Chapter 68 – Excellence Camp – Duel Hall VIII

Ashern City, 22nd of Brightforge, year 315 UC

Bryan walked through the crowded streets of Ashern City, his white hair drawing occasional glances from passersby. The Festival of the Bound Flame was in full swing, with colorful banners stretched across the streets.

He sidestepped a group of children wearing painted masks, their laughter echoing as they chased each other through the crowd. The masks, he'd learned, represented the fifty mages who had sacrificed themselves to save the city generations ago. Each design was unique, with swirling patterns that mimicked embers of a flame.

The festival's origin was far grimmer than its current cheerful atmosphere suggested. Bryan had read about it in the academy library—an endless monster tide had swept through the region, forcing villagers to flee to Ashern City for protection. The crisis had struck during a severe drought, when food was already scarce.

Then came the worst: a group of S and A-ranked monsters had nearly breached the city walls. Fifty mages had formed a last line of defense, knowing they faced certain death. They'd fought to their last breath, buying precious time for those on the outer walls to escape. When help finally arrived two days later, an entire section of the city lay in ruins.

But the mages' sacrifice hadn't been in vain. The damage they'd inflicted on the highest-ranking monsters had allowed the remaining defenders to hold out until reinforcements arrived. Without their sacrifice, Ashern City might not exist today.

Bryan adjusted the collar of his uniform as he passed a makeshift stage where actors were preparing for a performance—the traditional retelling of the battle. The black fabric with gold trim marked him clearly as a Reinhart student, earning him both curious and impressed looks from festival-goers.

"Will you be attending the forge ceremony tonight, young sir?"

An elderly vendor asked, offering Bryan a small wooden talisman. The polished wood gleamed in the afternoon sunlight, intricate patterns carved into its surface.

"No."

Bryan replied, but accepted the talisman out of politeness. He turned it over in his hand, examining the craftsmanship.

"Ah, that's a shame."

The vendor said, his weathered face creasing with a smile.

"They say if you write the name of someone you care for, the two of you will be bound for eternity. The souls of the fallen mages will ensure it."

Bryan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The idea that writing someone's name on a piece of wood and tossing it into a fire could somehow bind two people together forever seemed absurdly superstitious. Yet as he slipped the talisman into his pocket, an unbidden image of Farrah flashed through his mind.

'Ridiculous.'

He thought, pushing the notion away.

The main event wouldn't begin until nightfall, when citizens would gather at the massive forge built on the scorched land where the mages had made their last stand. Rather than construct new buildings there, the city lord had decreed that a forge would stand as memorial. The forge would "use the souls of the fallen to create the strongest weapons," while citizens would "feed" those souls with their hopes, dreams, and wishes.

Bryan continued toward the duel hall, its massive stone structure rising above the surrounding buildings. The hall was impressive—stone walls reinforced with modern magitech, allowing it to host everything from small practice bouts to massive spectacles. Today, it would host the Reinhart Academy matches.

As he approached the entrance, he noticed two familiar figures engaged in conversation—Lock and Gloria. Lock's gray-streaked hair caught the light as he leaned closer to Gloria, his expression serious. Gloria stood with her arms crossed, her long brown hair flowing loosely over her shoulder.

"—bad timing with everything else going on."

Lock was saying as Bryan passed.

"We'll manage."

Gloria replied, her voice clipped.

Neither instructor acknowledged Bryan as he walked by, too engrossed in their conversation. Whatever they were discussing, it clearly wasn't meant for student ears.

The interior of the duel hall was a stark contrast to the festive atmosphere outside. Polished stone floors and high vaulted ceilings amplified every sound.

Bryan stopped by the large digital board displaying the day's events. The blue-tinted holographic schedule showed three hours dedicated solely to the Reinhart Academy Matches, slotted from 3 PM to 6 PM. Right after came a tag-team showdown between fighters whose names meant nothing to Bryan, followed by several events marked "rescheduled—see notice for new times."

Around him, spectators studied the board with varying reactions. Some expressed excitement about seeing the academy students in action, while others grumbled about missing their favorite fighters due to "some children's matches."

"Which fights are you looking forward to, young man?"

