Chapter 322: The Mountain Tribes (2) The Chief Tournament
The tournament’s first round concluded with a cheer from the crowd as the victor raised his fists in triumph. Lyan watched closely, noting the nuances of the fighters’ techniques and the reactions of the tribe. The mountain tribe’s customs were on full display, a blend of primal strength and deep-rooted traditions.
As the next round began, Lyan stepped into the arena. His opponent was a burly warrior named Grom, known for his brute strength and aggressive fighting style. Grom’s body was covered in scars, each one a testament to battles fought and survived. He stood with a confident grin, sizing Lyan up.
"You small," Grom taunted, his voice rough and deep. "Not much meat. You break easy."
Lyan smiled, rolling his shoulders to loosen up. "We’ll see about that," he replied calmly, his eyes focused on Grom’s every move.
The elder, overseeing the tournament, signaled for the fight to begin. Grom lunged forward, his massive arms swinging with surprising speed. Lyan sidestepped the first blow, feeling the rush of air as Grom’s fist grazed past him. The crowd gasped, clearly impressed by Grom’s strength and Lyan’s quick reflexes.
Lyan moved with a fluid grace, his movements precise and controlled. He ducked under another wild swing, stepping in close to deliver a sharp jab to Grom’s ribs. Grom grunted, more surprised than hurt, and swung his arm back in a sweeping arc. Lyan ducked again, his eyes never leaving Grom’s, reading the warrior’s intentions with practiced ease.
"Fast! Too fast!" one of the tribesmen shouted, his voice filled with awe.
"Like wind! Can’t catch!" another added, eyes wide with excitement.
Grom growled in frustration, his movements becoming more erratic. He swung wildly, trying to corner Lyan against the edge of the arena. But Lyan was always one step ahead, dodging and weaving with a dancer’s agility. He countered with quick strikes, targeting Grom’s joints and weak spots, each hit precise and calculated.
The crowd watched in growing anticipation, murmurs of approval and surprise rippling through them. Lyan’s strategy was becoming clear: wear Grom down, let him tire himself out. It was a stark contrast to the tribe’s usual brute-force approach, and the people were intrigued.
"Smart fight," a woman commented, nodding thoughtfully. "He use brain, not just muscle."