It really is a tournament arc.

The Ashen Wing Tournament. It was a tournament held every other year in the capital city about a month after the Mending Festival. Entry was open to anyone between the ages of 15 - 20 but sixteen out of the thirty-two spots were reserved for interested noble families. The purpose of the event was entertainment and, according to Alexandra, to shine a spotlight on up and coming warriors from the participating noble houses.

The three of them, covered by brown cloaks, pushed through groups of people stretching and winding around the streets. Lucky, quick-witted, and possibly wealthy vendors called to the excitable citizens, tempting them with bobbling trinkets and fresh ready to eat foods. One seller calmly fanned the meat skewers grilling over a small fire while regaling a random fellow with the tale of a mighty boar he hunted just the other day. As the smell wafted over to passersby, eyes and noses, attuned with their stomachs, turned to him.

Some tried appealing to their betting side. “Come to me and I can predict the winners of the first round,” a woman cladded in bright colors and a hood said.

Others saw an opportunity to be free of leftover merchandise. “You there, Young Man. Did you lose your mask from the Mending Festival? I have one made in the image of a langqart right here. The hair and antlers will scare away any evil!”

All of this hustle and bustle took place a few dozen yards away from a gigantic colosseum decorated with five different banners. Of the five, he recognized the kingdom’s, that of a pair of wings and claws. It was the most numerous but not the largest. One banner, featuring crossed ash colored wings and a crown of bones overlaid onto a blue background, hung over the main entrance. It was at least two to three times as large as any of the others. If a strong enough wind blew it away, it could probably lift five or more people into the air.

“Which family does that one belong to,” he asked Teal. She was behind Alexandra, pushing apart the crowds of people while muttering apologies and ‘excuse me’s’.

“That’s the Palewing’s family crest,” she answered while nudging away an old woman who greedily held onto her coin purse. “They’re the hosts for this year’s tournament.”

He weaved through the openings created by Teal, “So the host switches each tournament?”

“Yes, the Four Great Clans alternate but it’s not uncommon for one of them to host consecutive tournaments. Ever since the war with the Marharden Empire began, the Palewing Family has hosted the most tournaments. Twice as many as the next family, I think. They really expanded it a lot, Young Master. Usually these would only be in the large cities but there was even a smaller one I got to see when I was younger.”

“That’s good,” he said with a smile. There was an unmistakable joy in her voice.

The crowd thinned out into much more orderly lines near the entrance. Alexandra marched past the people and to a booth where a thin-haired man with a mole under his left eye sat. He gave them a cursory glance before pointing at the other empty booth, “Check in for non nobles is that one over there.”

She produced a small black item from her cloak and placed it in front of him, “We are from the Dubur Family in Rathladan.”

He instantly straightened and cleared his throat, “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize you. The participant is Dewy Dubur, is that correct?”

Kieran held back a chuckle, “That’s me.”

Under the window of the booth, he pulled out a badge with the number “4” engraved. He signaled one of the guards waiting a bit further inside the colosseum and the guard led them to the waiting room. It had a skylight chandelier hanging over a massive table laid out with an entire feast. The table itself had no seating but expensive looking furniture was placed all over.

Of the thirty-two participants, fifteen, including himself, were already there. The nobles of the bunch were easy to spot. They were followed by small retinues and wore the type of gaudy clothing he never touched. Most seemed fifteen or under.

The non-nobles occupied the corners and smaller areas of the room. They were, on average, older looking, the youngest one being sixteen by his guess. They kept to themselves as they slowly picked at their food. A bearded man had a tear in his trouser stitched up by a girl with freckles.

Alexandra chose a seat for him near the entrance and away from anyone else. Despite being out of the way, one of the participants from the nobility camp, a kid with light brown hair, walked over with his four attendants.

“I’m Bilal Ganton,” the boy said with an overly wide grin. “Which noble house are you from?”

He glanced at Teal who nodded, “I’m Dewy from The Dubur House,” Kieran replied, standing and removing his hood. The two behind him did the same, revealing their dark brown hair tied into buns. Teal’s was loose, with stray hairs sticking out, while Alexandra’s was pulled tight and clean. Teal’s horn was smaller than usual and hidden behind her bangs.

