Roderick

The tunnel leading to the competitors' wing hit me with that cold air again, a sharp contrast to the blazing heat and deafening noise blasting out of the arena. I could feel the crowd stomping around above my head. Adrenaline was already starting to pump, but this time it felt different than before my first fight.

As I walked toward the warm-up area, I spotted someone waiting at the entrance up ahead. He was big, but not in Brann's clumsy, bulky way. He was massive and solid, like his feet were literally rooted to the earth. His shoulders were wide, and he wore heavy, dirt-brown armor, lined with green runes that seemed to pulse with a low, soft energy. His face was all business—calm brown eyes and a square jaw. This was Roderick, "the Stone Wall."

Surprisingly, he wasn't doing warm-ups or meditating. He was just staring at a small stone pendant in his hand, rubbing it gently with his thumb. He looked completely chill. Nothing like the arrogant, trash-talking opponent I'd expected from his reputation.

When he noticed me, he looked up. Instead of a challenging or disrespectful glare, he gave me a short, respectful nod.

"Haru."

His voice was surprisingly gentle for a man of his size.

"Roderick?"

"Yes. I was waiting for you." He tucked the pendant into his pocket. "I thought it would be good for us to greet each other before the duel."

"Why?"

This caught me off guard. I didn't understand why he insisted on this.

"Because the tournament isn't just about blows and magic. It's also about who uses them."

He took a step forward, and I instinctively straightened up. It was as if his gaze could pierce me.

"I've heard about you. The rookie trained by Lyra."

His eyes quickly glanced down at my leg, and I knew he was somehow aware of the rumors circulating, about me being involved in something beyond the normal school activities.

"Fighting someone who decided to seek help from the current winner without knowing his story seems... unfair."

I remained silent, assessing him. He seemed different... I couldn't sense anything in him or his voice that showed malice or ulterior motives. He was treating me seriously.

"You just need to know that I don't plan on going easy."

He smiled at my response, and his gaze intensified.

"That's it. I don't want a cheap victory. I want to know that I defeated your best. Because I... need to win."

The intensity in that last sentence seemed familiar. It wasn't blind ambition, it felt like something deeper. It felt like me.

"Why?" I said without thinking, my curiosity taking over. "You're already famous. The 'Stone Wall.' Everyone knows your defense."

Roderick let out a deep sigh, looking toward the empty corridor that led to the arena, where the screams of the crowd reached us.

"Fame is a funny thing," he began, his voice low. "They call me the Stone Wall. They see that no one can break me, and they think it's a gift. Something I just have." He looked back at me, and for the first time, I saw something that resembled vulnerability. "They didn't see the skinny, scared boy I was. The son of stonemasons who grew up in the shadow of the northern mountains, where the winters are so harsh they can freeze your soul."

He paused, and I could visualize a small, frail boy, trembling with cold in a village surrounded by snowy peaks.

"I wasn't naturally strong. I was the weakest in my village. The other boys taunted me, saying I wouldn't survive a winter away from the fireplace. But I was afraid to fight. I was afraid of pain, of being hurt."

He clenched his fists, and the runes on his armor glowed faintly, as if reacting to the feelings his words carried.

"I spent years perfecting this," he continued. "Not to hurt others, but to prove to myself that I could be more than that scared boy. And my defense became the proof that I can face anything, no matter how strong, and not be broken."

He faced me again, and now his expression was iron.

"I want to go far in this tournament, Haru. Not for glory or the prize. But to prove to that scared boy who still lives inside me that he can reach the top. But to do that, I need to overcome someone like you."

I was speechless. The "Stone Wall" wasn't just a nickname. It was everything the man in front of me represented. And suddenly, he wasn't just another obstacle in my way. He was a person who, just like me, had real dreams and fears. The strategy Lyra taught me, to attack the ground, to break his base, seemed almost... treacherous. But I also had my own promise to keep.

"I also have someone I need to prove my worth to. Someone who is lost, and I believe winning this tournament is the key to finding her."

Roderick studied my face for a long moment, as if searching for the truth in my words. Then, he nodded, a gesture of respect from one warrior to another.

"Then today isn't just a fight," he declared. "It is a test of wills. Your quest against mine."

"It seems so."

At that moment, the drums began to beat from inside the arena. The roar of the crowd grew even louder. Roderick extended his hand. I looked at it, a large, calloused hand, and then at his face, which was now serious, but not hostile. I shook it. His grip was firm.

"May the best will win, Haru."

"Good luck, Roderick."

I released his hand, and we turned toward the tunnel. The sunlight from the arena was almost blinding after the gloom of the corridor. The sound was a solid wall of vibration. I could feel the gaze of thousands of people upon us.

As we walked side-by-side toward the beaten-earth battlefield, my thoughts spun. The conversation changed everything. I was no longer facing an obstacle. I was facing a mirror. Roderick's stubborn determination reflected my own.

Lyra's strategy was still viable, but now it seemed insufficient. Defeating Roderick was no longer just about exploiting a tactical weakness. It was about overcoming a philosophy. It was about proving that the strength of my connection to my sister could be deeper than his will to prove himself.

We reached the center of the arena. Roderick took his stance, his feet seeming to become part of the ground, as if he were taking root. The energy around him shifted. The calm seriousness of the corridor transformed into an imposing, immovable presence. He was, truly, a wall.

I pulled the amber stone from my pocket, feeling its familiar warmth. My sword materialized in my hand with a clear shine.

Roderick's gaze was fixed on me, not with hatred, but with deep respect and unshakeable determination. He didn't just want to win, he wanted to validate his own existence.

And I didn't just want to advance in the tournament. I wanted to prove that hope, however fragile it seemed, could find a crack even in the most solid of defenses.

The drum sounded, echoing through the arena.

The battle began.