The spectators’ cheers had barely settled from the previous match that had not taken place, killing the expectations with it, when Conor Fury and Donovan Young stepped into the fighting circle, reigniting the cheers once again.

The atmosphere changed immediately. Thousands of eyes turned toward them.

The moment Conor Fury stepped into the arena, he knew this was going to hurt.

Across from him stood Donovan Young.

The Drevlorn noble rolled his arm as an attendant handed him a heavy wooden mace.

The weapon looked almost perfect in his hands. His tall, lean-muscular build allowed him to swing it like a bat.

Donovan’s two companions stood behind him, both of them elite fighters. Each one dangerous enough to challenge Conor alone.

Together, they made a terrifying team. Conor rested his wooden sword upon his shoulder and grinned.

"You know," he called out loudly, "I’ve finally figured out what’s wrong with Drevlorn."

Conor was well aware that he was already on Donovan’s hit list. The latter belittled Bentram Kingdom on several occasions, so he thought to pour fuel on the fire.

Donovan narrowed his eyes.

Conor pointed at him.

"Drevlorn’s almost everything is influenced by the Drevlorn royal clan. Nobles are merely holding the titles. Too many nobles, but not enough literacy."

The chuckles erupted from the audience. Almost all the spectators were Bentramis. Therefore, Conor received thunderous cheers.

Donovan’s expression darkened immediately.

The referee glanced upward and sighed. This was not going to be a peaceful match. "Begin."

Donovan exploded forward. The stone beneath his feet cracked.

Gasps erupted from the crowd. He was enormous, yet somehow far too fast.

Conor barely raised his sword in time.

BOOM!

The mace slammed into his guard. Pain shot through both arms. The sword nearly flew from his grasp, but he managed to force his grip to bear it.

Donovan pressed relentlessly and hit with another strike. The barrage of smacks followed.

Conor retreated desperately. The difference between them was obvious.

Donovan was stronger, faster, and possessed terrifying brute strength. All the members of the Young family were very tall as well.

The Drevlorn noble fought like a siege engine given legs.

Conor managed a few clever counters, but none landed cleanly.

A strike grazed his ribs, but the pain it brought was not of a simple graze. He groaned and fell back.

Another hit landed on his shoulder. A scream left his lips, and then a third smashed into his thigh.

The fallen noble stumbled backward, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

Around the arena, spectators grew silent. Many admired Conor and wanted him to win.

But everyone could see reality. He was outmatched completely. Donovan was not giving lessons like Etno. He had killing intent in all his attacks.

Donovan advanced, his mace resting upon one shoulder.

A cruel smile formed. "Anything left to say?"

Conor coughed. Crimson bubbles formed in his mouth. He wiped them with his sleeve and laughed.

The sound surprised even himself. Slowly, he straightened.

"If I die..." He pointed toward Donovan. "...make sure someone teaches you how to read."

The crowd was in a tense mood, but still, a few burst into laughter.

Donovan’s face became murderous. Conor suddenly rushed forward.

Holding the sword, he dashed. Donovan swung the mace, aiming for his thighs.

He wanted to torture Conor. A direct hit on the head would end the match sooner.

Conor jumped into the sky as he read Donovan’s pattern. He held the sword with both hands and descended it midair on Donovan.

The mace could not be brought up as defense so soon, so he guarded with his hand.

The sword hit his arm and gave a nasty sound, as if it had struck steel.

Donovan gritted his teeth. He finally felt pain.

Donovan was about to do something, a counter. But then he saw another thing: the sword fell from Conor’s hand.

Donovan carefully gazed at the weapon. He knew Conor would grab it before it hit the ground, or that was what he thought.

But he was wrong. Conor never fought to win against Donovan. He knew Donovan was in a different league.

So he tried something else: disrespect. Donovan’s eyes were still on the sword, waiting for Conor to catch it.

But Conor never intended to catch it. He wanted Donovan to focus on the sword. And then...

SLAP!

The sound echoed through the arena. Absolute silence followed.

A bright red handprint appeared on Donovan’s cheek. A terrifying slap to a member of one of the powerful noble families on the continent. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝙬𝙚𝓫𝒏𝓸𝓿𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝙤𝓶

Conor grinned. It might have been the proudest moment of his life.

Then he immediately raised both hands. "I surrender."

The referee nodded as he said, "Match concluded."

Another member of Conor’s team was eliminated.

The crowd exploded. Some laughed and others cheered. Even the judges appeared amused.

Conor turned around. His mission was accomplished.

He had lost the fight. But he’d managed to win something else.

Unbeknownst to Conor, Donovan was far more ruthless than he assumed. The towering man moved, his mace swung.

CRACK!

The weapon smashed directly into Conor’s face. Blood sprayed through the air. Conor collapsed instantly.

The arena froze in silence, utter silence.

Everyone stared and thought the match had ended.

Conor had surrendered, but Donovan had attacked anyway.

The Drevlorn noble raised the mace again. His face twisted with fury.

He intended another strike, but a hand seized his hair.

The grip was hard. Donovan’s eyes widened.

It was the referee who stopped him.

The man possessed only a single black line across his face.

Yet in that moment, he looked terrifying.

The referee yanked.

Then slammed Donovan face-first into the stone.

BOOM!

Cracks spread across the arena floor. The crowd gasped.

Donovan growled as he looked at the referee.

The referee grabbed his hair again and lifted him like an unruly child.

"Enough."

The word echoed through the arena.

Cold, sharp, and final.

"You attacked after surrender." The referee’s voice carried throughout the stadium. "You attacked after the match was over."

Donovan struggled against the grip.

"Disqualified." The referee did not hesitate.

"What?!" Donovan was astonished.

The referee spoke again. "Team Conor Fury is declared the winner."

The crowd erupted. Some cheered, others shouted in anger at Donovan, and a few remained quiet after witnessing a horrid scene.

The Drevlorn delegation immediately protested. Donovan joined them. "This is ridiculous!"

His face was red with rage. "You bigoted animals think you can judge—"

The referee slammed him into the ground again before he could finish.

This time the entire arena heard the impact. The referee was merciless.

Donovan groaned in pain. He rolled his eyes upward to look at the referee.

The referee’s eyes held something cold and dangerous.

"This is not your home."

The arena fell silent. Every word could be heard.

"If you wish to act like a spoiled noble..." The referee tightened his grip on Donovan’s hair. "Do it elsewhere."

Donovan tried to open his mouth again, but the referee cut him off.

"And if one more piece of rubbish comes out of your mouth..."

His voice dropped to a whisper that somehow carried across the arena.

"I’ll have your dead body delivered back to Drevlorn myself."

Silence befell the arena. Not a single person spoke, not even the Drevlorn delegation.

For the first time that day, Donovan Young looked afraid, and every spectator watched it.