Anthony, Elara, and Pom stood among the crowd before a raised podium in the clan quarters of the martial district. An old man in flowing black robes spoke from atop the platform, gesturing toward the much younger man beside him, who wore a set of dark green plate armor that looked incredibly heavy to Anthony. A gleaming silver longsword sat in its sheath across the young man's back, and a thinly visored helmet was tucked under his left arm.

  The older man looked like a typical clan elder, with a long, flowing white beard and wrinkled skin that concealed his true might. Anthony felt a sense of oppression as he stared up at him, a sensation similar to what he experienced around Edgar.

  The young man beside the elder, wearing a bored expression as he picked at his nails, had long black hair tied up in a braid behind his head. His sharp green eyes, reminiscent of a predatory bird’s, matched his armor quite closely.

  Anthony’s group stopped to join the crowd and listen to the clan elder’s words.

  “I am Ewan Balfour! The Balfour clan will take the title of strongest Trainee cultivator in Highwarden this year! My nephew, Alistair Balfour, is a true genius of physical cultivation—someone like him appears in our clan only once every hundred years! He will be entering the Trainee cultivator tournament in six months, but until then, he will be accepting open challenges from any Trainee realm cultivator in the city! To encourage you youngsters to accept the challenge and assist my nephew in his training, I am offering fifteen silver coins to anyone capable of forcing Alistair to admit defeat!”

  A wave of enthusiastic murmuring spread through the crowd at the mention of the generous reward, but as people glanced up at the dangerous eyes of the young man they would need to fight, their excitement quickly faded.

  Anthony cast a questioning look at Elara, and the young team leader understood his intentions right away, slowly shaking her head as she responded to his unspoken query.

  “Don’t even think about it. You’re not ready to fight a guy like that, and these spars often end in serious injury when one party is much weaker than the other. Spend the next six months diligently training, and maybe you’ll be a match for him in the tournament.”

  Anthony clicked his tongue regretfully and continued to observe the scene before him. After a few minutes of silence, the crowd suddenly parted as a young man with messy yellow hair, a long wooden staff, and cheap-looking leather armor walked toward the platform.

  A sneer crossed the elder’s face as he saw the challenger, but he didn’t block the young man’s path, simply stepping off the platform to give the newcomer room to ascend.

  The yellow haired young man clearly saw the disdain on the elders face, but the older man's rude behavior didn’t seem to faze him in the least as he continued forward proudly.

  Anthony turned to Elara again, after noting the way the Balfours looked down on the challenger.

  “Do you know that young man? Why do they seem to despise him?” he asked.

  Elara continued watching the platform, shrugging her shoulders as she ate a piece of cooked meat purchased from a nearby stand. The middle-aged woman selling the food beside them overheard the question and eagerly stepped over, answering Anthony’s inquiry in a hushed tone. Her brown eyes squinted mischievously as she spread the gossip.

  “That’s Duncan. He and Alistair share a father, but Duncan’s mother was a lady of the night, so he was never treated as a true member of the clan. He eventually abandoned the family and started his own mercenary troop, but he’s only got one other member, and they can barely afford to feed themselves.”

  Elara and Pom seemed entranced as they listened closely to the woman’s words, glancing up at the disheveled young man with interest as they whispered back and forth with the food vendor.

  Anthony let out a quiet sigh at his companions' behavior and refocused his attention on the platform. The fighters had finished their preparations, and a martial district representative had stepped forward to mediate the spar. The representative wore normal clothing, but a sword-shaped badge pinned to his chest signified his authority.

  “Do you both enter into this spar willingly, with full knowledge of the risks you are undertaking?”

  He looked to both young men for their answers, then nodded in satisfaction as he stepped back toward the stairs.

  “Good. When your opponent admits defeat, you must immediately halt your attacks. Failure to do so will lead to severe consequences. You may begin!”

  As the representative spoke, Alistair glared at Duncan with what appeared to be a disappointed expression. Then, without a word, he pulled his green helmet over his head and retrieved his longsword from his back.

  Duncan pushed his thick yellow hair out of his eyes, holding his staff before him and slightly bending his legs as he took a fighting stance. The moment the representative uttered “begin,” Duncan dashed forward with impressive speed, rolling to avoid Alistair’s downward swing.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  In one smooth motion, Duncan rose to his feet, the thick staff in his hands whipping through the air toward the back of Alistair’s legs. But the young man in heavy plate armor moved with tremendous agility, nimbly jumping into the air and allowing the staff to pass harmlessly beneath him.

  Anthony’s eyes widened as he observed the maneuver, wondering how it was possible to move like that while wearing such heavy armor.

  BAM

  The sound of metal and stone crashing together echoed across the area as Alistair’s armored feet hit the raised stone platform. Duncan was forced to retreat to avoid the sharp longsword slicing down through the air toward him, but the moment the blade touched the ground, he dashed forward, pressing the end of his staff against the back of the sword to hold it in place. Then, using the staff like a pole vault, he launched his feet forward.

