Riven brushed the dust from his clothes, his eyes lingering briefly on Draven's motionless form before drifting away. There was no satisfaction in the victory—only a hollow weight pressing against his chest. Each match drove the same truth deeper into him: this world was far from fair. His opponents weren't weak because they lacked effort—they were simply born with dimmer souls. And because his flickering soul shone brighter, he could crush them with ease.
It wasn't strength he felt in those moments—it was guilt.His grandfather's words from the previous night echoed in his mind, and the memory of his childhood friends—now distant, estranged by the same difference in power—tightened something inside him. This world favored the strong and forgot the rest, discarding them as if they never mattered.
He exhaled slowly, unclenching his fists as he turned toward the roaring stands. The cheers thundered across the arena, but to Riven, they rang hollow. He forced a faint smile that never reached his eyes.
Lifting his gaze, he spotted Corvax—the massive, obsidian-feathered beast his parents rode—circling high above the arena rather than among the nobles below. Higher still, near the top of the colossal structure, a few grand viewing galleries jutted outward. Banners flapped from their edges, each marked with a noble house's insignia. Those seats—elevated both literally and symbolically—belonged to the powerful noble families of Veldora.
Riven looked away before his eyes could linger too long. He turned from the noise, slipping quietly into the passageway leading toward the back rooms, where the air was cooler and his thoughts could settle.
The stone corridor leading away from the arena was dimly lit, the echoes of his footsteps muffled by the noise behind him. Just as he passed one of the archways, a familiar figure stepped into view. A young woman with fiery red hair flowing over her chest and shoulders, she greeted him with a bright smile. Her light leather armor clung to her muscular frame, and steel pauldrons gleamed under the flickering torchlight. Her presence, commanding and bold, made Riven stop mid-step.
"Well, not bad," said Lira Nova, her tone teasing yet firm. "But don't think our fight will be that easy. I won't hold back."
Riven blinked, caught off guard. He shifted slightly, straightening his posture. His confusion must have been evident because Lira smirked, reaching for something at her waist. She pulled out a small badge, letting the light glint off its surface.
"See? You're up against me in round three," she said, her voice brimming with confidence. "Don't disappoint me, okay?"
With that, she turned sharply and walked away, her leather boots clicking against the stone floor. Riven stood frozen for a moment, watching her retreating form. Good to know she hasn't changed a bit, he thought. Still the same battle-crazed, energetic self.
It had been a few months since their last spar. He remembered her as relentless, always pushing him to use more and more mana every time they fought. Maybe this fight will be fun. But his confidence wavered. Then again, knowing her, I shouldn't get my hopes too high.
The sound of approaching footsteps pulled Riven from his thoughts. Jayce emerged from the archway, sweat glistening on his brow and his spear slung across his back. The familiar sight eased some of the tension coiled in Riven's chest.
Jayce caught his eye and let out a short laugh, his grin stretching wide. "Oh, you don't know, do you?" he said, clapping a firm hand on Riven's shoulder. "We've all been holding back during our spars—keeping our real strength hidden. Don't go thinking you've already won."
Riven's lips twitched into a faint smile. We'll see soon enough.
Jayce shook his head, chuckling to himself as he walked toward the cluster of nobles gathered in the corner. Riven, not wanting to join them, turned back to his usual spot in the resting area. His expression darkened. None of my childhood friends have even bothered to say hi since the start of the tournament. The thought stung more than he cared to admit. So much for camaraderie.
The hunter's voice rang out, summoning him back to the arena. Riven took a steadying breath before stepping into the sunlight. The field stretched before him, the packed dirt gleaming under the afternoon sun. Across from him stood Lira, her greatsword resting on her shoulder. She gripped the hilt with both hands, her stance solid and confident. Her fiery red hair glowed like embers, and a faint smirk played on her lips.
Riven widened his stance, his body instinctively shifting into a combat-ready position. The referee raised his hand, signaling the start of the match.
In a blur of motion, Lira closed the distance between them, her sword radiating an intense heat. Riven's eyes widened as he called forth his pink mana, coating his body in its protective glow. He darted to the side, narrowly avoiding her swing. A sharp, burning sting shot through his chest. He glanced down, spotting a shallow cut across his torso.
What the hell? His thoughts raced. Is she using a relic? Or has she already bonded with a beast?
Lira's smirk deepened as she caught his confused expression. She pressed forward, her greatsword leaving faint trails of shimmering heat in the air. Riven gritted his teeth, pouring more mana into his body. The protective aura around him flared as he moved to counter her next strike.
Their clash was a flurry of motion—her strikes brutal and precise, his dodges sharp and calculated, but it was hard to count for the ranged super heated air attacks she unleashed with every swing. The heat from her blade became oppressive, each swing forcing him to burn more of his mana just to stay ahead.
