Episode 88: The Stage of Decision – A New Arena
The 64th round of the Grand Martial Tournament was proceeding smoothly when, without warning, Rian ordered the competition to be halted. To make the road to the finals more dramatic and unforgettable, he decided to transform the arena itself. Summoning the judges and officials, he commanded the participants to wait until the next day. Inwardly, Rian thought to himself: "Only those who can prove themselves in the harshest trials deserve to be called heroes of the Empire."
The following morning, the tournament grounds had been utterly transformed. The sandy pit was gone, replaced by a colossal hexagonal ring. At each corner stood heavy steel pillars, and around the outer edge was a wall of thick, razor-sharp iron mesh, preventing anyone from escaping. The atmosphere was no longer that of a festival—it resembled a battlefield where life and death would be decided.
The audience watched in awe, murmuring in a mixture of fear and excitement."This isn't just a tournament anymore. This will go down in the history of the Empire!" one spectator whispered, trembling with anticipation. Parents who had brought their children closer held them tightly, gazing nervously at the steel cage. "That looks far too dangerous… too brutal," they muttered, unease in their voices.
Others were exhilarated. "A true warrior must prove themselves in such a place!" they cried, clenching their fists as if they were entering the ring themselves. An elderly man, however, shook his head solemnly. "To cheer as young men risk their lives… is that truly right?" Another beside him replied softly, "Perhaps not. But if this is their chosen path, then the least we can do is honor their courage."
From above, Rian looked down at the warriors within the steel cage, his eyes hard with resolve. To him, this was no longer a mere celebration. As one who might soon ascend as Emperor of Elysium, he sought to unearth the true strength that would guide the Empire into the future."Now… the true battle begins," he whispered.
Meanwhile, Ellahar and his companions, Brakka and Caron, gazed upon the new arena, each gripped by his own thoughts.
Brakka clenched his fists, brushing his forehead with a grin. "A hexagonal ring, eh? At last, a stage where we can show our real strength." His eyes gleamed with the fierce joy of battle.
Caron studied the steel mesh in silence, then nodded. "No more escape. Here, we prove whether we can surpass our own limits." His voice was cold and resolute—this was not about victory alone, but transcendence.
Ellahar's lips curved in a faint smile as he rested his hand on his sword. "Good. On this stage, I can wield my full strength. A true warrior proves himself in any circumstance." He slid the blade an inch from its sheath, glanced at its edge, then quietly returned it. He could feel it—this battle would mark the culmination of his journey.
The matches began, and within the steel ring the warriors clashed with a ferocity that electrified the crowd. Ellahar's movements were swift and precise, his blade flashing with the cold gleam of steel under the lights. One by one his opponents fell, unable to withstand his calm, merciless strikes.
Brakka swung his axe with raw might, shattering defenses and hurling opponents aside. "Ha! This is what real fighting feels like!" he roared, reveling in the chaos.
Caron wove spells with ruthless precision, breaking enemy formations and striking from the shadows. "This is enough to test my strength. No more hesitation," he murmured, his magic unraveling his foes.
Watching from above, Rian's conviction only deepened. This was no game; this was a crucible to forge the heroes who would safeguard the Empire's destiny. "The time has come. From this arena, true heroes will be born."
The battles raged until nightfall. Exhausted yet unyielding, the fighters pushed on. To the crowd, they were no longer mere competitors—they had become warriors fighting for the Empire's honor. And across the entire realm, people waited breathlessly to see which champions this brutal new stage would crown.
**
Episode 89: The Banquet of Champions – Through Ellahar's Eyes
With the quarterfinals concluded, Ellahar and his companions had advanced with relative ease. Their overwhelming skill had silenced doubters and stirred awe throughout the audience. Their presence could no longer be denied—they were contenders among the true titans of the tournament.
During the two-day interlude, Prince Rian invited the victors to a special banquet in the imperial palace. Hearing the summons, Ellahar felt a strange tension. He had once faced Rian as an enemy on the battlefield, and now, here he was, about to share a table with him.
Ellahar entered the grand dining hall with Brakka and Caron. The opulence of the palace contrasted with the undercurrent of tension that ran between them. Once foes who had crossed blades, now they stood in a tenuous truce. Ellahar met Rian's gaze calmly.
Rian spoke first."Ellahar. Brakka. Caron. I did not expect to meet you again—least of all in this tournament. When I heard of your entry, I was… intrigued."
Ellahar stepped forward, bowing his head slightly."Your Highness, the same is true for us. Our journey in search of strength continues, and this tournament is another trial on that path. Though our purposes may differ, I choose to accept this encounter as fate."
A flicker of agreement passed through Rian's eyes. He nodded."A journey in search of strength… indeed. I will be watching closely to see if you find the answer here. For us, too, this tournament is about uncovering the power that will lead the Empire."
Ellahar sensed the iron resolve behind Rian's words. This was no mere spectacle for him; it was a test to discover the might that would shape the realm's future.
At that moment, Brakka raised his cup with a grin."We'll be the victors this time. And who knows, Your Highness—tomorrow, I might be the one sitting in your place."
