As Jamie's keen gaze swept over the weary faces before him, he noted two familiar figures among the crowd, the boys from the Cutpurses. ‘They came. Who would have thought?’ Jamie mused, momentarily surprised.

  Seeing that no one else would be joining them, Jamie stepped up onto the wooden platform. "Nice work to all who have made it this far," he announced, his voice carrying across the silent gathering. "You have passed the first stage, but unfortunately, you won't have much time to rest."

  He brushed the dirt from his boots and legs, the remnants of their earlier exertions, as Thomas stood up to join him. The two stood side by side. Jamie's lithe frame and sharp eyes hinted at agility and intellect, while Thomas's solid build and stoic demeanor exuded strength and steadfastness.

  "The second stage will be a combat test," Jamie continued. "It's quite simple: you may choose one of us to fight against. Each bout will last a maximum of three minutes." He paused, his gaze steady as it moved over each face. "Losing doesn't mean you've failed, and winning doesn't guarantee you've passed. We will be assessing your qualities above all else."

  Before him stood about twenty individuals; the majority were seasoned mercenaries, their weathered faces and battle-worn gear speaking to years of hard experience. Scattered among them were the two young Cutpurse boys and a handful of others from the Lower Quarter—hopefuls who had defied the odds to make it this far.

  "To start, it's straightforward," Jamie said. "Step onto the platform and indicate whom you wish to face."

  No sooner had he finished speaking than the first challenger stepped forward. He moved with the swagger of someone accustomed to being formidable, a confident smirk playing on his lips. Ascending the steps onto the platform, he stood tall—towering over Jamie by at least a head. His body was a testament to sheer strength, muscles bulging beneath a sleeveless tunic that revealed arms crisscrossed with faded scars. His bald head gleamed in the sunlight, and a thick, dark beard framed a grin that lacked any warmth.

  Even without an exchange of words, Jamie could tell that this man was a mercenary—and likely a ruthless one at that. Everything about him, from his imposing stature to the gleam in his eye, spoke of a life lived by the sword.

  The challenger reached to his waist and drew a short, brutal-looking axe. He pointed it directly at Jamie. "I can't guarantee you'll come out of this alive," he said, his voice a gravelly rumble laced with amusement.

  As the mercenary mounted the platform, a chorus of voices rose from the gathered crowd. Some shouted the mercenary's name, laughing and reveling in the anticipation of seeing Jamie repaid for the grueling first trial he had set. They believed this would be their moment of vindication, a chance to witness the bard humbled.

  Jamie cast a subtle glance at Thomas, who understood immediately. Without a word, Thomas descended the platform to retrieve the hourglass that would mark the duration of the duel. The mercenary approached confidently, each step up the wooden stairs deliberate, his heavy boots thudding against the planks until he stood mere paces from Jamie.

  "Are there any rules?" the mercenary asked, his voice a low growl that carried across the expectant silence.

  "Try not to kill your opponent," Jamie replied evenly. "Aside from that, consider this a real combat."

  A predatory grin spread across the mercenary's face—a smile devoid of warmth, brimming with bloodlust. The crowd murmured appreciatively, sensing the imminent clash.

  Thomas returned, placing the hourglass on a small stand at the platform's edge. As he turned it over, the fine sand within began its measured descent. "Begin!" he declared.

  The mercenary wasted no time. With a burst of speed belying his massive frame, he charged forward, covering the distance between them in seconds. His short axe gleamed menacingly as he swung it overhead, fully intending to end the bout with a single, decisive blow. Perhaps, he thought, this would also erase the humiliation he felt during the earlier trial.

  But Jamie was already several steps ahead—both literally and figuratively. He had read the mercenary's intentions as easily as one reads an open book. Every tell, every movement telegraphed the impending attack.

  While Jamie possessed no offensive magic to hurl at his foes, he didn't desire it. He preferred the subtle utility of a bard's spells, tools that suited a mind keen on outsmarting and humbling adversaries. And so, a confident smile played on his lips, mirroring the mercenary's own.

  Instead of bracing for impact or attempting to dodge outright, Jamie raised his hand and pointed directly at the oncoming fighter. As the mercenary closed in—so near that Jamie could see the fierce determination blazing in his eyes—the bard uttered a swift incantation.

  In an instant, Jamie activated [Dancing Lights].

  Concentrating his mana into a single, focused point, he conjured a brilliant flash of light between them. The burst was dazzling—a sudden flare that consumed the mercenary's vision, rendering him momentarily blind. Unaccustomed to such magic used in combat, the mercenary faltered.

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  The axe came down, its trajectory skewed. It sliced through the air mere inches from Jamie's shoulder, missing its mark entirely. The crowd gasped, some shielding their eyes from the residual brightness, others leaning forward in shock.

  Jamie didn't waste the opportunity. With practiced agility, he sidestepped, moving smoothly behind his disoriented opponent.

  He could have drawn his dagger and ended the confrontation swiftly, but he had no desire to kill his opponent. Not only would it be unnecessary, but it might also deter the potential talents gathered for the selection.

