Overwhelming Firepower

Caelhart, the capital city of Norvaegard, was livelier than normal. There were many stalls set up near the Royal Academy.

Many people were coming and going from different blacksmiths and a few alchemy shops. The air carried a constant murmur, the sound of bargaining, laughter, and the rhythmic clang of metal from the forges.

Bright banners bearing the crests of noble houses fluttered from every street corner, their colors catching the late morning sun like waves of fire and silk.

Some displayed lions, others serpents, hammers, wings, each representing the young competitors about to prove their worth on the grand stage.

Merchants shouted over one another, selling everything from roasted meats and sweets to commemorative trinkets carved in the shape of the academy’s crest. Street performers played lively tunes on flutes and drums, their rhythms blending with the chatter of the crowd.

The Royal Academy Tournament only happened once every two years, but when it did, it transformed Caelhart into something else entirely, part festival, part battleground.

The tradition dated back three centuries, when the Academy was first founded. It was to ensure that Norvaegard’s strength never grew complacent.

To make sure that the next generation would know of honor, and face any battlefield with dignity and skill.

It wasn’t just the noble families who gathered; mercenaries, merchants, and wandering mages flocked from all across the kingdom, hoping to witness history or profit from it.

For the people of Norvaegard, valor in the arena was almost sacred. To falter was to shame one’s house; to win was to carve one’s name into the kingdom’s memory.

In the plazas, painters were already sketching portraits of promising participants, while gamblers gathered near taverns, shouting bets over who would win this year’s duels.

Carriages bearing noble crests rumbled through the streets, guarded by armored knights, their polished armor gleaming in the sunlight.

The scent of freshly baked bread mixed with the tang of alchemical oil and hot metal, a rather strange yet familiar perfume that spoke of both comfort and creation.

The entire capital felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for the moment when swords would clash, spells would ignite, and reputations would either be forged or shattered.

For the citizens of Norvaegard, this was more than entertainment; it was a matter of pride. The young ones who fight in this tournament could later be remembered as heroes.

For many, that dream was enough. A single moment beneath the banners, a single cheer from the crowd, could change an entire life’s course.

There was also the fact that there were a few commoners participating in this tournament. Unlike the nobles born into privilege, these few commoners had earned their place through talent alone, granted a rare chance to study in the Royal Academy for free.

Their talents are ones that shone brightly despite their humble upbringings. Most of them will graduate and become knights or mages, people who will be given titles. Some from the past have even become barons. It all depends on their performance, especially today.

There were even some people from friendly kingdoms. They were allowed to watch this tournament for two reasons. One was to show Norvaegard’s goodwill, the other is to show its potential.

The tournament would usually last an entire week. It was a simple one-on-one duel, and the one who wins until the end is crowned the champion.

Under normal circumstances, luck was needed almost as much as skill, since the opponents you would face until going to the finals would determine how long you would last.

Of course, there was also the fight underneath. There were quite a few who rigged the system, allowing their family’s child to get a good number. Making them face off against weak competitors, thus ensuring they’re able to go far in the tournament.

There were even those who would buy out the competition. The worst were those who tried to eliminate their competition before the match.

Of course, this was rarely done as the security during this time was at its highest, and those caught would at least be removed from the tournament, and at most even stripped of their status as nobles.

***

Many of the students gathered believed they had a real chance at victory—especially this year, when there was no one who stood overwhelmingly above the rest.

Among them, the name most whispered with awe and admiration was Elyra Runescar, heir to the Runescar household. Only fourteen years old, yet already a second-mantle aura user nearing her third. A prodigy in both talent and temperament.

She was the favorite to win, an ideal noble, strong and graceful, embodying everything the capital adored.

Still, several older students, sixteen or seventeen years of age, who were about to graduate, hoped to use their experience to bridge the gap. They told themselves that skill and calm could outmatch youth and brilliance.

The heirs of the other ducal families were also seen as top contenders, though the one name spoken with uncertainty, and even doubt, was Lucen Thornehart.

