Arthur goes back to the waiting room and sits down on a bench. He takes a deep breath and lets it out heavily as he looks at his broken sword. He won the fight unarmed, but that doesn’t change the fact that he doesn’t have his weapon anymore. He can take one from the rack, but it’s not the same.

Besides, he’s not satisfied with his own performance in the match. He won, but the guy had turned out to be a lot weaker than he thought. Besides, he realizes he’s doing something wrong when trying to use [Stinger], but can’t quite understand what.

‘To use a Martial Art, first you need to accustom your body to the motions you want it to perform. Practice until it becomes muscle memory.’

That was the first thing Sir Samuel told him about Martial Arts, so that was the first thing they practiced. Sir Samuel showed him the stance and the way his body should move after it. Arthur replicated it without the aid of prana several times. He lunged with his sword pointing forward, trying to have it perfectly parallel to the ground. He did it time and time again until he got it mostly down. Sir Samuel had said that, since his body was well trained, he didn’t need to build the muscles for the Art. He only needed to have his body remember the motions.

Then they jumped to the second part.

‘Focus your prana and release it in one go while keeping the image of your movements clear in your mind. Don’t think about moving your body, but in your prana forcing your body to move like you practiced and taking it beyond.’

That’s what Sir Samuel said, but that’s the part that’s difficult for him. Arthur keeps trying to do it like when he holds prana in his arm to release [Blast]. He holds prana in the relevant parts of his body. His legs for the first jump forward and his arm to pull him forward.

But that doesn’t seem to be the right way. The flow of energy is too slow and the result is too stiff. It has too many tells that others could’ve easily noticed.

“Second bout: Alan Zaphiel vs Marcus!” The guard announces the next match, breaking Arthur out of his thoughts.

He sees the noble that spoke to him before his match proudly walk towards the door with focused eyes. Yet it’s his opponent that catches Arthur’s attention more, both because of how he looks like and because of the weapon in his hand.

Arthur is 1.72m tall. This guy, Marcus, is just a bit taller than him, maybe reaching 1.80m. He has very long black hair and a rugged, wild face, yet his expression is calm and focused. He can’t quite tell his age, but he’d guess he’s no more than 22 years old. In his hand is a bow even longer than he is taller, made of dark wood and standing at 1.90m at minimum. On his back is a quiver full of arrows and at his hip there’s a sheathed long and curved knife.

It’s Arthur’s first time seeing a bow that large, but he doesn’t know much about archery. He used a far smaller bow for hunting back at the village, but he found more success using Prana Flow and running up to the prey than actually hitting his targets with an arrow.

His curiosity piqued, Arthur sheathes his broken blade and ties the hilt to the sheath with a thin rope so it won’t fall off. He then stands up and walks to the door and through the hallway leading to the arena. The hallway splits left and right, curving along the arena outside. Arthur turns to the left, towards the blue entrance stopping just before the arch exit. From here he can see the fight clearly.

Soon, other participants arrive to watch as well, and Arthur sees others standing behind the red entrance. Arthur realizes that they probably watched his match like this, too.

‘I hope I didn’t embarrass myself.’

“In the blue entrance, we have a young man from the lineage of strong warriors. His grace and his skills with the sword impress all bystanders! The third son of His esteemed Grace, Adrian Zaphiel: Mister Alan Zaphiel!”

The crowd cheers for him, louder than they did for Arthur or his opponent. Is Alan supposed to be well-known? Well, he’s a noble, so maybe.

“In the red entrance, a hunter from Planta Village. He’s made a living out of hunting monsters in the Noble Woods. He caught the eye of our esteemed Sir Richard Astram and was invited to this tournament! Mister Marcus!”

Arthur takes a good look at both combatants. Alan’s armor consists of a metal cuirass over an elaborate blue long coat. In contrast, Marcus greatest protection is a thick coat of furs. However, they don’t look like furs from any normal animal Arthur has ever seen. There’s a high chance that was fashioned out of monster parts. That coat must be tough.

“Down into the pit they go. Which side wins? Nobody knows! Let’s get it on!”

