The silence in the Proving Grounds was heavy, a suffocating blanket that smelled of dust and Marcus's blood. The medics had carried the broken swordsman away, but the image of his defeat—the sheer, mechanical brutality of it—lingered in the eyes of every Azurefall student like a burn scar.
"Round One to the Iron-Clad," Headmaster Joric announced, his voice booming with satisfied pride. He leaned over the railing, looking down at the silent blue sea of robes. "Do not despair, Azurefall. Perhaps your next champion will have... thicker bones."
A ripple of angry, frightened murmurs went through the Azurefall stands, but it was weak. Fear had taken root.
"Round Two!" Joric bellowed. "Sarahn... The Iron-Wall!"