A middle-aged man in expensive clothes asked, eyeing Bryan's uniform. His fingers were adorned with multiple rings, suggesting wealth if not nobility.

"Just here to participate."

Bryan replied curtly.

"Ah, a contestant!"

The man's eyes lit up with interest. He pulled a folded paper from his inner pocket and handed it to Bryan.

"The betting pools are quite active today. Perhaps you'll find this useful."

Bryan unfolded the paper to find a list of Reinhart students and their fight times. His own name was at the very bottom, paired against Julius. The odds were listed beside each matchup—he noted with mild interest that the bookmakers had him slightly favored.

Uninterested in the gambling aspect, Bryan set the paper down on a nearby table as he walked away. He'd already memorized his time slot, and nothing else on the schedule concerned him.

As he made his way through the hall's main concourse, a familiar laugh caught his attention. The sound was instantly recognizable even amid the noise of the crowd. Bryan turned toward the source, his eyes landing on a dark-skinned elf with familiar curls.

Farrah stood near a refreshment stand. But she wasn't alone. She leaned against a young man Bryan didn't recognize, her arm linked through his as she laughed at something he'd said. The boy was of average height with brown hair, dressed in simple but well-maintained clothes. His arm was casually draped around Farrah's shoulders, his expression one of easy familiarity.

Bryan took a deep breath and closed his eyes, willing the scene to change when he opened them. But the couple remained, Farrah still hanging on the boy's arm, both of them smiling and talking.

He pinched himself lightly to verify if this was an illusion. The slight pain confirmed what he already knew—this was no trick of the mind.

Bryan clicked his tongue in annoyance and turned away. Of course Farrah was close with others. Why had he imagined he was special? She was friendly with everyone, constantly trying to form connections. He'd been naive to think their interactions meant anything.

'Why should I care anyway?'

He thought, his boots striking the stone floor with more force than necessary as he walked away.

'It's not like we're dating. She never said she liked me. I don't even know if I like her.'

Despite his mental protestations, a dull ache spread through his chest as he put distance between himself and Farrah. She was annoying if anything else—always pushing, always asking questions, always trying to get closer than he wanted.

Yet the pain persisted.

Bryan found himself near a wide staircase leading to the upper levels when he caught sight of Christopher and Alexander in mid-conversation. Christopher's normally stoic expression was animated as he gestured toward the betting boards, while Alexander nodded, his blonde hair falling across his forehead.

"Where's Sabrina?"

Bryan asked as he approached, forcing his voice to remain neutral.

Christopher turned, surprise briefly crossing his features before he composed himself.

"At the betting hall. She's planning on making this trip 'worthwhile,' as she put it."

"How are you feeling?"

Alexander asked, studying Bryan's face.

"All eyes are going to be on you later."

Bryan shrugged, the motion deliberately casual.

"I'm fine. It's just another duel."

"Another duel in front of thousands of people."

Christopher said, raising an eyebrow.

"Have you not paid attention to all the people coming and going?"

"I don't really pay people mind unless I need to."

Bryan replied, glancing around at the growing crowd. Groups of spectators were already filing toward the seating areas, some carrying banners with the names of their favorite fighters.

"Figures."

Christopher said with a slight shake of his head.

Alexander leaned against the stone balustrade, his fingers tapping an irregular rhythm against the surface.

"The academy must have done some sort of promotion, or people just want to see kids beat each other up."

Bryan considered this. The number of spectators did seem excessive for student matches. How had news spread so quickly when they'd been confined to the academy grounds, focused on classes and training?

"I bet they spent a nice sum too."

Christopher added, adjusting the cuffs of his uniform.

"The academy has been looking for ways to raise its profile."

After five minutes of conversation about the upcoming matches, a familiar voice called out from behind them.

"Hey, guys!"

Farrah approached, the boy from earlier walking beside her. Her silver hairband caught the light as she moved.

"I want you to meet someone."

She gestured to the young man, who stood with a relaxed confidence that suggested he was comfortable in unfamiliar surroundings.

"This is Randel, my childhood friend from Dynosis."

Before anyone could respond, a shout from above cut through the ambient noise.

"Watch out!"