With that, Alan breaks into a run. His prana signal is slightly different than those of others Arthur has fought so far. It’s powerful, but it lacks intensity. Unlike Arthur’s own wild, flaming torch, Alan’s is like a red hot dagger, radiating a constant wave of focused heat.

The noble rushes toward his opponent with his sword at his side. He’s not giving Marcus the time to draw his bow, and closing the distance effectively makes his chosen weapon useless. It’s a predictable but good strategy.

And Marcus steps into it. His prana signal is unlike anything he’s ever felt. Comparing it to his own, they’re about equal. Both Arthur and Marcus feel like torches radiating an intense heat. But Marcus’ has something else. The feeling of creeping danger settles on Arthur’s back, and he notices those around him shivering with him.

A beast. That’s the image in Arthur’s mind. It’s like knowing a wild, hungry wolf is behind you, itching for your flesh. It sets off all of Arthur’s defensive instincts, and he assumes a defensive stance without realizing it, catching himself only after doing so.

He shakes his head and focuses on the fight before him again.

Marcus thrusts his opened palm into Alan’s exposed chest, and the young noble is sent flying back, colliding with the stone wall around the arena. The audience gasps, but Marcus is not done.

He jumps back twice, arriving at the other end of the arena. This is the most distance he can make between them. The full 20 meters of diameter. Marcus takes his hand to his back and grabs four arrows from his quiver. His movements are seamless. From taking the arrows, to nocking one while holding the others, to drawing the bow, shooting one, two, three, four.

Arthur blinks when he hears a scream of pain. He turns his head and sees what should’ve been obvious. All arrows hit Alan. One in each thigh, and two along his right arm.

Four arrows in no more than 2 seconds. All of them hit their mark. His opponent is incapacitated, but alive. What’s more, those arrows could’ve easily ended Alan’s life if Marcus had chosen to. The noble can’t move.

“The winner: Misteeeer Maaarcuuuuus!”

A chill runs down Arthur’s back. He’s shaking, and his hand brushes against the pommel of his broken sword. It’s only the muttering of the people around that brings him back to the real world.

“Is he the recently found one, Sir Kain?” Eliot asks.

“He is.” The general nods firmly. “Richard ran into him last year when checking on Planta Village. He says the kid was carrying a bear-type monster on his shoulders when he first saw him.” Sir Kain grins in amusement.

“Another demigod…” Eliot mutters to himself. “I might be wrong, but he feels… wild. Almost dangerous.”

“Yes. He’s a descendant from the God of Beasts. He was easy to identify thanks to that.” Sir Samuel says. “It’s a shame only one person is selected from the tournament, isn’t it?” He asks Eliot with an easy, innocent smile yet in a louder, more suggestive tone that’s not-so-subtly directed to the knight general. “If we could select more, the ranks of the knights could be filled with strong warriors.”

“Oh, shut your mouth, Samuel.” Sir Kain groans, shaking his head. “I’m running it by the other nobles already. Expect it next year at the earliest, if at all.”

Eliot chuckles to himself, and Sir Samuel nods in approval.

But yes, it is a shame that only one person will be selected. Alan Zaphiel is a known noble. Many people had high expectations of him, yet he lost in the blink of an eye. A man such as Marcus would make a great asset to the kingdom’s forces. Yet there are others like Sir Samuel’s protégé, Arthur.

It’s not confirmed, but the vice-general says there’s a chance he’s also a demigod. The intensity of his soul is a big point in favor of that theory. But even disregarding that, he was able to win a match even when unarmed.

It’s because there are people like them that the nobles had to accept that commoners be invited to the tournament and become knights. The kingdom can’t afford to waste their potential.

Especially so with the current happenings beyond Zaphiel Wall.

Alan was immediately taken to the healer. Healing magic is strong enough to let him have a full recovery, but not enough to do it instantly. With wounds like those, it could take him from a couple of hours to a couple of days depending on the healer’s skills.

But Arthur is more interested in Marcus. He’s another guy invited to the tournament by a knight. What’s more, he hears the whispers of the other participants. They say he might be the newly discovered demigod, the one Sir Samuel told him about.

