It was incredible, and it demonstrated the swiftness and dexterity of a champion.
He ended the remaining two with quick, precise movements—dodging, faking, and hitting weak spots until their limbs froze up and they fell one by one.
The cheers from the crowd increased, a wall of sound that made Jace's temples throb. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the knots of tension release with small pops. His muscles still hummed from the fight, that familiar ache that meant he'd pushed hard enough.
He stepped off the field, boots crunching on scattered wood fragments from the dummies. The arena sand stuck to his sweat, gritty between his fingers when he wiped his face. His eyes found the others waiting their turn.
Tor was stretching his hamstrings, thick arms pulling his leg up against the barrier wall. Zara stood beside him, lips moving silently as she spoke to her blade. Elliot sat cross-legged on a bench, cleaning his nails with a dagger tip, each scrape deliberate and precise. Kael had found a patch of shade and looked half-asleep, though Jace knew better than to think he wasn't listening.
And Dren?
Dren was watching him with that same easy smile, the kind that never quite reached his eyes.
"Not bad," Tor grunted as he passed Jace on his way into the ring. "You move better than you look. Always surprising me."
Jace felt his mouth twitch up at one corner. Coming from Tor, that was practically poetry.
Tor's trial was exactly what you'd expect from a man built like a battering ram. The enchanted dummies came in swinging, their wooden limbs cutting through the air with mechanical precision. Tor met them head-on, his massive sword crushing through their defenses with the subtlety of a landslide. Joint mechanisms cracked under the force of his swings. Wooden limbs splintered. The crowd ate it up—cheering every time another dummy exploded into fragments. Simple. Loud. The kind of performance that made people feel like they'd gotten their money's worth.
Zara stepped up next, and Jace found himself leaning forward despite himself. She moved like water finding its path, each step placed with absolute certainty. The first dummy barely got within striking distance before her divine strike split it clean down the middle, the two halves toppling in opposite directions. The rest fell to sharp, economical motions. No flourishes. No wasted energy. She wasn't showing off—she was just that good. The crowd's appreciation was quieter but deeper, the kind of respect reserved for true skill.
Elliot drew whistles from the noble balconies. He moved like smoke given form, sliding between attacks with sharp pivots that made the dummies look clumsy. His blade found gaps in their defenses with surgical precision, each strike placed exactly where it would do the most damage. One dummy turned to follow him and collapsed mid-step, glowing steel already buried in its spine. Jace caught himself analyzing the technique, cataloging the footwork.
Kael's turn came with a flash of steel. His blade sang as it cut through the air, each strike delivered with the kind of precision that came from years of practice. The dummies toppled in quick succession, their mechanisms failing under his relentless assault. He made it look effortless, like he could have done it with his eyes closed. The crowd appreciated the display, but Jace could see the calculation behind every movement.
Jace watched it all from the sideline, arms crossed over his chest. His shirt stuck to his back with cooling sweat, and he could taste arena dust on his tongue. He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd looked like an amateur compared to these practiced performances. They made the trial seem routine, something to be checked off a list rather than survived.
Finally, Dren's turn arrived.
He stepped forward with unhurried confidence, boots silent on the sand. He gave a small bow to the king's balcony—respectful but not subservient—then turned to face the field. His shoulders were relaxed, sword still sheathed.
The crowd leaned forward in their seats, sensing something different.
Jace narrowed his eyes, that familiar prickle of unease crawling up his spine.
The dummies activated. All six at once this time.
Not five like the others had faced. Six.
They moved faster too, their wooden limbs cutting through the air with vicious intent. Their paths weren't just programmed patterns—they adjusted mid-charge, pivoted around obstacles, adapted to their opponent's movements. Someone had cranked up the difficulty.
Dren's expression didn't change.
His sword cleared its sheath in a silver blur, taking the head off the first dummy before its blade could reach him. The wooden sphere bounced across the sand, trailing sparks from severed enchantment lines. The second dummy swung in a wide arc, and Dren spun beneath it like he was dancing at some noble's ball, his blade finding the knee joint and twisting free in one fluid motion.
The crowd erupted. Gasps turned to cheers, scattered applause building into something sustained.
The third and fourth dummies came at him together, a coordinated assault that should have overwhelmed him. Instead, Dren slid between them in a flash of golden light, his blade trailing luminous arcs as he struck both with pinpoint accuracy. Sparks burst from their control glyphs, the magical constructs collapsing in perfect synchronization.
By the time the last two reached him, he'd moved beyond mere swordplay. His blade plunged into the sand. He caught one dummy's swinging arm, used the momentum to vault clean over the second, then summoned a burst of radiant force that reduced both to splinters and glowing dust.
The applause hit like a physical force. Louder than anything before, sustained and building. Some of the nobles actually rose from their seats, hands clapping in genuine appreciation.
Someone had definitely changed the settings for Dren. Made his trial harder, more spectacular, more dangerous.
So when he beat it with such effortless grace?
It looked legendary.
Dren turned to face the crowd, arms spread wide as he bowed deeply. When he straightened, his eyes found Jace across the arena, and that subtle smile returned.
Jace folded his arms tighter and looked away. He didn't give a damn about the results, but he couldn't shake the feeling that this whole performance had been for his benefit.
What the hell did Dren want from him?
As Dren stepped back into line, basking in the cheers, the king gave a final nod to the announcer.
"That concludes the trial," the man called out, voice echoing across the arena. "Our champions will now step forward together—so that you, the people of Lusteria, may know the faces of those who fight on your behalf!"
The crowd stirred with anticipation. Nobles leaned forward. Commoners rose to their feet, some already clapping before anyone moved.
Captain Aldric gestured toward the center of the arena. "Heroes. Present yourselves."
One by one, the summoned stepped forward—Jace first, as dictated by the draw. Then Tor and Zara at either side of him. Elliot strode out with a lazy wave. Kael followed, more subdued. And finally, Dren brought up the rear, walking just a step slower, just enough to arrive perfectly at the center of the lineup.
They stood shoulder to shoulder in the midday sun. Each gave a small bow, a raised hand, a nod of acknowledgement.
Jace raised his hand with the rest, heart steady now. He caught sight of Nia in the guests' section, clapping with both hands, face lit up with a smile that made something ease in his chest.
Dren, of course, waved a little longer. Held his smile a little wider.