Randel's hand shot up with startling speed, catching a glass bottle that had fallen through a gap in the ceiling before it could strike Alexander. The bottle—likely dropped by a careless spectator from the upper level—would have hit Alexander squarely on the head.

Alexander's eyes widened, his face paling as he realized how close he'd come to injury.

"What the—"

"Good save."

Christopher said, impressed.

"That could have been bad if it hit."

Farrah agreed, her hand moving to her mouth in shock.

Randel grinned, setting the bottle carefully on a nearby ledge.

"It wasn't much."

Before further introductions could be made, Sabrina appeared, her uniform slightly rumpled and her expression sour.

"The line was ridiculous, I swear—"

She stopped abruptly as she noticed Randel, her eyes widening slightly.

"Who's the cutie?"

Alexander rolled his eyes, his momentary shock forgotten.

"You think everyone is hot."

"Not everyone."

Sabrina retorted, flipping her braid over her shoulder.

"You aren't."

Christopher winced at the comment.

"That's a bit harsh. He doesn't look that bad."

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"

Alexander protested, his cheeks reddening.

The group laughed at the light teasing, the tension from the near-accident dissipating. Alexander crossed his arms, grumbling.

"She said the same thing about Bryan when we first met."

"I'm Randel Westin."

The newcomer said, offering a slight bow that somehow managed to be both casual and respectful.

"Sabrina Rigof."

Sabrina replied, a hint of flirtation in her voice.

"You can call me—"

"—Rina if I want to?"

Randel finished with a wink, causing Sabrina's cheeks to flush pink.

"How did you know I was going to say that?"

She asked, genuinely surprised.

Randel tapped his temple with one finger.

"I can see three seconds into the future."

"That's how he caught the glass bottle."

Alexander realized, snapping his fingers.

"Pretty useful, right?"

Randel said, his tone modest despite the impressive ability.

Sabrina leaned forward, her eyes narrowing playfully.

"What am I thinking right now, then?"

Alexander scoffed, throwing up his hands.

"He said three seconds into the future, not read your mind. You get the hots for one guy and suddenly become stupid."

Sabrina's cheeks turned a deeper red as she swung at Alexander, who laughed and darted up the stairs.

"Get back here, you little twerp!"

She called, giving chase.

As their bickering faded into the background, Farrah turned to Christopher, engaging him in conversation about the upcoming matches. Bryan watched them, noting how Farrah's hands moved animatedly as she spoke, her long ears twitching slightly with her excitement.

Randel approached Bryan, hand outstretched.

"Bryan, right? Farrah's told me about you."

Bryan looked at the offered hand, then glanced over at Farrah and Christopher. Something cold settled in his stomach as he observed Farrah's easy smile, the way she leaned slightly toward Christopher as they talked.

He clicked his tongue and walked away without shaking Randel's hand, ignoring the confusion on the other boy's face.

"What's his deal?"

He heard Randel ask as he climbed the stairs.

Bryan didn't go far, stopping at a railing that overlooked the fighting pit below. The arena was massive—at least three times larger than the duel arena at Reinhart. The floor was covered with fine sand. Six black gates were positioned around the perimeter, presumably for fighters to make their entrances.

"No leaning on the railings unless you want to be thrown out."

A gruff voice said from behind him.

Bryan turned to find a large man standing there, a magitech rifle slung over his shoulder. The letters "S.G." were emblazoned in bold black text on his shirt—security guard, most likely. His muscular arms were crossed over his chest, his expression leaving no room for argument.

Without a word, Bryan moved away from the railing and continued up the stairs toward the seating areas. The stands were beginning to fill, spectators filing in with food and drinks. At the highest point of the duel hall were private balconies overlooking the arena, their interiors hidden by heavy curtains. Armed guards like the one who had confronted Bryan stood at the entrances to these areas.

As Bryan watched, a group of well-dressed nobles approached one of the guards, showing something—likely an invitation or pass. The guard nodded and stepped aside, allowing them entry. Clearly, those areas were reserved for VIPs and the wealthy.

Bryan found a seat at the edge of a row that hadn't yet filled, giving him a good view of the arena while maintaining some distance from the other spectators. He settled into the hard wooden bench, his thoughts turning over the events of the day.

