Chapter 79: Aithen the Wanderer
The official announced the next match in the tournament. "Our next competitors: Aithen the Wanderer against Lord Elian Orvannis!"
The crowd settled into an expectant hush as the two fighters took their positions. Aithen the Wanderer was massive. He was a mountain of a man who carried his spear as casually as most would carry a walking stick. His weapon was nearly seven feet long, tipped with a sharp blade that was the size of an average person’s head.
Lord Elian Orvannis, in contrast, was the very image of aristocratic refinement. His midnight-blue tunic bore the silver embroidery of his house, and the sword at his hip looked like it was forged for someone whonhad a lot of momey.
"Orvannis is favored to win," one of the tournament officials murmured nearby. "His family produces warriors who go on do great things."
Grim said nothing, he just watched as he studied both fighters. Orvannis’s confidence was evident in his relaxed stance and easy smile. Aithen’s face remained impassive, revealing nothing of his thoughts as he planted the butt of his spear on the arena floor and waited.
The official raised his hand. "Begin!"
What happened next occurred so quickly that many in the audience missed it entirely. As Orvannis began to draw his sword, Aithen moved. Not the cautious circling that most expected from the opening moments of such a high-level match, but a direct, explosive charge that covered the distance between them in the span of a heartbeat.
Orvaniis barely had time to register surprise before Aithen’s spear punched through his chest with such force that the noble’s feet lifted from the ground. For a moment, Lord Elian hung there, impaled on the shaft, his eyes wide with shock and pain.
Then, with a casual flick of his massive arms, Aithen sent Orvaniis’s body flying off the end of his spear. The nobleman’s corpse tumbled through the air before crashing into the arena wall with a sickening thud, leaving a smear of crimson blood on the wall.