Aya wanted to protest, but her father didn’t give her the chance. “Just make sure those buffoons don’t do anything stupid Aya, I’ll be right here when you come back.”

Aya grabbed a pouch of herbs from a stand and followed the three boys outside, visibly upset that she was leaving her father’s side.

And as they walked towards the town plaza, she tossed Adam the pouch. “Chew these if the pain gets worse. And no swordplay until those ribs knit. Don’t be an idiot."

Adam saluted with sarcasm. “Yes ma’am.” He then stretched his shoulder with a wince. “No need to worry, though, a champion who can face down a Fenrir can’t be hurt by mere men.”

Both Isha and Aya shook their heads at his comment. Both were tired of his nonsense.

The group walked into the plaza square. It smelled of roasted chestnuts and sweat. Banners snapped in the wind, each carrying the sigils of the most prominent houses of the town.

However, three new banners were erected on the podium behind the announcer, each with an unfamiliar sigil, with a foreign figure standing between the banners and the announcer.

The master of ceremonies, Bilal, waited for the crowd to settle before he started announcing the tournament’s rules.

Bilal had a strong, stocky build, his midsection just starting to round out. He had looked like that for years, but today, he was uncomfortable in his own clothes. He kept stealing glances at the three figures behind him.

When everyone settled down for him to start, he pounded his staff on the platform. His voice boomed like it usually did, but he couldn’t hide the nervous edge in it.

"This year’s tournament is no ordinary bout!" he bellowed. "We’re honored by guests from Harvor, Tir, and Yathren!”

The crowd erupted with murmurs. The local event was shared between most towns and cities in Marelia, but a visit from three prominent city members was unprecedented.

Adam examined the supposed guests with wary eyes as each of them stood to introduce themselves.

A man in his mid-forties was the first to start. A wiry man who fashioned himself with a high-collared cyan tunic, his sleeves embroidered with silver feathers. “My name is Kian of house Moradi, greetings.” He bowed in respect, “I bring with me a gift from Tir, a prize for the winner of the combat tournament.”

He opened a wooden box from his side, revealing an elegant curved sword. “This sword is crafted from steel procured from the Chaos Mountains, its sharp edge tested to cut flesh like it does paper.”

Adam’s eyes gleamed, the curved sword was eerily similar to the one his father held.

The second esteemed guest stood to introduce herself. A sharp-eyed woman in an emerald silk dress. Tiny beads, traced patterns like ivy up the sleeves and along her waist. She leaned on a long, wrapped pole-like weapon. “I am Hessa of house Nassar. And I bring with me a great lance, carved from the mountains of Stonecrest. It is a prize for the greatest jouster in your town.”

She flicked her hair back before she unwrapped the lance and handed it to the master of ceremonies. Arrogance seeping from her every step as she turned around and walked to her seat.

Adam did not care for the lance, but its craftsmanship looked genuinely intriguing. ‘Father left some notes about the basic spearmanship.’

In fact, Noah talked about all weapons in his notebook, yet swordsmanship was what he most focused on. And that was for a reason.

A sword is not the most effective tool in every situation. A spear is more useful against enemies with a long reach, a war hammer is better against armor, and a mace is easier to maintain. However, swords are the most versatile.

A sword can pierce, cut, and even bash. It can be used effectively at a variety of ranges. It is swift and maneuverable. Every part of it, from the tip to the pommel, can be used to attack. It was never the best at everything, but the sword is the most adaptable weapon one can use.

The last of the foreign guests looked the most striking out of the three. He was decorated with jewelry from the neck down, even his fingers, each carried a colorful ring that clunked together as he clenched and unclenched his fists.

He struggled to stand from his weight, but he managed, breathing heavily as his double chins danced with his movement. “My utmost greetings, residents of Aram town. I am Ian of house Velmont, and I bring with me a present to the greatest archer of your tournament.”

He paused to take a deep breath, before Anas interrupted from the crowds, “That’s me, He’s talking about me.”

Aya elbowed her brother’s injured shoulder, as the crowd wheezed at his comment.

“Ahem,” Ian smiled at him warmly, but his smile froze, then slowly faded, as his eyes locked with the boy sitting beside him. Adam.

“Why is he looking at me like that?” Adam whispered to his other side, where Isha sat. The man looked familiar from somewhere, but he didn’t know where.

“Don’t engage. We don’t know what sick hobbies men like that have.” Isha covered his mouth as he leaned to Adam’s ear.

“This bow is carved from the ancient trees of the Evergreen forest beneath Yathren. The string is made of the finest silk, strung by Yathren’s best weapon smiths….” The fat man’s gloating kept going, making many in the crowd yawn with disinterest.

Adam looked to his left, and he could swear he could see stars sparkling in Anas’ eyes, the more the fat merchant kept going.

Anas noticed his gaze, a smirk blooming on his face. "Too bad you’re set on swordsmanship."

Adam groaned at his words, he did not care for such a fancy tool. He merely used the bow for hunting, and he could not see the art behind taking his adversary’s life from a distance. It lacked substance.

Yathren’s guest of honor finally finished his speech before the announcer, Bilal, started stating the rules of the tournament.

“Combat will feature duels from young warriors aged fifteen to twenty. No steel armor, and the swords must all be blunted. Fights will end with surrender or with damage that is deemed severe for one to continue.”

His staff pounded on the platform twice before he continued. “Archery. It will be standard target practice. With the target increasing its distance from the competitors with each round. All ages from fifteen to thirty are allowed to participate.”

The staff slammed thrice. “Jousting on horseback. Lances as short as their wielder are as short as you can get. And you must also own a horse. The lances should be brittle enough to break on impact, and blunted.” He paused.

“And no, pitchforks are not allowed, Khalid.” The crowd exploded with laughter.

Bilal’s serious expression faltered, “Only grown men between twenty to thirty years old can participate.” He slammed his staff again. "Registration starts now! First bouts are next week!”

The crowd started to disperse, while Adam’s group huddled together in the corner. Isha was the first to talk about the tournament.

“This year’s tourney is weird. We never had prizes, or guests. But I like that lance. So Anas. Adam. You guys will be helping me practice till next week.”

Aya’s face visibly aged. “You too?” she muttered under her breath.

Adam, on the other hand, was delighted. “Oh, I see, so we are hoarding all the prizes, huh?”

Anas nudged Adam with his elbow. “Someone is confident.”

Aya shook her head in frustration. “More like overconfident.”

“Hey,” Adam puffed his chest out. "I stared down the Fenrir and shot its eye out!"

"Allegedly," Aya muttered, but her lips quirked as she turned to walk with the crowd, following Isha and her brother.

“I heard that.” Adam struggled to follow his three companions through the crowd.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw envoys of Yathren and Harvor conversing in secret beside him, unaware of his presence.

“… strange, that boy with mismatched eyes. I think I have seen him before.” Whispered the fat merchant named Ian.

The woman from Harvor shrugged with disinterest. “Really? All northerners look the same to me.”