From Deadbeat noble to Top Rank Swordsman
Chapter 27: The First Crest Duel
The arena wasn’t like the training yards.
It was older. Meaner.
Columns ringed the edge, carved with old dueling crests from before the last civil war. The sand was dark—stained deep with ash and blood. The crowd sat high above, loud but distant, their voices blending into a kind of storm overhead.
Leon stepped through the outer gate.
No applause.
Just murmurs.
Some were surprised he came. Others disappointed.
He didn’t look at them.
Didn’t need to.
His pulse held steady. Blade in hand. The gauntlets Rellan had given him bit into his wrists. His breath was short from warmups, but his stance felt good—low, measured.
Across the ring, his opponent dropped his robe.
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