Quinlan stepped into the arena and stood across from the man.
The air shimmered from the heat rising off the scorched stone floor, but the oppressive silence made the space feel colder than it should have. Thousands watched with their breath held. Some in reverence for the legend of this warrior. Others in anticipation of seeing Quinlan get trashed by him.
The man across from him was a silent giant.
Korrin, Chosen of the Ash Temple.
His bare chest was inked with black sutras, and he wore unnaturally large prayer beads around his forearms like gauntlets. He took one step forward and bowed, low and rigid.
Then he whispered, "I wish you good fortune."
"Likewise," Quinlan said, freeing his saber from its scabbard.
A second gong signaled the start of the duel.
Korrin instantly moved, dashing forward like a charging boar. The prayer beads blurred in his wake. They struck down like hammers of sacred penance.