  Instead, Jamie opted for a different approach. Channeling all his strength, he delivered a precise kick to the mercenary's knee. Though raw power wasn't typically a bard's foremost attribute, a well-placed strike at the right angle and moment—especially against an unarmored target—could be devastating.

  A sharp crack echoed through the air as the mercenary's leg buckled. The sound of bone breaking was unmistakable, and it elicited a collective gasp from the onlookers. The mercenary let out a guttural scream, a raw cry that sent shivers down the spines of those watching.

  Desperation etched across his face, the mercenary began swinging his axe wildly in all directions, hoping to ward off Jamie and create distance. Propped up on one arm, he struggled to drag himself away from the platform, his movements fueled by adrenaline and fear. But in his panic, he lost sight of Jamie once more.

  Seizing the opportunity, Jamie moved with calculated precision. A swift kick to the mercenary's arm caused the axe to fly from his grasp. Another strike met his torso, knocking the wind from his lungs. A final kick connected with his head, and the mercenary collapsed, unconscious, at the edge of the platform. Each action was deliberate—thought out, planned, and executed with unwavering focus. Jamie's intent wasn't merely to defeat but to humble, to demonstrate skill over brute strength.

  The hourglass still had sand slipping through its neck when Jamie glanced over to Thomas. "Hmm, I think I could use some help removing him from the platform," he said casually.

  Thomas nodded, and together they lifted the mercenary's inert form. They carried him down from the platform and propped him gently against the wall of a nearby house. The crowd watched in hushed silence, a mix of awe and apprehension stirring among them.

  Returning to the platform, Jamie surveyed the group. Of the twenty who had begun, only a little over ten remained. One mercenary eliminated and nine others who had quietly left during the fight, reconsidering their decision to continue.

  "Next!" Jamie called out from atop the platform, his voice resonating through the tense atmosphere.

  The remaining candidates exchanged uneasy glances, uncertainty flickering across their faces. The display they had just witnessed weighed heavily on them, and hesitation hung thick in the air.

  Finally, breaking the stalemate, a figure stepped forward—a half-elf with an air of quiet confidence. His name was Aldwin. With a determined expression, he made his way toward the platform.

  "I will," he declared, his voice steady as he ascended the steps.

  Despite his prior display of courage—or perhaps desperation—a few days earlier, Jamie could now clearly see the nervousness etched upon the young half-elf's face. Aldwin's hands trembled, and his steps lacked confidence as he ascended the wooden platform.

  "Whom do you wish to face?" Jamie asked calmly, his gaze steady on the boy.

  "H-him," Aldwin stammered, pointing directly at Thomas.

  Jamie raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It wasn't surprising that some would opt to challenge Thomas. After witnessing the bard's abilities—especially his use of magic, hinting at a rare class—they might see the guard as a less unpredictable opponent.

  Thomas stepped onto the platform, rolling his shoulders and loosening his arms as he prepared for the bout. His movements were measured, but there was an unmistakable intensity in his eyes.

  Descending from the platform, Jamie moved to where the hourglass rested. "Begin!" he called out, flipping the hourglass as the sands of time began to trickle down.

  Aldwin drew two slender daggers from his belt. With a swift intake of breath, he lunged forward, aiming to close the distance between himself and Thomas as quickly as possible. But his haste was his downfall. Thomas sidestepped effortlessly, and Aldwin's attack met only empty air before he stumbled onto the wooden planks.

  Without a moment's hesitation, Thomas delivered a solid punch to the side of Aldwin's face. The impact was decisive, sending the half-elf sprawling across the platform. The crowd gasped collectively, a ripple of shock coursing through those gathered.

  ‘Well, who would have thought—he isn't pulling any punches,’ Jamie mused silently, watching as Aldwin hit the ground with a single blow.

  Jamie considered intervening to halt the fight, but before he could make a move, Aldwin began to stir. "I-I'm not done yet," he said hoarsely, pushing himself up on unsteady legs.

  A murmur spread among the onlookers. Even Jamie found himself impressed by the boy's resilience. He hadn't expected such determination from someone who appeared so nervous moments before.

  Thomas faced Aldwin once more as the young half-elf steadied himself. This time, Aldwin didn't charge in recklessly. Instead, he began circling Thomas cautiously, eyes focused and searching—looking for any sign of a weakness.

  However, the platform was small, limiting his options. It didn't take long for Thomas to anticipate Aldwin's movements. With strategic steps, he cornered the boy, leaving him with nowhere to retreat.

  Seizing the moment, Thomas struck swiftly. A series of well-placed blows landed against Aldwin's midsection, each punch driving the air from his lungs. The half-elf doubled over, the color draining from his face. Overwhelmed, he collapsed to his knees, retching onto the wooden boards of the platform.

  A hush fell over the crowd. The brutal efficiency of Thomas's attack left many in stunned silence. This display was a stark reminder of the gap in experience and skill.

  This time, it was Thomas who turned to address the onlookers. "Next!"

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