Realmshift: Triad Ascendancy.

Rune Wars III

[ARKANE]

Another day of the Rune Wars event arrived, and the energy of the crowd was as intense as ever. Their cheers, loud and relentless, filled the air like a constant drumbeat. I did my best to tune it out, focusing on what really mattered: the upcoming matches.After a few rounds of combat, Silver found us, his face serious as he reviewed the updated tournament board. "Grey, you're up next," he said. Grey didn't seem surprised. He and I were always prepared, training so much that stepping into the arena had become second nature. But this time, there was something different. According to Silver's research, Grey's opponent was someone with an undefeated record—a fighter named Alaric Steward. Despite Grey's calm demeanor, I could sense this was a match that would require his full focus. The problem was, we didn't know much about Alaric beyond his reputation, and that was unsettling. Beatrice was nervous but she managed to put trust in Grey.

Determined to learn more, I wandered through the academy grounds, asking around about Alaric. The Rune Wars drew all kinds of people—students, teachers, veteran spectators, and even a few travelers who came just to witness the legendary bouts. I started with some older students who had seen more than a few tournaments in their time. One of them, a tall guy with a scar running down his arm, was the first to speak up."Alaric, huh?" he said, leaning back against a stone column. "He's been around for a few years. Good fighter—really good, actually. But he doesn't show off, doesn't get too friendly either. Just does what he needs to and leaves."Next, I spoke with a group of students gathered under a large oak tree. They were sharing stories about past fights, their voices tinged with excitement. When I mentioned Alaric, a girl with braided hair frowned thoughtfully. "He's kind of... focused, you know?" she said. "Like he's there to fight and nothing else. No trash talk, no flashy moves. Just skill."One of her friends, a stocky boy with round glasses, nodded. "Yeah, he's all business. When he wins, he just nods and walks away. I've never seen him raise his fists or even smile after a match."

Even the teachers, who had watched countless tournaments over the years, seemed to regard Alaric with a mix of respect and curiosity. I approached an older instructor with gray hair and a long staff. He had been watching the event from a distance, his eyes following each combatant's moves with a practiced gaze. "Alaric Steward," he mused when I asked him. "A disciplined young man. One of the best I've seen in a long time. But not many can read him. He fights like he's on a mission."Some first-year students I approached were clearly more interested in the spectacle than the competitors themselves. One of them, a girl with bright red hair, was animatedly discussing potential contenders for the finals. When I brought up Alaric, she just shrugged and grinned. "He's got this 'strong silent type' vibe, you know? Never lost a match, though."

No matter who I talked to, everyone agreed on a few things: Alaric was skilled, precise, and relentlessly focused. There was no mystery or darkness about him, just an intense drive to win. It made him an opponent worth respecting—and one not to be underestimated.Returning to the arena, I found Silver and Grey waiting. I shared what I had learned, but it wasn't anything we didn't already expect. Alaric wasn't a shadowy figure; he was a fighter who took every match seriously and saw victory as a matter of discipline, not celebration."Not much new," I said to Grey, who was tightening the straps on his gloves. "But it sounds like Alaric's no show-off. He just fights to win."Grey nodded, the faintest hint of a grin crossing his face. "Good," he said simply. "I like a challenge."As he made his way to the arena, the crowd's cheers grew louder. This time, though, it wasn't just noise—it was anticipation. Somewhere in that crowd, Alaric was waiting, ready to face Grey with that same unshakable determination.

Alaric stood across from Grey, his tall frame casting a long shadow in the arena's dim light. His black, inky hair fell over his shoulders in loose waves, contrasting with his sharp, focused gaze. Muscular and imposing, Alaric looked every bit the seasoned warrior, though his build wasn't as broad as Grey's. His stance was steady and disciplined, every muscle held in a state of readiness.Grey watched him closely, studying each subtle shift in Alaric's posture, each tightening of a fist or slight adjustment of his feet. They both waited, the air between them charged with tension, the crowd's anticipation almost tangible. As the announcer's voice echoed through the arena, counting down to the start, neither of them flinched. They were two warriors ready to clash—each with their own quiet confidence prepared to measure their skills against the other.