The registration area was alive with energy. A long line of young warriors stretched across the plaza, all eager to test their strength in the Ironblood Tournament. Some were sparring in open spaces, testing their skills against one another, while others showed off their abilities to impressed onlookers.
Ashura and Valerie approached the registration table, where an older man with a grizzled beard and a bored expression sat behind a stack of parchment. He looked up as they stepped forward.
"Name?" the man asked, quill in hand.
Ashura opened his mouth to respond, but Valerie cut in. "Ashura of Clan Nova."
The man arched an eyebrow, glancing at Ashura. "Nova, huh? Didn't know they were letting in kids this young."
Ashura didn't react, simply placing his hand on the table, his black-clear eyes reflecting the man's own face. The official shivered slightly but quickly scribbled down his name.
"Alright, you're in. Tournament starts in three days. Be at the coliseum at dawn for the opening ceremony." He handed Ashura a small iron token with an engraved number. "That's your entry number. Lose it, and you're out."
Ashura took the token and nodded before stepping away with Valerie.
"You nervous?" she asked, hands resting behind her head as they walked through the crowded streets.
Ashura shook his head. He had spent a year training, mastering Cosmic Aura to a certain level and learning the Spirit Flow fighting style. He was ready.
Before they could go far, a commotion broke out near the registration area. A large boy probably a year older than Ashura was laughing loudly, shoving another participant aside. The victim, a smaller boy with brown hair, hit the ground hard, clutching his ribs.
"You're wasting your time signing up," the large boy sneered. "Weaklings like you won't last a minute in the Ironblood."
The downed boy gritted his teeth but didn't get up. The onlookers whispered among themselves, but no one interfered. The large boy turned his gaze toward Ashura and Valerie, his smirk widening.
"You two signing up too?" he asked, cracking his knuckles. "Hope you're better than this loser."
Ashura stared at him, unreadable as always.
Valerie, however, grinned. "Oh, he'll be just fine."
The bully scoffed. "I doubt that. You got that mute look about you. Bet you'll freeze up the moment you step into the arena."
Ashura stepped forward, staring at the boy without a word. He didn't need to speak his presence alone was enough. The bully shifted uncomfortably but masked it with a laugh.
"Tch, whatever," he muttered, turning away. "See you in the tournament. Try not to embarrass yourself."
Ashura watched him go, then glanced at the boy on the ground. He extended a hand. The boy hesitated before taking it, standing up slowly.
"Thanks," he muttered. "Name's Renji. You?"
"Ashura," he replied simply.
Renji blinked, surprised to hear him speak, then nodded. "See you in the tournament, Ashura."
Ashura watched as Renji disappeared into the crowd. He knew that the tournament wasn't just about fighting it was about proving himself. And he was ready.
As they walked through the city, Ashura's gaze kept drifting toward the fighters training in the open plazas. Many of them wielded weapons swords, spears, axes, and even exotic ones like chain blades. He had spent a year mastering Spirit Flow, but the realization struck him: most warriors relied on weapons, and he had none.
"I should learn how to use a weapon," Ashura said suddenly.
Valerie glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. "Oh? Any reason why?"
"Most of the competitors have weapons. I need to be ready for that."
She hummed in thought before smirking. "Good thinking. No harm in broadening your arsenal. Let's go see what the blacksmith has."
They wove through the streets, passing rows of vendors and shops before stopping in front of a sturdy-looking forge. The scent of burning metal and soot filled the air, and the rhythmic sound of hammering echoed from within. Above the entrance, a wooden sign read: Gorrik's Armory.
Inside, the workshop was lined with weapons of all kinds. The glow of molten metal flickered in the dim space, casting dancing shadows on the walls. At the center of it all stood a stout, muscular dwarf with a thick auburn beard and sharp amber eyes. Despite his short stature, his presence was imposing.
"Well, well, look what the wind dragged in!" the dwarf bellowed, his voice hearty. He wiped his soot-covered hands on his apron and looked up at Valerie. "What can I do for ya, lass? Need your weapons fixed? Or looking for something new?"
Valerie waved a hand dismissively. "Not for me. We're here to get a weapon for my young master." She gestured toward Ashura, who stood silently by her side.
The dwarf presumably Gorrik turned to Ashura and let out a deep laugh. "Hah! A little warrior, eh? Alright, lad, what kind of weapon are you looking for?"
Ashura had been silently admiring the weapons displayed on the walls each one a masterpiece. But when the question came, he paused. His mind blanked for a second before settling on something. Something that felt right.
His black-clear eyes met the dwarf's curious gaze.
"I want a scythe," he said, his voice cold and unwavering.
Gorrik's laughter immediately stopped. His expression twisted in surprise, then disbelief. He leaned forward, as if he had misheard.
"A what?"
"…A scythe."
To be Continued.