The Forsaken Hero

The following morning, we found ourselves just beyond the city’s borders. A raised embankment emerged from the surrounding swamps, offering solid ground for the upcoming exhibition match. Thousands of eager citizens had gathered, and Lord Griffon graciously allowed our party to join him on a grand wooden stand that overlooked the unofficial arena.

As I settled into my seat, which seemed designed for someone twice my size, Lord Griffon leaned in and whispered, ”Everything will be ready in about an hour.”

I nodded my thanks and shifted my attention to Soltair, who stood at the center of the cleared space, clad in his gleaming armor and wielding his holy sword. Faint streams of light danced off the blade, giving him an almost divine aura. His first opponent, a grizzled man with more gray than color in his hair, offered a respectful bow.

”It will be an honor, Great Hero,” the man announced, loud enough that the crowd caught wind of his words.

”Likewise. And please, make the first move,” Soltair replied graciously.

The man drew his slender rapier, a deceptively fragile-looking weapon infused with powerful, enchantments. His movements were deliberate, lacking the flashiness of a novice, yet he moved with such confidence his sword felt unshakable. Magic coursed through his arm and into the blade, reinforcing his opening strike with a fifth-level technique.

Soltair raised his sword, channeling his own technique, and parried the attack. The air resonated with the collision, and before the shockwaves dissipated, their blades clashed three more times. The soldier’s sword moved like a viper, methodically searching for weaknesses and forcing the hero’s guard apart. Soltair’s defenses crumbled against these calculated attacks, but his superior power and speed allowed him to parry with ease.

The casual glint in the hero’s eyes vanished, replaced by unwavering concentration. Despite his earlier bravado, I had to admit he had dedication. This was the perfect opportunity to test and improve his skills, and it seemed he had every intention to take advantage of it.

While Soltair utilized his magical techniques for defense, he refrained from unleashing most of his power in his strikes. This was where he seemed to falter compared to the seasoned soldier, and all of his attacks were parried or diverted with ease. The sheer difference in skill was apparent to even myself, the most casual and untrained observer.

The crowd erupted with cheers as their weapons clashed. I noticed many young men, both soldiers and commoners, watching with bright eyes. Some even scribbled notes or mimicked the latest move with empty hands.

Neither combatant could penetrate the other’s defenses, and the duel soon reached a stalemate. However, Soltair’s heroic stamina set him apart from ordinary mortals, ensuring that the battle of attrition could have only one outcome. The soldier began to tire, resorting to fourth-level magical techniques and then third. Nearly ten minutes after the fight began, Soltair succeeded in disarming his opponent.

The spectators erupted in wild applause as the Sun Hero was declared the victor. He grinned broadly, acknowledging the cheers and waving to enthusiastic onlookers before shaking the soldier’s hand.

”Thank you for the lesson,” he said humbly, concealing any trace of triumph in his voice.

The man nodded, still catching his breath. ”It was an honor to cross swords with a hero.”

As the old soldier departed, he was replaced by a dark-eyed Tigerkin brandishing a greatsword. After brief pleasantries, they launched into combat. Unlike the previous fighter, who relied on skill and experience, the Beastkin favored raw strength and power. The battle was visually spectacular, with flashes of light and magic emanating from their blades, drawing much more excitement from the spectators. However, with a style focused on strength, the Tigerkin held no skill advantage over Soltair, and after several grueling minutes, he was soundly defeated.

”Idiot,” Fyren muttered. ”Trying to match a hero in raw strength. How’d he ever get permission to duel?”

”We have all kinds of soldiers,” Lord Griffon replied. ”Besides, that kind of fight showcases the hero’s strengths. The last bout was almost painful to watch.”

Fyren nodded in agreement. ”No doubt. If their power levels were closer, it wouldn’t have lasted more than twenty seconds. The kid’s still too inexperienced.”

”He seems to be improving, though. If you watched closely, he incorporated some of the techniques the first one used in their first fight,” Trithe chimed in, her tone slightly defensive.

As the third fight began, I strained to discern the nuances they discussed, but the strategy and technical styles were lost on me. The dizzying explosions of magic distracted me from the finer points of the fight, my eyes always drawn to the fascinating use of mana in magical techniques. Perhaps the skill in swordplay was similar to casting spells, and Soltair was only at the most basic level of chanting.

After the fifth bout concluded, a servant approached Lord Griffon and whispered something in his ear. He nodded and signaled for me to come over. ”Everything is in order,” he informed me.

”Thank you. I’ll head there now,” I said, glancing at Fyren and Trithe.

”Whatever. I’ll stay here and cheer him on,” Trithe said dismissively.

Fyren stood to accompany me. ”I guess I’ll come along. I’ve seen enough here anyway.”

”I wish you luck,” Lord Griffon said. ”Sylvus will guide you.”

A nearby elf noble stood and bowed, and I couldn’t help but notice his resemblance to Selena. ”Right this way,” he invited. His calm, collected demeanor contrasted with Selena’s eccentricity but seemed more in line with my understanding of elves.

As we strolled toward the city, Fyren asked, ”So, what’s all this about?”

”I thought this would be a perfect opportunity to push the limits of my magic. Many of my spells don’t seem useful within our party, so I want to use the city as a practice ground,” I explained softly.

Fyren nodded in understanding and wisely refrained from probing further. I was already jittery enough without dwelling on the expectant crowd.

The city streets were unusually deserted, with thousands of citizens absorbed in the matches beyond the walls. As we approached the central city square, I quickened my pace to walk alongside Sylvus, the elf.

”It’s rare to see an elf around here,” I ventured, feeling somewhat bashful initiating a conversation with a stranger.

A gentle smile graced Sylvus’s striking features as he gazed down at me. ”While my kind aren’t welcomed in Radia, there are places where we can thrive. This city has always been a haven of acceptance for elves and Beastkin alike.”

”I learned from an elf in the Divine Throne. Her name was Selena. Perhaps you knew her?” I ventured, looking hopefully up at him.

”Selena?” Sylvus’s smile faded. ”I’m sorry.”

My heart raced at the sorrow in his voice. ”You know her? Has something happened?”

”Not personally, but she’s been an example among our people for decades. None else has managed to secure such a prominent position among the powers of the world. And by the looks of things now, I doubt anyone ever will.”

”What happened to her?” I asked again, unable to hide my concern.

”I heard she had a run-in with inquisitors. I don’t know the details, but nothing good comes when our kind falls into their hands,” he replied somberly.

”Inquisitors?” The mere mention of those powerful enforcers sent shivers down my tail.

”I wish I knew. But if it’s Selena, everything should be alright. She’s aware of her role among the elves and wouldn’t jeopardize our standing, no matter how precarious it gets.”

His words ignited a glimmer of hope within me. ”So, it could be a misunderstanding?”

”We can only hope. But let’s not dwell on these sorrowful tidings. I’m sure she wouldn’t want us to. Are you ready?”

I took a deep breath, calming my nerves, before nodding. ”I think so.”

”Good, because we’re here.”