Chapter 41 — The Return of a Colosseum Legend

The Royal Grand Tournament had reached a fever pitch. Aric’s victories, his growth under Kaelen’s guidance, and the unexpected challenges he had faced had drawn the attention of everyone in the arena. But whispers began circulating among the knights and spectators, voices tinged with awe and fear.

“Have you heard?” one knight murmured. “They say a former colosseum legend is coming… undefeated, unmatched, and feared even by the champions themselves.”

The arena gates creaked open, and a hush fell over the crowd. A tall, imposing figure strode forward, his armor dark but elegant, adorned with scars and symbols of countless battles. He carried a massive, uniquely shaped blade that seemed almost to hum with power. The air around him felt heavy, charged with an aura of dominance.

Kaelen’s golden eyes narrowed. He recognized the fighter instantly—Serik, known as the “Dragon Fist,” a legendary high-rank colosseum fighter he had once faced. Serik’s reputation for strength, technique, and an almost relentless fighting spirit had made him a living legend. Few dared challenge him, and fewer survived.

The crowd gasped. “Serik… the Dragon Fist… he’s alive!”

From the stands, the knights exchanged worried glances. Even the seasoned veterans in the tournament whispered nervously. This was a warrior who had once dominated the colosseum and had now returned, drawn by the tales of a new challenger—the young prince guided by the mysterious Mirrorblade.

Aric’s eyes widened. He had heard stories of Serik, of his unmatched power, and the terrifying skill he had displayed in the colosseum. His heart pounded, but his grip on his sword tightened. I’ve trained with Kaelen… I can face him.

Kaelen’s golden eyes met Aric’s, calm but intense. “Remember everything I’ve taught you,” he said softly. “Observe, predict, adapt. This is more than a test of strength—it is a test of your understanding of combat itself. Face him not with fear, but with focus.”

Serik raised his massive blade, a grin forming on his face. “So, the stories are true,” he said, voice echoing across the arena. “A prince trained by the Mirrorblade… I’ve come to see if he is worthy of the tales.”

The ground seemed to tremble as Serik took his stance. Every movement radiated power, precision, and experience. The spectators felt the weight of history in the air—this was not merely a duel; it was a clash of legends and rising stars.

Aric adjusted his stance, recalling every lesson Kaelen had imparted, every technique, every rhythm, every adaptation. He was no longer a novice, no longer simply a student—he was a fighter, ready to test himself against one of the most formidable warriors of the age.

Kaelen stepped back, observing silently, his hooded figure calm yet commanding. This is the moment he will truly begin to grow beyond the lessons I’ve given him. Every move, every decision, will shape his path.

Serik lunged, the sheer speed and force of his strike making the arena tremble. Aric braced, prepared to anticipate, adapt, and counter. The duel had begun, and the Royal Grand Tournament would never be the same.