Chapter 88: One sided Battle

The man was young. Handsome. Dressed in fine silks. A noble, by the look of him. His eyes were sharp. His smile was sharper.

"I’m Lord Sommers," he said. "And you’re Emeric Halden."

"I know who I am."

"Good. Then you know you’re out of your depth."

He gestured at the arena below.

"Look at them. Knights. Paladins. Champions. Men and women who have been training since they could walk. And you? You’re a fluke. A lucky accident. You won the Hunt because you had a good day. You survived the qualifiers because you stayed out of the way."

He leaned closer.

"But you can’t hide forever. Sooner or later, you’ll face someone who won’t fall for your tricks. And when you do—"

He smiled.

"You’ll lose."

Emeric met his gaze.

"Are you done?"

Lord Sommers blinked.

"Excuse me?"

"I asked if you’re done. Because I’m trying to watch the matches."

Lord Sommers’ face flushed. He opened his mouth to respond.

A voice cut him off.

"Sommers. Leave him alone."

They both turned.

A man stood behind them. Tall. Broad. Scarred. He wore simple clothes—no silk, no velvet. Just leather and steel. His eyes were cold. Calculating.

Garrick Finn.

Lord Sommers’ face went pale.

"Lord Finn. I was just—"

"I know what you were doing." Garrick’s voice was flat. "Leave. Now."

Sommers didn’t argue. He stood. Hurried away.

Garrick watched him go. Then he turned to Emeric.

"You should be more careful who you talk to."

Emeric said nothing.

Garrick sat down beside him. Uninvited. Again.

"Watching the competition?"

"No. I’m watching you."

Garrick smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes.

"Good. Watch closely. Because this is what you’ll be facing."

The announcer’s voice echoed across the arena.

"Next match! Garrick Finn! S-rank Vessel! Undefeated in single combat for twelve years! Against — Lord Merrick! Tier 5! Noble of the Eastern Provinces!"

The crowd roared.

Garrick stood. Stretched. Rolled his shoulders.

"Watch," he said.

He walked down to the arena.

Lord Merrick was waiting.

He was young. Handsome. Dressed in fine armor—polished steel, gold trim, a cape of deep blue. He carried a sword that gleamed with enchantments. He looked confident. Eager.

He looked like a man who had never lost a fight.

The signal sounded.

Garrick moved first.

He crossed the arena in three strides. His fist caught Lord Merrick in the chest. The armor crumpled. The man flew backward—twenty feet, thirty—and hit the wall. He slid down, gasping.

He tried to rise.

Garrick was already there.

He grabbed Merrick by the collar. Lifted him. Slammed him into the ground.

The stone cracked.

Lord Merrick groaned. His eyes fluttered. He tried to raise his sword.

Garrick stepped on it. Broke it.

He knelt beside the fallen noble. Grabbed his hair. Lifted his head.

"Yield," he said.

Lord Merrick’s voice was barely a whisper.

"I... yield."

Garrick released him. Stood. Raised his arms.

The crowd erupted.

Emeric watched.

He didn’t cheer. He didn’t react. He just watched.

The fight had lasted less than three minutes.

Garrick Finn had not used a single spell. Not a single technique. Not a single skill.

He had won with nothing but his hands.

Emeric filed it away.

That’s what he would be facing if they ever met.

Garrick returned to the stands.

He sat down beside Emeric. Uninvited.

"Did you watch?"

"I watched."

"Good." Garrick leaned back. "That’s what happens to people who get in my way. They lose. They break. They yield."

He paused.

"Your brother was the same. Beeran. He thought he was strong. He thought he could take what he wanted. And then someone killed him."

He looked at Emeric.

"Someone like me."

Emeric met his gaze.

"Are you threatening me?"

"I’m warning you." Garrick stood. "You have two choices, Halden. Tell me the truth about my brother. Or face me in the arena. Either way—"

He smiled.

"You’ll regret it."

He walked away.

Emeric sat there for a long moment.

The crowd continued to roar. The matches continued. The tournament continued.

He didn’t move.

He just watched.

Emeric left the arena before the next match.

He had seen enough. Garrick’s fight. The way he moved. The way he broke a Tier 5 noble like he was nothing. The warning in his eyes.

He didn’t need to watch more.

He walked.

The streets of Aurelia were quieter today.

Most of the city was at the arena. The vendors had packed up. The bards had found other corners. The children were watching the matches with their parents.

Emeric walked alone.

He passed a temple. A small one. Stone walls. A bronze door. A symbol carved above the entrance—a circle with four points. The four elements.

He stopped.

He didn’t know why. He wasn’t religious. He had never been. But something about the quiet. The stillness. It called to him.

He pushed the door open.

The temple was empty. A single candle burned on the altar. The air smelled of incense and old stone. Light filtered through high windows, casting long shadows across the floor.

Emeric sat in the back. On a wooden bench. He didn’t pray. He didn’t know how. He just sat.

He thought about Isolde.

Her face. Her smile. The way she looked at him when she thought he wasn’t paying attention. The way she laughed. The way she held his hand.

He thought about the promise he had whispered in her ear.

He was going to win and give her all that she could ask for.

He would keep it.

But Garrick Finn stood in his way.

He left the temple.

The sun was high now. The city was waking up again. The matches would continue for hours. But Emeric didn’t return to the arena.

He found a small park. A bench beneath a tree. He sat.

He reached for the system.

---

[STATUS — EMERIC HALDEN]

TIER: 6th (28% → 5th)

STRENGTH: 74

AGILITY: 72

MANA: 71

MANA CORE: Active

DEVOTION POINTS (DP): 3708

---

He stared at the numbers.

He wanted to see how much stronger he had gotten. Would it be enough?

Tier 6. All his stats were above seventy. He was strong. Stronger than most. Stronger than he had ever been.

But Garrick Finn was S-rank.

And Emeric was not.

He closed the system.