Chronicles of The God Slayer of Shadows-Chapter 46 - Forty Six

The massive iron bell atop the coliseum let out a deep, resonant toll—its sound rolling through the stone corridors like the growl of some ancient beast awakening.

A herald's voice rang out over the din, magically amplified:

"Contenders of the Dawnfire Evermoon Tournament—prepare to be called. Brackets will be displayed in the upper arena. Those summoned, report to the Gate of Trials. First round begins shortly!"

Cheers and nervous mutters followed. Swords were sheathed. Spell scrolls were tucked away. Pride, bravado, and silent prayers clung to every breath.

Damien smacked Adrien lightly on the shoulder. "No turning back now. Ready to show the world how badly they underestimated you?"

Adrien smirked, rolling his neck. "They never stood a chance. I'm just here for the free entertainment and a bit of cardio."

Damien laughed. "And here I was thinking we'd die for glory."

"We still might," Adrien said with a casual shrug, "but at least we'll look good doing it."

A squire in silver-laced tabard approached with a scroll in hand. He unfurled it with a sharp snap, eyes scanning.

"Adrien of Ironbrand Guild—Gate Three."

The boy looked a little pale as Nyxaris's eyes met his. Adrien gave him a lazy salute and turned toward the rising stairway, Damien walking beside him.

"Wish me luck?" Damien asked.

Adrien eyed him. "If you need luck, you're already halfway dead. Stay sharp instead."

They reached the top and stepped out into sunlight.

The arena roared to life.

It was a cathedral of stone and storm, thousands of voices cascading down like thunder. Banners of many houses waved in the breeze—sigils of beasts, blades, and burning crowns. The sand of the arena glinted gold beneath the high sun.

Across the coliseum, gates creaked open, letting out warriors, mages, beast-riders, and more.

A giant board shimmered to life above them, names glowing in golden light:

> ROUND ONE

Gate Three: Adrien of Ironbrand vs. Lorthan of the Silver Veil

Damien whistled. "Lorthan? That's the Windblade Duelist. Fast, lethal, and smug as a rooster in heat."

"Great," Adrien muttered. "I was hoping for cardio. Sounds like I'm getting a warm-up instead."

Nyxaris gave a low snort beside him.

Trumpets sounded.

"Go knock the wind out of him," Damien said.

Adrien stepped toward the gate, shadows licking at his heels, the whisper of his upgraded sword humming at his side.

"I'll try not to make it too quick," he said over his shoulder, grinning. "Let the crowd enjoy the show."

And the gates groaned open.

The moment Adrien stepped into the arena, heat and roar met him like a wave. Thousands watched from the stone terraces, eager eyes locked on the two figures approaching the center ring.

His opponent, Lorthan, moved with an easy grace—his pale blue robes trailing behind him like wind-kissed water. Twin sabers hung at his hips, glinting with enchantment. His hair was silver-blonde, tied back with a sky-blue ribbon, and his smile carried a noble arrogance born of endless victories.

"So... the famed shadow from Ironbrand," Lorthan called, voice light and melodic. "I expected someone taller."

Adrien stretched his neck. "And I expected someone quieter. Here we are."

Lorthan's smile thinned. "This'll be quick."

Adrien gave him a two-finger wave. "Then you'd better start."

A blast of magic burst from the arena's center, signaling the start.

Lorthan vanished in a blur.

Adrien tilted his head slightly as wind swept past him—and brought his sword up just in time to parry a descending strike. Sparks flew. Lorthan flipped backward, blades singing in the air.

"Fast," Adrien muttered, sliding a boot through the sand for footing.

Lorthan was already moving again, sabers slashing from two sides. Adrien twisted low, shadow trailing his motion like mist, his blade meeting the twin sabers in a flurry of ringing steel.

The crowd gasped.

Lorthan struck again, and again, each blow faster than the last. Wind gathered around him, buffeting Adrien's cloak and swirling sand into the air.

Adrien grimaced. "You windblown peacock."

He dropped low and flicked his sword out—runed metal flashing gold. Shadow surged from the ground like tendrils, coiling toward Lorthan's legs.

Lorthan leapt, but Adrien was already there, meeting him mid-air. Their blades clashed, and Lorthan's eyes widened. Adrien wasn't fast. He was precise. Cold. Calculated.

Lorthan twisted to disengage—but Adrien feinted, then let his blade hum with shadow.

A single, clean cut.

Lorthan landed hard, one saber flying from his hand.

He hissed in pain, clutching his shoulder. "You... You've trained in assassin arts."

Adrien stepped forward, blade angled down. "You talk too much. Want to forfeit or lose the other arm?"

Silence from the crowd.

Then—cheers. A judge appeared between them, raising Adrien's hand.

"Victory: Adrien of Ironbrand!"

Damien let out a loud whoop from the stands, clapping hard. Nyxaris, seated behind him, let out a low growl of approval.

Adrien sheathed his sword and walked off without fanfare, shadows curling at his heels.

One round down.

The real war was only beginning.