There is a moment before violence begins where the world narrows.
Not to silence—never to silence—but to clarity.
The tourney grounds hummed with it.
The crowd had settled into a restless equilibrium, thousands of voices braided together into a constant roar that rose and fell without ever quite breaking. Merchants shouted final offers. Children perched on shoulders. Bets were shouted, revised, shouted again. Somewhere to my left, a man laughed too loudly and too long, the sound cracking near the end.
Inside the pit, the fighters stood packed close enough to feel each other's heat.
Steel smelled different when it was waiting.
Oil, iron, old blood baked into leather. The air was thick with it. I adjusted the strap at my shoulder—not because it needed adjusting, but because my hands wanted something to do.
Around me, men prepared in their own ways.
A hedge knight whispered a prayer under his breath, lips moving too fast for the words to be sincere. A squire tightened his lord's vambrace one last time, fingers trembling as he did it. A sellsword rolled his shoulders and spat into the dirt, eyes unfocused, already somewhere else.
I let my gaze drift, cataloguing.
The Reach knight stood three ranks away now, helm on, visor up, face set in calm concentration. The river knight was closer, blade resting against his shoulder, posture loose but grounded. A cluster of common men huddled together near the far side of the ring, their courage bolstered by proximity and nothing else.
I counted again.
More than two hundred.
Men who could swing steel.Men who would panic.Men who would die if they were unlucky.
The pit would shrink quickly once the melee began. Bodies had a way of doing that—taking up space even after they stopped moving.
A murmur rippled through the fighters as officials moved along the perimeter, checking names, barking instructions that no one really listened to. Yield rules were repeated again, louder this time, as if volume could turn chaos into order.
It wouldn't.
I felt the weight of my greatsword through the leather wrap, familiar and reassuring. The blade was clean. The edge was sharp. Sharp enough that I'd spent the morning running a cloth along it, not to dull it—never that—but to remind myself of what it could do with the slightest mistake.
Restraint, I told myself.
Not because I feared losing control.
Because I feared how easy it would be not to try.
Somewhere above us, laughter boomed again as the king settled into his seat. I didn't look. I didn't need to. The crowd's reaction told me everything—another wave of cheers, another swell of noise.
A spectacle for them.
A crucible for us.
The officials finished their circuit and withdrew to the edges. Guards took their places, spears angled inward, not to protect us from the crowd but the crowd from us.
That detail mattered.
A horn sounded.
Not the start.
A warning.
The noise of the stands dipped, as if the crowd collectively inhaled. Fighters shifted their footing. Hands tightened around hilts. Visors slid down with the soft rasp of steel on steel.
I rolled my shoulders once and let the world narrow.
Thoughts fell away—not in a dramatic rush, but one by one, like weights being set aside. The city, the inn, Marra's smile hovering just out of reach—all of it receded.
What remained was distance.
Angles.
Timing.
I became aware of the space immediately around me, the way men unconsciously adjusted when they realized how close they were standing. A half-step back here. A shoulder turned there.
Fear is contagious.
So is confidence.
The system did not intrude. It did not need to.
This body knew exactly what it was built for.
Another horn.
Closer now.
Final.
The officials called out one last time, voices strained with the effort of sounding authoritative.
"Remember—yield by dropping your blade or kneeling! Keep the fight within the pit! Last man standing—"
The words were swallowed by the crowd as the horn cut through them, long and unbroken.
Time stretched.
Not slowed—stretched, like a drawn bow.
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Two hundred men stood locked in place, eyes flicking, muscles coiled, instincts screaming contradictory orders. I could feel it in the air, that fragile moment where the world could still tip either way.
Then someone shouted.
Another answered.
And the line broke.
Men surged forward all at once, the mass collapsing inward like a falling wall. The sound changed instantly—from roar to impact, from anticipation to violence barely restrained by rules written on parchment.
I took one step forward.
Then stopped.
Let them crash.
The first bodies collided just beyond my reach. Steel rang out, sharp and ugly. A man screamed—cut, not killed, but badly enough that it mattered. Another stumbled backward into me, eyes wide, already losing control of his weapon.
I caught his wrist, twisted, and sent him sprawling away from me without breaking stride.
The pit was shrinking.
Fast.
Men went down under the press of numbers alone, trampled before blades ever reached them. Others fought desperately, wildly, their strikes fueled by panic instead of purpose.
This was where most would fall.
I moved again, slow and deliberate, carving myself a pocket of space as the first real clashes erupted around me. The greatsword came up—not swinging yet, just present, its reach enough to make men hesitate.
That hesitation saved lives.
And ended fights.
I felt eyes on me—fighters reassessing mid-charge, instincts screaming warnings they didn't yet understand. The Reach knight angled away. The river knight shifted his stance, choosing not to close the distance just yet.
Good.
Let them see.
Let them decide.
The noise of the crowd surged again, a wall of sound crashing down as the melee truly took shape. Dust rose. Blood spattered the dirt in dark, uneven patches. Somewhere to my right, a man went down hard and didn't get back up.
I didn't look.
I stepped forward into the narrowing chaos, sword lifting at last, weight settling perfectly into my hands.
The moment had passed.
The storm was breaking.
And with the first true clash only a breath away, I felt something settle inside me—not excitement, not fear.
Certainty.
Whatever happened next, this field would remember it.