Kieran’s own appearance had been altered as well with some minor adjustments to his eyes and nose. He held out his hand.

“Ah,” Bilal’s expression fell and his already big nostrils flared. “Come to reclaim parts of your family’s name, have you?”

He eyed the boy, confused. Outside of the general location and the name, he knew nothing else about the Dubur House.

“Excuse my rudeness, but how did you manage the funds to travel this far?” Bilal asked.

It went without saying, but he didn’t know anything about that either. Teal woke him up like she always did and they left the palace not too long ago. Something did shock him on the way there, though. Apparently they were only supposed to watch the tournament, not participate in it.

Struggling to find the words, he signaled for their help.

“We were invited by the Overlord,” Teal said.

His face wrinkled in disgust, “Was I speaking to you? Hmph, you should throw away that servant of yours. Whether your family’s coffers are thin or not, people who do not know their place have no standing in a noble house. I can only infer you keep her beside you because of her… aesthetics.”

“You better watch your mouth,” Kieran snapped, prompting a pair of cold eyes to land on him. “I’m not getting rid of her.”

He snorted, “I pity you, so I thought I’d provide guidance. I should have known better. While you occupy the bottom of the nobility, down there with those thieves who bought their titles, you are nobility nonetheless. Don’t embarrass us by losing to the peasants huddled in their little corners.”

The little prick and his retinue left. They returned to the table filled with food and he struck up a new conversation with another noble.

“Do not bring too much attention to yourself. Should any of them question your identity, our participation in this tournament will be put under question,” Alexandra said.

He huffed in reply. The kid may have been between the ages of fifteen or sixteen but he was way too arrogant.

I should’ve put him in his place.

Too bad it was too late and probably not worth it.

“Are you hungry, Young Master?”

“A little bit. I’m not sure about eating before a fight, though,” he cupped his chin, “Are you hungry? I can go bring you some food if you want.”

“Thank you, Young Master, but I can go by myself.”

He waved his hand, telling her it was fine, “Let’s go together then.”

“Are you sure? I thought you didn’t want to eat?”

“Meh, I decided that a little food might be good. Are you coming too?” he asked the stone-faced caretaker.

“No, I have already eaten.”

He shrugged. Whatever suited her was fine with him. She most likely had a diet to maintain or something. “Hey,” he suddenly called out. “How old is Alexandra?” Considering the time she’d need to make a name for herself included, early thirties seemed the most reasonable.

Teal took a moment to think, “Hm… I’ve never asked but I remember hearing about her ever since I was a child. Uncle mentioned her a few times whenever he came back to attend the Mending Festivals too. Alexandra is probably in her forties by my estimate.”

“What?” his outburst drew a glance from every person in the room, even the person in question. “There’s no way. She looks like she’s in her friggin twenties or something.”

Or does she belong in that group that doesn’t show their age?

“I-I’m simply guessing, Young Master. If you really want to know you’ll have to ask her.”

“Uh, yeah, no.”

They ignored the eyes following them around and leisurely collected a plate of food. His plate was on the lighter side and he balanced it on one hand. Bilal snickered. “Don’t be shy, fill up your plate. The coffers of the Palewing Family won’t suffer because you were a bit hungry.”

The tall girl next to him, most likely sixteen or so, hid her laughter behind her purple gloved hand. She set down her plate, all the food half eaten, and brushed off her dark silk cloak that seemed chosen with the intention of highlighting her blonde hair.

Teal finished gathering the dishes she wanted and they headed back. She was two years older than the blonde girl at most and yet she seemed significantly more mature. Was it in the way she walked or the way she carried herself? She’d been with him for the better half of his childhood, always taking care of him, so maybe that was the reason why he felt that way.

After a while, a new person arrived. His clothes were torn, especially his leather vest. He rushed to the table of food, his lanky figure hunched over as he stuffed himself with samples before filling his plate. A few of the nobles laughed while the ones closer to him recoiled, pinching their noses and gazing at his dark frayed hair. He picked crumbs from the edges of his greasy mouth and sat isolated in one of the larger sofas.

“Excuse me, sir, but I believe you’re in the wrong area. This is for participants only,” said one of the nobles’ attendants.