She can heat the air with her mana? Is that even possible? The thought rattled him. No matter. I just need to get close and land a decisive blow.
Focusing his energy, Riven funneled fifty percent of his mana into his body—a risky move, but necessary. His movements became a blur, his speed unmatched as he surged toward Lira. Her eyes narrowed as she adjusted her stance, pouring her remaining energy into her blade. The greatsword glowed a molten orange, the air around it rippling like a mirage.
Lira swung with all her might, unleashing a wave of compressed, superheated air. The blast roared toward Riven, and he instinctively poured more mana into his body. Remembering one of his father's techniques, he began to condense his energy, forcing it forward—layer by layer—until the mana at the front of his body thickened into a near-solid barrier. Heat shimmered around him as the air screamed against his defense. Without realizing it, he had drawn upon more than seventy percent of his total reserves.
He staggered but held his ground. The shock on Lira's face told him all he needed to know—she was nearly spent. Summoning the last of his strength, he surged forward.
Lira tried to retreat, but Riven was too fast. His palm struck her liver with precision, forcing her to drop the greatsword as she staggered sideways.
Unwilling to give her a moment to recover, Riven pursued. Lira, through sheer determination, managed to grip her weapon again. She swung wildly, the blade cutting through the air in a desperate horizontal arc.
Riven dropped low, his hands brushing the dirt as he twisted his body. He launched himself forward in a corkscrew motion, narrowly dodging the blade. His boots connected with Lira's face, the force sending her sprawling across the ground. Her greatsword clattered to the dirt a few meters away.
Before Riven could check on her, a lion-like beast wreathed in flames materialized on the field. Its mane blazed fiercely, waves of heat rolling off its body so intensely that Riven froze mid-step. The sheer pressure radiating from the creature made his instincts scream—it wasn't some ability, but a bonded beast of considerable strength.
The beast padded toward Lira, its molten eyes softening as it gently gripped her coat in its jaws. With a single, effortless leap, it bounded into the air, carrying her toward one of the upper viewing boxes reserved for nobles. Only then did Riven exhale, realizing it must belong to one of her family members. Relief washed over him, though the lingering heat left his skin prickling.
Down below, the referee strode onto the arena floor, his expression tight with a barely concealed scowl—clearly frustrated that a noble's beast had intruded mid-match. For a brief moment, his face twisted with indignation, but it quickly settled into a neutral, professional mask. Straightening his posture, he cleared his throat and announced, "The winner: Riven Stormbrand!"
The crowd erupted into cheers, a deafening roar that echoed through the arena. Riven barely acknowledged them. His thoughts were still on that fiery lion and the technique Lira had unleashed just before collapsing. What was that?
He gave a brief, distracted wave toward his family before turning to leave the arena, his mind still racing with questions.
Inside the waiting area, Jayce was adjusting his armor straps, his spear resting against the wall beside him. Riven hesitated before speaking, the adrenaline from his fight still coursing through him.
"You were right—that was tough. Good luck with yours."
Jayce turned, grinning. "Told you. Might see you in the semifinals."
A girl clad in silver armor over a white uniform, its trim interlaced with sleek black leather, rose from a bench in the far corner. The contrast of materials gave her the air of someone balanced between a noble duelist and a seasoned hunter. Her long, silvery hair flowed freely behind her, and her bright sky-blue eyes reflected quiet confidence. A slender silver rapier hung at her left hip, catching the light with every step as she strode confidently toward the archway leading out to the arena floor.
It was Sylvia Frostveil, a member of the main branch of House Frostveil, one of the Five Greater Noble Houses. She gave a brief nod toward Jayce as she passed, her expression calm and resolute. Without another word, she stepped into the light of the arena while Jayce turned toward the opposite exit, making his way to the far side of the field.
Riven froze for a moment, surprise flickering across his face. He hadn't expected to see her here. The two had sparred only a handful of times over the past year, and even then, he'd barely managed to come out on top—only by bringing the full weight of his mana to bear. What puzzled him now was why someone of her stature was even competing in this city's tournament. Shouldn't she be in the capital, where her family resided, taking part in the grander Soul Tournament there? He pushed the thought aside, deciding he'd ask Jayce about it later. For now, he simply watched her disappear into the arena's light.
Riven watched Sylvia vanish into the arena light before turning away with a faint sigh. So she's competing here too... this tournament might be tougher than I thought.
He slumped onto a nearby bench, running a hand through his hair. If everyone's hiding a skill anything like Lira's—getting first place won't be easy. A dull ache settled behind his temples as fatigue finally caught up to him. If Lira's soul rank had been the same as mine, I would've lost for sure.
Outside, the distant roar of the crowd swelled once more. Riven closed his eyes, letting the noise fade into a dull hum as he tried to piece together how to improve before his next fight.