The roar of the crowd washed over Drizt like a wave, pressing against him from all sides. His vision narrowed, the faces blurring into a sea of shadows and torchlight. The weight of their expectations pressed down on him, heavy and suffocating.

And then Drizt’s gaze found his father. For a moment, the roar of the crowd faded into a dull murmur. Casil’s face was a mask of practiced neutrality, but Drizt knew him too well. He saw the faint tremor in his father’s jaw, the way his fingers pressed just a little too tightly against his crossed arms. He wasn’t just watching—he was hoping. And that hope was heavier than any blade. ’He’s never looked at me like that before,’ Drizt thought. ’Like I’m something worth betting on.’

His gaze drifted, almost involuntarily, toward Azrynn. She was standing near the edge of the arena, her yellow eyes fixed on the center of the ring—on Adam. Not on him. The sight struck him like a blade between the ribs, sharp and cold. ’She’s not even looking at me,’ he thought, the realization settling like lead in his chest. ’I’m fighting for her, and she’s watching someone else.’

He forced himself to look away, his jaw tightening.

’This isn’t about her right now. This is about me. About proving that I am not weak.’

His breathing slowed. His shoulders eased. His grip on the dagger shifted, loosening slightly, his fingers finding a more natural hold. The noise of the crowd faded into a dull hum, and the world narrowed to the ring of torchlight and the figure standing before him.

Adam’s internal voice carried a note of surprise, laced with something almost like curiosity. ’He’s not breaking. Most would have crumbled by now, but he’s steadying himself.’ A slow, appreciative smile crossed his face. ’I didn’t expect this. He might actually give me a real fight.’

Drizt’s eyes lifted, meeting Adam’s. His voice came out steady, carrying a quiet, renewed confidence.

"I don’t know why you gave me time to breathe. But I won’t waste it. I’ll make you regret giving me that chance."

Adam’s lips curved into a faint, almost approving smile.

"Then show me what you’ve got."

Drizt’s body flowed into motion. This time, there was no wasted movement, no overextension. His dagger cut through the air in a clean, precise arc—aimed to wound. Every ounce of energy was channeled into the strike, his years of training distilled into a single, fluid motion.

Adam’s body shifted, his feet carrying him into a weave, but Drizt’s blade had already changed direction, following the movement with unsettling accuracy. The tip of the dagger kissed Adam’s arm—a shallow cut, barely more than a scratch.

Adam’s eyes widened slightly. A slow, approving smile spread across his face.

"Give me more."

Drizt didn’t pause. He pressed the advantage, his dagger flickering in the torchlight, each strike flowing into the next. His movements were faster, more precise, his footwork sharper.

Adam’s internal voice was quiet, impressed.

’He’s actually good. Most fighters would have broken under the pressure. But he’s using it.’

Drizt’s dagger swept toward Adam’s throat. Adam twisted, the blade passing close enough to ruffle his hair. He retaliated, his dagger tracing a shallow arc across Drizt’s ribs. But Drizt was already moving, his body flowing with the motion, avoiding the worst of the strike.

A thin line of blood welled up along Drizt’s side, stark against his dark flesh. He hissed, but didn’t retreat. His dagger swept toward Adam’s exposed flank.

Adam’s body twisted, the blade grazing his side, drawing a thin line of crimson. He stepped back, reassessing.

Both of them now bore marks of the duel. Blood welled from wounds on their arms and sides, staining their skin and slowly beginning to soak into the edges of their daggers.

Adam’s gaze flicked to Drizt’s dagger, then to his own. Neither blade was fully stained. The duel was far from over.

Adam’s internal voice was quiet, thoughtful.

’He cut me. His dagger is beginning to stain too. And even without my regeneration... I can still feel it.’

A cold smile touched his lips.

’This might actually be fun.’

Drizt’s breath came in sharp, controlled bursts as he steadied himself, his yellow eyes fixed on Adam’s calm, unmoved figure. His mind raced, cutting through the chaos with cold precision.

’With this, we’re even. In terms of attack speed, I have the advantage. I’ll strike fast and wound him before he can counter.’

Adam’s lips curved into a faint smile, as if reading Drizt’s thoughts. His voice carried a note of approval.

"Alright. If this is how you fight, then let’s take it further."

Adam exploded into motion. His dagger carved a silver arc through the torchlight—faster than Drizt’s eyes could track, each strike flowing into the next with a rhythm that was almost lazy, yet impossibly precise. Drizt barely had time to raise his blade before the first clash rang through the arena, the impact jolting up his arm and forcing him back a step.

CLANG—CLANG—CLANG!

The crowd roared, their voices rising with each exchange. Drizt’s jaw tightened as he struggled to keep up, his feet sliding against the packed earth. He could see Adam’s expression—calm, composed, almost enjoying the moment.