Despite his growing reputation, few in the Academy had witnessed his strength firsthand. His only recorded duel was with Reginald Vermont, a victory, yes, but against an opponent only slightly above average.

Rumors about his feats in the North were plentiful, but stories had a way of growing larger the farther they traveled.

As for the match he had in the underground arena, well, that was done without any aura or mana, so it didn’t register as much to the students.

Among the commoners, there was one who was also favored to be the winner of this tournament. He even had a nickname given to him by the other students, the mage of the earth, Eisen Terre.

A fifteen-year-old second-circle mage known for his discipline and work ethic, Eisen was the pride of the commoner students. He’d earned the respect of both peers and instructors, wielding earth magic with a precision rare for his age.

As the festivities were at full swing, a carriage arrived with a banner that had an open book, with fire, lightning, wind, earth, and a drawing depicting illusions above it. This was the crest of Aeromont.

When the Aeromont banner unfurled, murmurs rippled through the scholars and tower mages gathered nearby. They bowed slightly, not from obligation, but respect toward Seraphina Aeromont, the Tower Master of Flame herself.

The first of the Ducal households had arrived, and it caused quite a stir. The current head of the household, Seraphina Aeromont, was the Tower Master of the red tower, but her daughter Mireya was of the purple Tower.

This was normal since the Aeromonts were not bound by a single tower and could learn whatever they desired.

This year, Mireya had just entered the Academy. Normally, first years wouldn’t join the tournament and would wait for the next, but no Mireya. She was already in the second circle and decided to experience the Royal Academy Tournament.

***

The next Ducal Household to arrive was the Runescars. Their crest of a burning red sword over a broken chain, set against a crimson field, could be seen from a distance.

The Duke was not inside a carriage but on top of it with his incredibly massive sword on his back. He was even wearing full armor as he stood with a wide grin on his face.

Inside the carriage was his beautiful wife, Medea Runescar. She, too, was wearing a full set of armor, with two short swords at her side. She couldn’t help but sigh at the shenanigans her husband was doing.

Kaelvar stood atop the carriage like a conquering hero, his laughter carrying over the crowd. Even motionless, the weight of his aura pressed down like a physical force.

***

Almost immediately after the Runescars, the banner of the Judicar Household could be seen. It was a banner with a scale. On one side of the scale was a heart, and on the other was a sword.

Elandor Judicar and his wife, Erika Judicar, had arrived. As holy knights under Thalara, the Goddess of Justice and Judgement, people felt like they could see holy light surrounding their carriage.

Their son, Evander Judicar, the apprentice holy knight, was the oldest among the Ducal heirs. At the age of seventeen, he was about to graduate.

He had not joined the Royal Academy Tournament the first few times, but decided, since all the other Ducal heirs were joining in, he too would join this year.

As an apprentice holy knight, not only was Evander a second mantle aura user, but he also had holy skills granted to him by his patron deity.

***

Finally, the last of the ducal households arrived. The banner with a shield wrapped in thorns could only mean the shields of Norvaegard had arrived, the Thorneharts.

Unlike the first three Ducal Households, there was no carriage, but only a few men wearing armor, carrying unknown-looking weapons.

They did not have the overwhelming presence of Kaelvar Runescar, nor did they have the holy aura of the Judicars, or the awe brought by Seraphina Aeromont.

Instead, they bore a powerful sense of dignity and honor seemingly radiating from them. In the middle of the group was the much-talked-about Lucen Thornehart.

***

The murmurs in the crowd faded as they could feel the presence of the northern wind sweeping through the plaza.

No grand carriage. No radiant aura. Just a boy in a dark coat, his breath rising in pale mist, a gun strapped to his back.

Lucen Thornehart met the gaze of the capital without flinching. He didn’t need to announce himself; their presence alone did that for him.

The banners of the four dukes now flew over Caelhart. The stage for the upcoming tournament was set.