Ellahar couldn't help but smile at Brakka's bravado, though Caron frowned sharply."Brakka, show respect. Whatever our past, we owe the Prince courtesy."
Brakka shrugged, muttering, "Respect or not, we didn't come here for politics—we came to find strength."
Ellahar let them bicker for a moment before turning back to Rian."Your Highness, we too hope this tournament reveals the answer. Strength will always show itself… and perhaps, in the end, it may be ours."
Rian regarded them with a faint smile."Very well. Know this—the semifinalists will not only be champions of this tournament. They will be chosen as special agents of the Empire, entrusted with defending its future. Whoever rises here will prove themselves not just to the people, but to the throne itself."
Ellahar listened intently, his expression steady, though his mind raced. Rian's intent was clear: this was a crucible not for entertainment, but to forge the Empire's guardians.
"If this is the stage Your Highness has prepared," Ellahar said firmly, "then we will not disappoint. We are ready to face whatever awaits us—and whoever stands in our way."
The hall fell silent again after their exchange. Ellahar glanced at Brakka and Caron. Once enemies, now uneasy allies—their goals were not identical, but they shared the same path: to stand among the strong, and to keep moving forward.
As they departed the palace, Ellahar carried with him the weight of that meeting. The tension between past and present, the shadow of old battles, the lure of the future—they all crystallized into a single resolution.
No matter what stage awaited him, he would prove himself. And in that trial, he would carve the path of a true warrior.
**
Episode 90: Unrest and Rian's Resolve
Just as the semifinals of the Grand Martial Tournament were about to begin, a deafening blast rolled through the Elysium capital—and chaos erupted. Explosions and screams spread across the city; panicked citizens stumbled through the streets. Many martial artists and visitors had come armed for the festival, and that only made the unrest worse.
Ellahar sensed the turmoil from the arena and tensed. He snatched up his weapons and glanced at Brakka and Caron. "Something's happening. We can't just ignore it." Before he could say more, Rian's courier rushed up, breathless.
"His Majesty Rian commands you to arm yourselves and come to him at once. He needs your help to protect the peace of Elysium."
Brakka growled in annoyance. "Rian's orders? Why should we take orders from him? We came here to seek the strong!"
Caron calmed him with a level tone. "This isn't the time. Fighting here, entering this tournament—that already makes us part of the Empire's fabric. Following Rian's lead is the smart move."
Ellahar fell silent for a beat, then nodded, resolve settling in his eyes. "Caron's right. We're independent, but if we want to accomplish our aims here, we'll need to cooperate with Rian. And we need to see what's truly happening in this city." He decided to answer the summons, and the three armed themselves.
Once they linked up with Rian, Ellahar took in the situation in detail. The city quaked with screams and destruction; bands of looters with weapons darted through alleys. When Ellahar saw Rian himself in armor with sword drawn, he understood the prince meant to act on his decision.
"We're here, Your Majesty," Ellahar said as they approached.
Rian received them coolly. "Good. Ellahar—this may not be a simple riot. Together, we can stop any enemy."
Ellahar nodded. Rian was no longer simply a former foe; they had once stood side by side against an Elder God, and now they had to do so again for the Empire.
Battle began almost at once. Ellahar strode into the unruly streets, blade bared. His movements flowed like water—natural, swift, decisive. The experience of countless battles had honed him; even in chaos his sword found the opening, unerring.
Brakka's great axe smashed through enemies, his brute force breaking their morale. "This is just a warm-up!" he laughed, mowing them down until the nearest thugs recoiled in fear.
Caron bound foes with ritual power, countering the moment they tried to surge forward. "We are not mere duelists. We are the strong who protect this city," he said, calm yet adamant.
Mid-fight, Ellahar noticed something odd about the attackers' garb. Unlike Elysium's soldiers, they wore a mishmash of styles—motifs from several continents. These aren't random rioters… Did they come from other lands? he wondered, studying them more closely.
Rian, his beloved Serin, and Ivela all threw themselves into the fray. Even while fighting, Serin healed the wounded and sent them back to the line, her light infusing soldiers with life. Ivela's lance struck with surgical precision, exploiting every gap.
"We have to learn who they are," Ellahar called to Rian mid-engagement.
Rian nodded even as he fought. "Agreed. This isn't a rabble. We'll find out who's behind them."
The tide turned. Pressed by Rian's party, the attackers began to break and run. Order was restored step by step, and Rian directed the troops to re-establish control.
When the fighting ended, Ellahar lifted his gaze to the city. Amid smoke and wreckage, recovery had already begun. Slinging his axe over his shoulder, Brakka muttered, "Something was off. It wasn't just random violence."
Caron nodded. "We may have missed a piece. Feels like there's something larger behind this."
Ellahar slid his blade into its sheath, making up his mind. If this wasn't just a riot, we need to dig deeper. He sensed this was no passing squall—and prepared himself for a greater storm.
They had not come merely to measure themselves against the strong. They would raise their swords to protect Elysium and its people—and pursue their own purpose. With that resolve, Ellahar readied himself for what lay ahead.