Across the field, his opponent stood like a wall of stone. Tyria Stonebloom. A dwarf girl, barely taller than her own warhammer. Her armor was burnished crimson with deep brown veins, resembling the roots of a tree fused into ancient metal. The weapon she carried was massive, etched with runes that pulsed green and gold—earth and nature in harmony.
The announcer's voice rang out, loud and clear.
"Next match: representing the Imperial Academy of Valor—Noel Thorne!"
A wave of cheers exploded from one side of the arena.
"And from Tharvaldur Institute of Arcane Might—Tyria Stonebloom!"
The other side of the crowd erupted with equal enthusiasm. Tyria raised her hammer in one hand. She didn't smile—her dark eyes fixed on Noel with quiet intensity.
Noel breathed out once, his hand brushing against the hilt of Revenant Fang.
'Tyria Stonebloom… You don't look like you want to fight. But you've been made to, haven't you?'
The atmosphere thickened.
Then—
"Begin!"