Drizt’s internal voice was a snarl of frustration.

’This bastard... he’s doing this on purpose. He’s playing to the crowd, feeding off their energy. He’s making me look like a fool.’

His focus wavered, just for a moment. A flicker of distraction, a split second of hesitation.

Adam’s voice cut through, sharp and cold.

"When you’re fighting, don’t get distracted."

Drizt’s eyes widened—too late. Adam’s blade carved three deliberate lines across his body: chest, arm, ribs. Each cut was shallow, precise—drawing blood, darkening the dagger’s edge, but never deep enough to end the fight. It wasn’t brutality. It was a lesson.

Drizt hissed, stumbling back. Blood welled from the wounds, stark and vivid against his dark skin. He forced himself to breathe, to focus.

’I can still win. I just need one opening.’

He lunged forward, his dagger aimed at Adam’s exposed side. Adam’s body twisted, creating what looked like an opening—a gap in his guard, a moment of vulnerability.

Drizt’s blade shot forward.

It never reached its target.

Adam’s dagger was already there, sliding along Drizt’s blade, redirecting the force, and carving a deep, sweeping arc across Drizt’s torso. The blade bit deep, drawing a cry from Drizt’s lips as he stumbled back, his hand pressed against the wound.

Blood poured through his fingers, dark and relentless.

Adam’s dagger was fully red.

The crowd fell silent. The Elder stepped forward, his staff striking the stone floor once. His voice carried the weight of finality.

"The duel is over. Adam is the victor."

Adam straightened, his breathing steady, his gaze fixed on Drizt. His voice was calm, but carried a note of genuine respect.

"You fought well, Drizt. You have talent. But you need to learn to control your emotions. That’s what held you back."

Drizt’s eyes blazed. His voice cracked with defiance, hoarse and unbroken.

"I’m not done yet—!"

The Elder’s staff struck the stone again, a sharp, commanding sound that echoed through the arena.

"The duel is over, Drizt. You have lost. Accept it with the honor it demands."

Drizt’s gaze dropped to the ground. His shoulders sagged, the fight draining from his frame. His voice came out barely a whisper.

"...Yes, Elder."

He turned to leave, his footsteps heavy on the packed earth, his head bowed low. But before he could take more than a few steps, a firm hand gripped his shoulder.

Drizt froze.

Casil’s voice came from behind him, low and rough with a father’s weariness. "You fought well, son. Better than I expected."

"I lost." He said it quietly, almost tiredly, as if the fight had drained more than just his blood.

"You lost," Casil agreed, his grip on Drizt’s shoulder tightening just slightly. "But you stood your ground. Against a dragon, no less. Do you think that means nothing?"

Drizt’s hands clenched at his sides. "She wasn’t even looking at me. She was watching him the whole time."

Casil was silent for a long moment. Then he stepped around to face his son, his weathered hands gripping Drizt’s shoulders firmly, forcing the younger elf to meet his gaze.

"Azrynn was watching the fight, Drizt. Because that’s what the duel was about—the fight. And in that fight, you showed her something she’s never seen before. You showed her you have the heart to stand up when it matters, even when you know you might lose."

Drizt’s shoulders sagged, the tension slowly draining from his frame. He didn’t look fully convinced, but something in his posture shifted—a small, fragile acceptance.

Casil’s hand moved from his shoulder to the back of his neck, a gesture of quiet pride. "Come. Let’s get you cleaned up. And then we’ll talk. About what you’ve earned today, and what comes next."

Drizt let out a slow, shaky breath. He didn’t argue. He simply nodded, allowing his father to guide him away from the arena.

The crowd’s roar swelled once more, washing over the arena like a tide. Adam’s gaze lingered on Drizt and his father as they disappeared into the crowd. Then, without a word, he turned and made his way back toward his companions.

Alice was the first to meet him, her dark violet eyes sharp, her voice flat with mild irritation.

"What took you so long? I could have finished that fight in half the time."

Adam’s lips curved into a faint, tired smile. "And miss the show? Where’s the fun in that?"

Ignis bounced on her heels, flames flickering with excitement. "That was amazing! You were so fast! I’ve never seen anyone move like that without mana!"

Lilith’s voice drifted over, smooth and amused. "Calm down, Ignis. Let the man breathe." Her gaze swept over Adam, lingering on the cuts. "You’re bleeding."

Isolde’s voice was cool, but there was an edge of approval beneath it. "You handled him well. He’s a skilled fighter, but he let his pride cloud his judgment."

Azrynn stood a few paces away, her yellow eyes fixed on Adam. Her voice came out quiet, carrying a mixture of gratitude and lingering concern.

"Thank you, Adam. For handling this with honor. For not humiliating him."

Adam’s gaze met hers, his voice carrying a note of quiet reassurance. "He has potential. He just needs to learn to channel his emotions."