“I’m, mhpm, parfticipafhting,” he said, shovelling in more food.

A series of claps redirected everyone’s attention. The middle-aged man bowed, “I hope you’ve all eaten well. The tournament will start within the next ten minutes.”

“Wait,” a young nobleman said. “Aren’t we missing a few people?”

“There is a separate room with the other participants.The first event will be a sixteen on sixteen team match. More rules will be explained once it starts. I will be back to guide you once ten minutes has elapsed.”

A string of expletives escaped from various mouths across the room. One voice belonged to Bilal who complained the loudest, “Why do we have to work alongside a bunch of commoners? They’ll only hinder us in the event.”

“You think we want to work with you?” retorted a girl with freckles. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.” Two of the men she was speaking with glared at him as they pushed away from the wall they were previously content to lean on.

“Now, now,” a chubby, long chinned, boy from the noble side interrupted. “There’s no point in fighting amongst ourselves. If we’re like this then we might fail within the first round. While I’m not suggesting we hold tails and hum tunes, we should be cordial with each other.”

Cooler heads prevailed and the groups returned to their activities. Not a single person touched the food since the announcement, save for the disheveled lanky fellow. Even once their guide returned to take them, he held onto his plate, sucking up the crumbs.

“We will be watching,” Alexandra said.

“Do your best, Young Master. I’ll be cheering for you,” Teal followed up.

Through the long hall, they stopped in front of a massive pair of doors. The lanky man had his plate taken away, despite his protests, and they were lined up. The doors opened, letting in an uncomfortably blinding light. Roaring cheer and applause erupted from the crowd. The entire colosseum was packed to the brim, holding tens of thousands. His neck ached just from looking up.

Across the arena, another group of people appeared. Among them a blue-headed pair stood out the most, and not solely because of their hair. They were huge individuals, at least a head above their peers. The two men wore simple clothes chosen for comfort and freedom of movement.

Dividing the opposing teams was the familiar silhouette of an Overlord. With a large, winding, motion he pushed aside his cape and quieted the masses. “Greetings to all of you. I am the host of the Ashen Wing Tournament, Kaal’un Palewing. Some of you may be wondering why there are so many participants this year and that is because I wished to impart the importance of cooperation to these future warriors.”

So we chose a bad year to participate then. If we waited for the next tournament I wouldn’t have had to lie about my age.

“Before we start,” his voice boomed to the crowd but his words were directed at the participants. “Each person will receive a glove with a simple spell circle sown in. Among the circles, three will be different colors and one will have a star. The person with the star will be the ‘king’ of their respective team. Before the start of the event, anyone may switch their gloves except for the one who has the blue circled glove.”

The man who guided them handed Kieran a glove.

Kaal’un then promptly explained the remaining roles and rules. Those with the green mark were the king’s bodyguards, unable to leave a ten meter radius of the king. To defeat someone, their glove must be taken off. Before the king can be defeated, the bodyguard must be taken out.

As for the blue mark, they had multiple responsibilities. One of which involved assigning eight attackers and eight defenders. Attackers were only able to cast the basic bolt spell while defenders could only cast the barrier spell.

Another role the blue mark filled was of the spymaster. At the start of the match, the spymasters would meet in the middle of the arena and ask two questions for everyone to hear. Questions had to be answered with the truth, to the best of their ability, and the two spymasters had the right to refuse one question. Additionally, they couldn’t ask the question “Who is the king/bodyguard/assassin.” They had to ask about different things like their gender or height.

Every five minute interval, the blue marks would then be given another two questions, but instead of one truth and a refusal, it was just two truths. At the end of the questioning all members who had their gloves taken off would be back in the match.

It’s like Guess Who but people come back up.

The last color, red, had the role of assassin. Their spell circle was enchanted with a single use bolt spell that would instantly defeat the enemy king regardless of the bodyguard’s status. If they missed their single use spell or used it on the wrong target, they were immediately out.

“It is possible for the assassin to gain another use of the spell if they are the one to eliminate the spymaster,” Overlord Kaal’un added. “Those who possess the blue mark, please step forward.”

Heads turned in search. The freckled girl started toward the middle.

“Her?” one of the nobles remarked.

