Chronicles of The God Slayer of Shadows-Chapter 49 - Forty Nine

The crowd didn't erupt in cheers—it hushed.

Silence held for a breath too long, filled with wide eyes and leaned-in whispers. Many expected a brawl. What they got was something surgical, calm... and unnerving.

"That boy... he didn't even break a sweat," muttered an older swordsman in the stands, tightening his grip on a worn staff.

"Wasn't he just some drifter?" another asked, voice uncertain. "He fights like one of the border blades... no, sharper."

A robed figure seated near the royal box leaned forward, shadows dancing beneath his hood. "That wasn't just swordplay. Did you see the way the ground dimmed under him?"

An elf noble scoffed. "Parlor tricks. Probably uses some night-cloaked charm. Still... he was composed."

Up in the guilds' reserved seats, a young Ironbrand apprentice nudged his superior. "That's the same guy Kael tried to scare off, right?"

The superior said nothing, watching Adrien with calculating eyes. "Keep an eye on that one."

Back at the waiting zone beneath the arena, Adrien leaned against the cool stone wall, arms crossed, while Nyxaris lounged beside him in its mist-form, tail flicking lazily.

Damien rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. "Well, I see someone made an impression."

Adrien's eyes didn't move from the entrance to the arena. "I do my best."

"You also made a noble woman's spear explode out of her hand and into the judge's drink."

"I said gentle disappointment. She misunderstood."

Damien barked a laugh and strode toward the gate as the announcer's voice echoed:

"Damien Hearthgrip of Hollowreach!"

The crowd perked up again. Damien wasn't unknown. Word of his destructive spellwork had trickled through the practice grounds like smoke under a door.

His opponent was a stone-skinned mercenary from the northern mountains—massive, armored, and wielding a hammer big enough to flatten a barn. The crowd favored the brute.

Until the first spell hit.

Damien raised his palm, flame swirling, then vanished—blinked—behind the mercenary and detonated a precision burst right beneath the man's boot.

The hammer crashed down uselessly on air.

The match turned theatrical—flames dancing along the arena walls, spells sparking off conjured sigils. Damien moved with a smile, relishing the flow, a sorcerer playing with rhythm and tempo. He wasn't just powerful—he was fun to watch.

By the end, the mercenary was scorched, exhausted, and flat on his back, groaning. Damien blew a stray lock of hair from his face and gave a small bow.

"Still got it," he muttered, walking back toward Adrien with his usual lopsided grin.

Adrien handed him a flask. "Not bad. You missed a spot, though."

Damien took a swig and smirked. "Please. I was saving that wall for someone else."

The crowd had thinned, the tournament grounds beginning to settle with the sun. Adrien and Damien exited the contestant tunnel, the stone beneath their boots still warm from the day's heat. Nyxaris prowled ahead lazily, ears perked.

"Drinks are in order," Damien said, stretching. "And not the watered-down stuff."

Adrien smirked, brushing soot off his coat. "You say that like you didn't almost roast yourself with your third spell."

"I meant to light the judge's quill on fire. He wasn't writing fast enough."

They turned a corner toward the Ironbrand camp when a quiet voice halted them.

"You two carry blades like men who've earned them."

A tall figure stepped from the shadow of a broken statue near the old tournament arch. Clad in a long, charcoal-gray cloak, the man bore a curved longsword sheathed in black lacquer, runes faintly glowing along the hilt. His face was weathered but calm, with sharp eyes like chipped obsidian.

Damien raised a brow. "Friend of yours?"

Adrien didn't answer immediately, his eyes narrowing. There was something... familiar.

The man gave a polite nod. "No need for alarm. I've watched your matches. Impressive restraint. You're not from the usual schools."

"Is that your way of saying I fight dirty?" Adrien asked flatly.

A quiet chuckle. "On the contrary. You fight with precision... like someone who's trying to remember how they used to fight."

Adrien blinked, just once.

That struck too close.

The man stepped forward and inclined his head. "My name is Kaelen Veyr. A former instructor of the Eclipse Watch... and a swordsman who once served under Ardonis, the Celestial of Shadows."

Adrien's eyes flicked to Nyxaris, who was already staring at Kaelen with ears alert.

Kaelen smiled faintly. "I believe you and I may share more than just a taste for shadowed steel."

Damien tilted his head, half-whispering to Adrien. "You make new friends way too easily. First a wolf-demon, now a sword ghost from the moon."

Adrien grinned sideways. "At least this one doesn't drool on my boots."

Kaelen chuckled again. "If you're both willing, I'd like to offer a sparring session. No fanfare. Just steel and silence."

Adrien met his eyes, the curiosity in him undeniable. "...Tomorrow. Training grounds, dawn."

Kaelen nodded once. "Good. Let's see what else lies buried in your reflexes."