Ralkar smirked. “You receive a special dungeon-delving token. This allows you to choose any single Adventurer’s Guild-controlled dungeon and explore it with a party of your choosing.”

  Marcus blinked. That’s… big.

  A dungeon delve of his choice? That was more than just a reward—it was an opportunity.

  He took the token carefully, thoughts already spinning.

  Ralkar patted his shoulder, leaning in slightly. “Choose wisely, Marcus.”

  Marcus nodded. “I will.”

  Later that evening, after the ceremony, Marcus was making his way through the guild halls, his thoughts still turning over the weight of his victory. The copper badge in his pocket felt heavier than it should, as did the dungeon token tucked safely beside it.

  “Marcus.”

  The voice was low, steady, and unmistakable. He turned to see Vealeth leaning against a stone pillar, his arms crossed, golden reptilian eyes fixed on him.

  “You fought well,” Vealeth said simply.

  Marcus smirked. “You too.”

  Vealeth chuckled, though there was little amusement in it. He pushed off the pillar, stepping closer. “Listen.” His tone shifted, the casual air dropping away. “You should know—powerful people took notice of you today.”

  Marcus frowned slightly. “What kind of people?”

  Vealeth exhaled through his nose. “I don’t know exactly. But I do know this—your strength isn’t normal. And they noticed.”

  Marcus stayed silent, his expression unreadable.

  “You fought with precision beyond your level. You adapted to my abilities faster than anyone should be able to.” Vealeth narrowed his eyes. “That’s not just talent. That’s something else.”

  Marcus gave a noncommittal shrug. “I train hard.”

  Vealeth didn’t buy it. “Maybe. But I doubt that’s all it is.” He studied Marcus for a moment longer before sighing. “I don’t know who they are, or what they want. But be careful. You’re not just another adventurer anymore.”

  Marcus met his gaze, reading the unspoken message in Vealeth’s eyes.

  He wasn’t just some promising rookie.

  He was a threat.

  And now, the people watching from the shadows… they knew it.

  As Marcus processed the warning, he caught movement in his peripheral vision.

  “Marcus!”

  Vira, Boruk, Ragn, and Grek were approaching, their faces lit with excitement. The conversation with Vealeth had drawn to an end just as they reached him. Vealeth glanced at them briefly before nodding at Marcus one last time and stepping away, disappearing into the guild hall’s corridors.

  “What was that about?” Vira asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Marcus shrugged. “Nothing important.”

  Boruk snorted. “Didn’t look like nothing.”

  Ragn tilted his head, curious. “You sure? He looked serious.”

  Marcus waved it off. “Just post-match talk. Let’s not worry about it.”

  Vira eyed him for a moment longer, but finally let it go. “Fine. But don’t expect me to ignore it if it turns out to be something.”

  Boruk clapped Marcus on the back with enough force to nearly send him forward. “Bah, whatever it was, we’ll handle it if it becomes a problem. For now, let’s talk about what really matters.” His tusked grin widened. “Your prizes.”

  Ragn crossed his arms, nodding approvingly. “An Iron-ranked promotion right away? That’s not just a reward—that’s recognition.”

  Vira smirked. “The dungeon delve is the biggest prize. Do you have any idea which one you’ll pick?”

  “Not yet,” Marcus admitted. “I’ll need to think it over.”

  “Bah, we’ll talk about that later,” Grek waved a tiny hand. “For now, we discuss the bag of holding!” His beady eyes gleamed as he scampered closer. “Marcus does not understand its value! But Grek does!”

  Marcus smirked. “Enlighten me.”

  Grek puffed out his chest. “A bag of holding is a spatial container. Not true dimensional storage, but close! It reduces weight, preserves contents, and can store more than it seems!” He gestured wildly. “Grek has dreamed of one but never had the coin! Marcus must use it wisely!”

  Marcus pulled the small bag from his belt and turned it over in his hands. It looked deceptively ordinary, but if Grek was this excited, it had to be something special.

  “So… how much can I put inside?”

  “Depends on its quality,” Grek replied. “Some hold a few dozen pounds. The best hold an entire armory!” He squinted at the bag. “That one? Decent. Should hold a few hundred pounds, easy.”

  Boruk whistled. “That’s a damn fine prize.”

  Ragn nodded. “No need to carry supplies on your back anymore.”

  Marcus tucked the bag away, filing away the information for later.

  Vira crossed her arms. “Honestly, none of that compares to the fact that we’re heading back to the orc stronghold with something even better—proof that you not only met the standards to join the clan but exceeded them.”

  Boruk grinned. “Damn right. The chieftain’s going to love this.”

  Marcus raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

  Boruk laughed. “Oh, he’ll pretend to be unimpressed at first. But trust me—this is big. You won a major tournament, got a promotion, and earned high-tier rewards. If that doesn’t prove your worth, nothing will.”

  Ragn smirked. “The real question is—how much ale will they drown you in when we get there?”

  Marcus exhaled, shaking his head. “Let’s just focus on getting back first.”

  Grek suddenly coughed. “Ah! Speaking of travel… Grek must part ways with the group here.”

  The mood shifted slightly as all eyes turned to the goblin.

  “Wait, what?” Marcus asked.

  “Grek has business in the next city,” Grek said dramatically, folding his arms. “Deals to make, merchants to rob—ahem!” He cleared his throat. “I mean… business ventures to conduct!”

  Marcus chuckled. “I figured as much.”

  Boruk nodded. “You sure you don’t want to come with us? The stronghold’s got plenty of traders.”

  Grek wagged a finger. “No, no, no! Grek’s work is never done! But worry not! Grek wishes you all luck on your journey! You shall return to the orcs as champions!”

  Vira smirked. “And what about you? What kind of trouble are you getting into next?”

  Grek grinned. “The best kind.”

  Marcus shook his head, smiling. “Just don’t get yourself killed.”

  “Bah! Grek is unkillable!” The goblin puffed out his chest. “Besides, if anything does happen, Grek knows who to call.”

  He gave them all a sly wink before scampering off, vanishing into the crowd.

  Marcus exhaled. “Well. That was something.”

  Vira rolled her eyes. “It’s Grek. What else do you expect?”

  Boruk clapped his hands together. “Enough talk. We leave at sunrise. Time to rest up—our journey’s just beginning.”

  Marcus nodded, glancing down at the iron badge in his palm once more.

  The tournament was over.