And so, after taking a deep breath, Arthur approaches the long haired man sitting on a bench. His expression is calm and serious, but there’s this air around him that’s not unlike that of a resting wolf. Just because it’s laying down doesn’t mean it’s harmless.

“Marcus, right?”

The man looks up at Arthur with curious, almost innocent eyes that catch him by surprise.

“Yes.” He answers in a soft voice.

“My name’s Arthur. I was wondering if I could talk to you for a moment. Would that be okay?”

“…” Marcus’ eyes stay on Arthur for a few moments, as if assessing him. “Yes. That’s fine.” He nods slowly.

Arthur takes a seat on the bench, just an arm away from Marcus.

“I heard the referee say you’re from Planta Village. That’s close to this city, right?”

“Yes. Even so, it’s my first time here.” Marcus nods, speaking with surprising sincerity.

“Heh. That makes two of us.” Arthur chuckles. “Overwhelming, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Marcus nods again, still speaking in a very soft tone. “Everyone is so loud. The smells are very confusing, as well.”

“The smells?” Arthur raises an eyebrow.

“Back in Planta, It’s easy to tell when a monster is nearby because most of the smells are of wet dirt from the farms and the woods. But here there are many people doing different things. I smell fresh bread; smoked meats; wet, hot metals; the perfumes of nobles; the odd chemicals from the alchemists and apothecaries. It’s all very confusing and it makes me anxious.” He shakes his head.

Arthur hadn’t thought of it that way. For him, the amount of people and how busy everyone seems is what makes it overwhelming. The size of the city and how many businesses and facilities there are.

“You’re from Yellowseed, right? You’re a farmer.” Marcus asks with a small smile.

“Well, kind of.” Arthur smiles sheepishly. “I don’t own a farm. I just worked in two. I did many other jobs, but I guess farming is what I did most.”

“Are you also a demigod?” Marcus asks, his expression not changing even when he asks something that outrageous.

Arthur simply sighs and smiles wryly. “I don’t know. Sir Samuel seems to think I might be. I guess that answers my own question. You’re one, right?”

“Yes. They say I’m a descendant from the God of Beasts.”

“I see. So that’s what I felt in your prana.” Arthur mutters.

“I feel something similar in you, too. But it’s difficult to tell. It reminded me of when I was a kid, so that’s why I asked.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your prana reminds me of mine before I… um… awakened.” Marcus makes a weird face, confused by his own wording. “I don’t know how to put it, but after years of hunting in the woods, one day I felt something change inside me, and my prana became like this. I think that, if you really are a demigod, you’ll eventually awaken the true nature of your soul.”

‘True nature? He means there’s more to it?’

Arthur tightens his fist. He tries not to get too excited by those words. While there’s a chance he can become a lot stronger than he is now, it’s not assured. It’s likely that he may be a demigod just as much as he might just be a normal, if very lucky, human with a strong soul.

“Arthur. I want to ask you a favor.” Marcus says, quietly.

“Mm? If it’s something I can do, then sure.” Arthur nods.

“Please, make it to the finals.” The long haired man smiles. “If the two of us win all our fights, we’ll meet at the end. I want to fight you, but we won’t be able to unless you make it there.”

Omitting the fact that he casually implied he would have no troubles getting there himself, Arthur is taken aback.

“You want to fight me? Why?”

“Because I think it would be fun.” Marcus nods to himself. “Don’t you? I thought you’d be disappointed with your previous fight.”

“…”

“I see. Sorry, I got it wrong. Still, good luck on your next fights.” He gives Arthur a small smile.

“Yeah. Thank you. You too.” Arthur nods and stands up, going to grab one of the long swords in the rack. He takes a look at his broken sword and decides to take a shortsword as a backup, as well.

He takes a deep breath, but still can’t get Marcus’ words out of his head.

He has to admit it. He’s looking forward to that fight. Yet with the way he’s now…

Arthur sits down on a bench at the other side of the room and closes his eyes. His next match is still a ways off. There’s six other matches before he has to go again. There’s not much he can do in the way of physical training now, but there’s something else he can do.