The tournament pressed forward, the air electric with tension. For the participants, this wasn’t just a competition—it was a chance to prove themselves, to rise above the rest. The top five winners would receive direct training from the Elder and Vice Leader, an honor that only a few could achieve.
For many, this was their one shot at true recognition. A chance to carve their names into the legacy of the Jetta-U Clan.
<hr>
<h4> </h4>
The matches rolled on, each one drawing loud cheers and praise. Warriors clashed, sweat dripped, and steel rang through the air. Fighters fell, and victors stood tall, basking in the crowd’s admiration.
But while others gained attention, Lee sat quietly at the participants'' podium, unnoticed by most.
Prathisya leaned toward him. “Your fight should be coming up soon.”
Lee nodded but remained silent.
Riven, arms crossed, observed the crowd. “They’re treating this like a spectacle… but for us, it’s more than that.”
Prathisya sighed. “You’re not wrong. The training from the Elder and Vice Leader is more valuable than any praise.”
Lee clenched his fist. He knew that. If he wanted to change things—if he wanted to prove that their clan’s ways were flawed—he had to win.
But then, a low murmur spread across the stands.
“The next match is up!”
“Who’s fighting?”
A participant turned, glancing at the list. His lips curled into a smirk. “Oh, this’ll be interesting… it’s him.”
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Lee’s name was called.
<hr>
As Lee rose from his seat, there was no explosion of cheers. No roaring excitement.
Instead, there were scattered whispers. Soft chuckles. Some outright laughter.
“He’s in the tournament?”
“What a waste of a match.”
“I give him five seconds before he drops his sword.”
Prathisya’s eyes darkened. “They’re mocking you.”
Riven narrowed his gaze. “Ignore them, Lee.”
Lee exhaled slowly, pushing back the irritation bubbling inside him. He wouldn’t let their words affect him.
Stepping forward, he made his way toward the center of the battlefield.
<hr>
His opponent had already stepped into the ring—a well-built warrior named Kieran.
Kieran was strong, skilled, and well-liked among their peers. He had a confident stance, his sword resting lazily against his shoulder.
The crowd cheered for him.
Lee, on the other hand, stood in silence.
Kieran grinned as he approached the center. "Well, well. I didn’t expect to be matched against you."
Lee remained quiet, gripping his sword tightly.
Kieran tilted his head, eyes full of amusement. "You sure you’re in the right place? This isn’t a practice fight for kids."
A few chuckles came from the stands.
Prathisya, from the sidelines, muttered, “I hate that guy.”
Kieran continued, tapping his sword against the ground. “I mean, really, Lee? I thought they were only letting real warriors into this tournament.”
Lee’s knuckles turned white.
“Oh, wait,” Kieran smirked. “Maybe they just needed someone to be an easy win for the others. You know, balance things out a bit.”
More laughter.
Lee’s jaw tightened, his breathing slow and controlled.
Kieran took another step closer, lowering his voice so only Lee could hear.
"Face it. You don''t belong here. You never did. Just give up now, and save yourself the embarrassment."
That was it.
A spark ignited inside Lee.
The doubt. The insults. The way they dismissed him.
A quiet rage simmered beneath his skin.
Kieran noticed the shift in his expression and chuckled. “What? Did I hit a nerve?”
Lee lifted his sword. His grip was steady. Focused. The blade was neither too thin nor too broad. It wasn’t adorned with anything flashy.
It was a warrior’s sword—one that had seen battles, one that had cut through countless enemies.
And now, it would cut through this arrogance.
The announcer raised his hand.
“Begin!”
The crowd erupted as the match finally started.
Lee’s fight had begun.