  Duncan put the full weight of his body into the dropkick, sending both feet crashing into Alistair’s chest with all the power he could muster.

  THUNK

  Surprise spread across Anthony’s face once again as he watched Duncan bounce off Alistair's chest without forcing him back even a single step.

  Duncan seemed just as shocked. The sudden halt in midair sent him tumbling clumsily to the ground. Alistair took full advantage of the mistake, releasing his sword as he dashed forward, slamming a knee onto Duncan’s chest. The yellow-haired young man responded with a flurry of punches against Alistair’s armored torso, but all he managed to do was bloody his own fists.

  Anthony could sense a wave of energy building in Alistair's raised fist as it hovered in the air for a few moments before crashing brutally into Duncan’s chest with a morbid crunching sound. Duncan’s eyes shot fully open in shock, as a spray of blood gushed out from his mouth. The single brutal strike was enough to gravely injure the young man.

  When Duncan still did not concede, Alistair lifted his fist to strike again, but a young girl, whose ragged clothing seemed to match Duncan’s and made her appear homeless, dashed up the stairs of the platform. The girl threw herself over Duncan, all the while shouting desperately toward the martial district representative.

  “Stop! We surrender! Please sto—aaahh!”

  Alistair’s empowered fist came crashing down mercilessly, slamming into the girl and knocking her away. The blow would have been much worse for her if two forearms hadn’t risen at the last moment to block the attack, taking the brunt of the damage. A loud cracking sound echoed across the platform as Duncan’s arms absorbed the strike, bending into an unnatural shape as a cry of agony escaped his bloodied lips.

  Alistair glanced toward his clan elder, who stood watching from the side of the platform. All emotion drained from the elder’s face, leaving only a heavy contempt as he gave a single nod.

  For a moment, the armored young man hesitated. His powerful arm trembled in the air above him as he met the hateful gaze of his half-brother Duncan staring up at him, then Alistair closed his own eyes as he brought his empowered fist down with a solemn scream.

  The crunch of breaking bones he expected never came. Instead, his fist stopped abruptly before it could reach Duncan’s body.

  Alistair’s eyes shot open in shock. Stumbling back as he tried to withdraw his arm that was locked in place by the powerful force before him, he stared in disbelief at the unamused face of the city lord looking back at him.

  The city lord was a tall man with slick red hair, combed back neatly. A puffy fur coat lay open over his leather armor, and the emblem of Highwarden—the shield of the city lord—was pinned on his chest just above his heart.

  A wave of excited commotion swept through the crowd as they recognized their city lord standing before them. Loud shouts rose from the commoners as they continued to watch the unfolding situation.

  “Why is the city lord here?!”

  “Lord Hector! Lord Hector has come!”

  The Balfour clan elder’s face turned pale as he rushed forward, his mind already racing for a way to shift the blame for his callous actions onto someone else.

  After finally releasing Alistair’s fist, the city lord raised his hand, gesturing for Elder Ewan to remain silent without even looking his way. Ewan gritted his teeth in frustration but quickly shut his mouth and halted his steps at the warning gesture.

  Lord Hector continued to observe Duncan with fascination as the young man lay on the ground. Ducan was currently gritting his teeth to endure terrible pain in his broken arms and chest, as tears streamed down his dirty face, but he still returned the city lord's stare without making a sound.

  “You are brave, young man. You fought well and faced your death without flinching. I have use for someone like you.”

  A chorus of gasps rippled through the crowd as Lord Hector lifted Duncan to his feet. The young girl who had tried to stop the fight rushed forward, helping Duncan to remain standing. One of her petite eyes was swollen shut from Alistair’s punch, the bruising so severe it covered half her face.

  Hector nodded, allowing the girl to support Duncan. He reached down, picked up the boy’s dropped staff, then turned to the crowd with a smile, waving grandly.

  “Let it be known—the city lord’s manor will be taking this boy into its care. Enjoy the rest of your day my friends. Glory to the Warden!”

  “Glord to the Warden!” the crowd shouted back in unison.

  As Hector stepped off the stage, Elder Ewan’s face flushed red. His fists clenched so tightly at his sides that his arms were trembling. But a moment later, his arms relaxed as an idea seemed to come to him, and he rushed forward to stand before Lord Hector, a fawning smile plastered on his face—one that failed to reach his eyes.

  “My lord! This child is a member of the Balfour family. Is it truly appropriate for you to take him away without consulting our clan?”

  One thick eyebrow rose high on Hector’s face as he stared down at Elder Ewan with displeasure. Without a word, a surge of energy began to swell inside Hector’s body. The pressure was so abrupt and overwhelming that it sent a dizzying sensation through the crowd, as if they were plummeting from a great height.

  The commoners quickly dropped to their knees to keep from falling over, while a sheen of sweat formed on Elder Ewan’s forehead. The Elder attempted to stand his ground, but as the pressure increased he eventually could not endure it any longer.

  “Forgive me!” Ewan hastily shouted, bowing low and stepping aside, having lost the courage to push the matter any further.