Redreign, a name worthy of someone capable, it was not just a word but a symbol. The people themselves gave it to him, whispering it like a curse and chanting it like a legend. A sign of threat, of danger, of death itself. His name carried weight, and even those who didn't see him yet felt the pressure of that name.
Elsewhere, a cart rumbled on a rough path, one of its wheels striking against a rock that shook it for a moment. Dust rose in the air, and the horses neighed as they steadied themselves. The travelers sitting inside lifted their heads—because finally, after the long road, they had reached it. The City of Training. A place that existed not for markets or trade, but for warriors, gladiators, and dreamers who wished to prove themselves.
There were others too, hundreds, maybe thousands, who had come to witness the grand tournament. The sound of many wheels rumbled together as carts lined up one after another, all heading towards the enormous gate that loomed ahead. The gate was tall enough to touch the sky, carved with symbols of battles past, and guarded by soldiers whose armor reflected the sunlight. Beyond it lay the city, and beyond the city lay glory or humiliation.
Aron sat in the cart, his eyes wide as he tried to take everything in. He remembered the last time he came here—it was with Lilith. The memories burned inside him, and with every passing second, his desire grew stronger. He desperately wanted to meet him again, to see him fight with his own eyes, to confirm that the boy he once knew was the same man now whispered as Redreign.
The cart came to a stop. Aron and Carlos wasted no time—they both jumped out, stretching their legs from the long ride. They handed the cart to a caretaker, who promised to look after it until their return. The city was alive before them, its streets already crowded with strangers speaking in all sorts of accents. The air smelled of dust, sweat, and excitement.
"Carlos," Aron said, still looking around, "this place is… alive."
Carlos smirked, throwing his bag over his shoulder. "Alive? That's too small a word, man. Look at this—it's heavenly crowded!" His voice was full of energy. The two picked up their bags and started walking down the stone-paved road that led deeper inside.
Then a voice rose above the noise. "Tournament tickets! Free tournament tickets! Come and grab one before they run out!"
Carlos' ears perked up immediately. Without thinking, he dashed towards the stall where a man was handing them out. "Two tickets, please!" he said, slightly out of breath. The man smiled and slapped two rough parchment slips into his left hand. Carlos rushed back, his grin wide, and showed them to Aron.
"Look at this!" he said proudly, waving the tickets.
Aron chuckled, though his eyes were elsewhere. He was caught between the present and his memories, between the noise of the city and the name echoing in his head—Redreign.
As they started walking again, the sound of cheering struck their ears. Loud, powerful, like waves crashing. The cheers were coming from the direction of the arena. They looked at each other once and then ran, pushing through the crowd. Aron's heart raced, but before he could get too far, his eyes caught something unusual.
Three men were standing in a side street. One of them was bruised badly, his face swollen and bloodied. His body trembled with rage as he spat words out.
"I'm gonna kill that piece of shit," the broken man growled, his breath harsh and uneven. "Water coming out of his mouth, I swear… how did he humiliate me like this?"
One of his companions tried to calm him. "Boss, it's okay. It was just a kick. And first of all—it was Redreign! If anything, you should call it an hono—"
BOOM! His words ended with a punch. The furious man smashed his fist into his companion's face, knocking him unconscious on the stone floor.
"How dare you mock me?" he shouted, spitting blood. His anger carried him forward as he stormed away, leaving his man lying motionless on the ground.
Aron froze, his mind echoing again. Redreign? Who is that? But before he could sink too deep in thought, Carlos' voice struck him like an arrow.
"Aron! Let's go!" Carlos grabbed his hand, pulling him out of the alley and back into the flow of the crowd. They ran towards the tournament gates, climbing stairs and bumping shoulders with strangers, until finally the arena rose before them.
It was colossal. The stone walls towered high, the stands spread out in every direction, and inside were thousands of people roaring with energy. On the highest seats sat the elites—the nobles, the kings of different nations, their cloaks shimmering under the sun. Aron's breath caught. He could feel the weight of history in this place.
The referee stepped onto the ground. His very presence made the crowd explode with cheers, so loud it seemed to shake the sky itself.
"It is an honor!" the referee's voice thundered. "The City of Training has decided to host a grand tournament this year. And the winner, the chosen warrior, will qualify for the Olimux Tournament, to be held four years from now!"
Four years… Aron's heart skipped a beat. A whisper of memory struck his mind. That's what master told me.
The referee unrolled a scroll, his voice carrying clearly: "The first match will now commence. Please present yourselves—Hikano Tukicho, and Lilith Yade!"
The crowd erupted. Aron's body shivered as goosebumps crawled over him. Lilith… it's him. Let's go, Lilith.
Carlos turned to him, eyes wide. "Aron, your friend Lilith—this is him?"
"Yes," Aron replied firmly, his eyes locked on the arena.
From one side entered Hikano, a tall but skinny boy holding a sword nervously. From the other, the ground itself seemed to shift as Lilith walked in. His aura was heavy, almost visible, and the crowd's cheers grew louder, their voices chanting: Redreign! Redreign!
The referee looked at them both. "Rules are rules. Do not kill—only knock your opponent unconscious."
Both fighters took their stances. The king of the city rose from his seat, raising a hand, then lowered it slowly. The referee nodded. "The match begins!" He quickly ran off the ground.
Aron's eyes locked on Lilith. His attitude felt different, but Aron told himself, He hasn't forgotten me… I know it.
Hikano shouted and charged forward, his sword raised high. The crowd cheered as steel clashed—but then a sudden sandstorm whipped around Lilith. Nobody saw where his sword came from, but sparks burst when the blades collided. Hikano staggered back, eyes wide.
"Where was he hiding his sword?" Hikano muttered in disbelief.
Lilith walked forward, step by step, fearless. Hikano panicked. Sweat rolled down his face as he charged again, spinning in the air with all his strength. But the moment their blades met, Lilith's unmatched speed took control. He caught Hikano by the neck with his left hand and slammed him onto the ground with brutal force.
BOOM! Dust exploded, and Hikano lay unconscious.
The referee stepped forward, raising his arm. "Lilith Yade has won the match!"
The crowd went wild, clapping, crying, chanting Redreign's name. Carlos slapped Aron's shoulder, laughing. "Your friend is too strong!"
Aron nodded, but inside he whispered, I saw every move… every strike. Is this because of the book? Or because of father's training?
The first match ended. The ground needed repair from the destruction, so a break was announced. Aron and Carlos left their seats, heading for a restaurant nearby.
They sat for a moment, but then Aron noticed something strange. A figure in the crowd, familiar, dangerous. His blood ran cold.
"Carlos," Aron said, his voice low, "go grab me a bowl of ramen noodles. I'll join you soon."
Carlos nodded, not asking questions. Aron moved quickly, weaving through the crowd, his eyes locked on that one person.
It was him—the same man from before. The one planning something. Aron's fists clenched.
The end.