He wasn't in the mood to fight. The excitement he normally felt before a match was absent, replaced by a hollow feeling he couldn't quite name. His eyes drifted to the entrance, where more spectators continued to pour in.

Randel Westin.

Bryan had already known about the boy, didn't he? Farrah mentioned him a few times in their conversations, and even said that he would be attending the academy once the school term officially began.

So, what was going on with him?

It must have been for this exact reason that he was taught not to get close to people. They were liabilities, and that could be exploited.

He couldn't help but think back to what Gloria had told him. He had even shared his own personal thoughts with Farrah.

She was real, he wanted her to be real. She had even told him that this whatever this was, was real.

Bryan should have shaken Randel's hand. Even if he didn't like the boy, he could have played the least bit nice.

After a few minutes, he spotted his teammates entering the arena. Alexander scanned the crowd before his eyes locked onto Bryan. He pointed, saying something to the others, and they began making their way up the stairs.

Bryan watched them approach, noting how Sabrina and Farrah laughed at something Randel said. The easy camaraderie between them made the hollow feeling in his chest expand.

Farrah dropped into the seat beside him, her uniform brushing against his as she settled in.

"You sure did pick a spot."

She said, gesturing to their elevated position.

He was glad she sat next to him—even if he wasn’t sure why she had. Alexander or Christopher could have taken that spot, but she had deliberately Bryan noticed pushed them forward, urging them to take another seat.

"It's high up. We can see mostly everything."

Bryan replied, his voice deliberately neutral.

Randel leaned forward from his seat on Farrah's other side.

"Farrah tells me you're the top-ranked student. That's impressive."

Bryan didn't spare him a glance.

"It's just a number."

The conversation flowed around him as the others chatted, their voices blending with the growing noise of the crowd. Bryan remained silent, his attention fixed on the empty arena below.

A sharp pain in his arm broke through his thoughts. He jerked away, turning to find Farrah glaring at him, her fingers having just delivered a precise pinch to his bicep.

In no way, shape, or form did she look happy. If looks could kill she would have murdered him more than a dozen times by now.

"What's going on with you?"

She demanded, her green eyes narrowed.

Bryan rubbed the spot she'd pinched, feeling the sting through his uniform sleeve.

"Nothing. I'm fine."

Farrah crossed her arms.

"You don't like Randel."

She knew. Bryan never said it out loud, but his actions caused her to be alarmed.

Randel Westin, her best friend and the person he should have made a slight effort to get along with. He made zero effort in doing that, and now it seemed that Farrah was upset with him.

Even knowing the reason why she was upset did not cause Bryan to feel any better.

"I don't know him."

Bryan countered, his jaw tightening.

"You can trust me, he's a good person."

Farrah insisted, her expression softening slightly.

"Right."

Bryan's tone remained flat.

Farrah opened her mouth to say something, then closed it. After a moment, she laughed—a genuine sound that made Bryan's chest tighten for reasons he couldn't explain.

"What?"

He asked, unable to stop himself.

"You're jealous, aren't you?"

Farrah said, her eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement.

Jealous? Jealous? Him? That was absurd! What did he have to be jealous of?

"No."

Bryan replied immediately, which only made Farrah laugh harder.

"We grew up together."

She explained, her voice softening.

"He's like a brother to me."

A brother. The information shouldn't have mattered to Bryan, yet he found himself processing it with more attention than it warranted. The tightness in his chest was easing slightly. He hadn't realized how much tension he'd been carrying until it began to dissipate.

"Snowflake."

Farrah said suddenly.

Bryan blinked.

"What?"

Farrah tapped him lightly on the arm, her fingertips lingering for just a moment.

"Snowflake."

She repeated, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.

"You need to make a full sentence if you want me to understand you."

Bryan said, fighting the urge to shift away from her touch.

Farrah's smile widened.

"I'm going to start calling you Snowflake."

"No."

Bryan's response was immediate and firm.

"Never. That's the worst name I've ever heard. Who calls someone Snowflake?"

"I do."

Farrah replied, her eyes dancing with amusement as she looked at him.

"Snowflake."