Freckles snorted. On the other side, a pony-tailed man came forward. They bowed to the Overlord and the two guides on both sides approached them. They discussed something for a moment and then returned to their respective groups.

“As this is the first large scale group battle in the history of this tournament, and our participants are talented individuals, we will be taking some extra precautions. Blunted weapons will be for this match only. Both sides will now discuss their strategies and switch gloves if need be. Spymasters will meet in the middle once they are ready,” Kaal’un looked at Kieran and winked, “Good luck.”

They all gathered around.

Kieran started, “I’m-”

“Who here has the king’s mark? If it’s one of you peasants, hand it over now,” Bilal said.

No one spoke up.

“I don’t think I’d want you as the king,” said Freckles.

Bilal wore an indignant expression. “Oh, you again? You were lucky enough to taste some success through luck in your life and now you think your opinion matters?”

Kieran tried to step in, “Hey-”

“Are you speaking for yourself?” Freckles retorted.

As young as Bilal was, the veins on his forehead bulged, “You impertinent commoner. Why don’t we exchange a few blows and see which one of us is truly lucky?”

“Fine by me.”

Horns grew out of their foreheads and their fingernails turned into razor sharp claws. Kieran retreated a step. He couldn’t access his demon powers or blessings yet. Getting involved would be dangerous.

“Stop,” the blonde noble girl said. “We’ve had this conversation already. These positions don’t mean anything. We need to focus on winning. Those two with the blue hair are the twins of the Warf Family.”

The mention of the name silenced the other nobles. The commoners, on the other hand, scratched their heads in confusion, trying to recall the name. Still, the abnormal behavior of the haughty Bilal didn’t escape their notice.

“I hoped they wouldn’t appear here but it’s too late for that. If the rumors are true then I don’t believe anyone here will be able to handle a single brother on their own. We need to put our minds together. I’ll start. I think it’s best if we give the king’s mark to the strongest magic user.”

“And why’s that?” asked Freckles.

“So that the king can defend themself.”

It doesn’t sound that bad. They can probably protect against the assassin, but there’s too many downsides. If we’re missing our strongest player then won’t they break through easily?

“What if we used the king to attack?” suggested the chubby noble. “If we instead protect the bodyguard then they won’t be able to win.”

“But what about the assassin?”

“Oh.”

Besides that, if they manage to split the bodyguard and king then the bodyguard might be disqualified by default due to the distance restriction. Plus, there’s no guarantee that our king’s going to be strong enough to push through.

“I think you’re all forgetting something important,” the lanky man finally spoke. He seemed half dazed as if digesting the food took up all his energy. “What’s all this matter if we don’t find out their dang king? Might be smart an’ all to figure out the questions first, you get me?”

He was right. Without knowing who their target was there wasn’t a point in deciding who the king would be and what they’d do.

“Right… We should also figure out the vaguest answers so we don’t give up the identity of our king,” Freckles said.

Bilal groaned, “I can’t believe we have to leave the questions and lies in your hands.”

Hmm?

“You think I’d slip up?”

“Oh no, I know you will.”

“Please, no fighting,” the blonde noble girl pleaded.

“I agree with the fancy chick,” said the lanky man.

“He started it!” she raised her right hand, the blue mark clear for everyone to see.

“No, all I did was-”

“I got it!” Kieran shouted.

“Oh great,” Bilal complained. “The Dubur boy has an idea.”

A pair of people in the group whispered, “Participants are supposed to be fourteen and up, right?”

As all the eyes fell on him he shrunk back, cheeks reddening at his sudden outburst. It wasn’t like when someone’s life was at stake or when he was with Teal and Alexandra. He was alone and none of them knew who he was. Right when he was about to dismiss his own idea, Freckles nudged him.

“What role do you want?”

“What?”

“I asked you what role you want. Attacker or defender?”

“Oh, I’ll be an attacker.”

She nodded and asked everyone for what role they wanted. After taking count, she turned to him, “Now, what was that plan you had?”

He let out a thankful huff and said, “For this plan to work, I’m gonna be king.”

“What?!” Blial’s veins bulged again.

Their guide, who was no more than a few feet away watched with great interest.

“Yeah. Also, I’m going to need to borrow something from you,” Kieran said, holding his hand out to Freckles.