Rider made his way towards the arena, his gaze sweeping over the growing crowd. Even this early in the day, before the official start of the semi-finals, the stands were already filling with eager spectators. (Each time I come back to this place, it seems more and more people always come.) He mused, a hint of nervousness fluttering in his stomach. (This is the semi-finals, and there are more than two hundred people here. I wonder how many will come for the finals… or when I fight the winner.)
"With that said, I gotta find a seat in the pavilion for me and Aingo, since our usual spot is already taken," Rider muttered to himself, scanning the elevated seating area for any available space. Just as he was about to head towards a promising-looking section, Aingo walked in, his usual stoic expression slightly marred by what Rider hoped was lingering annoyance.
Rider turned, forcing a sheepish smile. "I see you got a new sword. Sorry about last night, though."
Aingo's frown deepened. "You should be sorry. Do you have any idea how expensive my swords are in the market? Plus, my preferred type is incredibly hard to find."
Rider pouted, his attempt at levity falling flat. "I said I'm sorry, didn't I?"
Aingo sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Yeah, you did. Did you at least manage to secure us a spot?"
"Well, I was just about to do that," Rider replied, gesturing towards the pavilion. "Just wait here for me." He turned and dashed towards the elevated seating, leaving Aingo to stare after him, a complex mix of exasperation and a grudging respect swirling within him.
(He has really grown.) Aingo thought, his mind drifting back to the intensity of their training session the previous night.
(FLASHBACK - LAST NIGHT)
Rider had charged at Aingo, his movements fueled by the imagined presence of Zack, just as Aingo had instructed. His attacks were undeniably faster than before, but they still lacked the raw power needed to truly threaten a seasoned warrior.
"Is that all you've got, Rider? Come on!" Aingo had goaded, pushing him to dig deeper. Rider had strained, his muscles burning, his strikes becoming marginally stronger, but still not enough to satisfy Aingo. Just as Aingo was about to call it a night, sensing Rider's exhaustion, something shifted.
Rider had taken a step back, his breathing ragged, his eyes narrowed with a fierce determination Aingo hadn't seen before. Then, with a guttural yell, he had charged again, his sword a blur of motion. "Rider Slash! Blade Cutter!" he'd screamed.
Aingo had instinctively raised his sword to block, expecting another weak but fast strike. But the slice that connected with his blade was different. It was imbued with a surprising force, a raw power that resonated through the steel. To Aingo's utter shock, his own expertly crafted sword had shattered upon impact, the pieces clattering onto the training ground. He had stared at Rider, his mind reeling, a mixture of disbelief and a burgeoning hope blossoming within him.
(BACK TO THE PRESENT)
Aingo's gaze drifted upwards, a faint smile touching his lips as he remembered the feel of his sword breaking. (He's getting there, Dran. Just you wait. He will be the Sword Master soon. I promise.)
"Look, I found two seats! Hurry!" Rider's voice snapped Aingo back to the present. He saw Rider waving excitedly from a decent spot in the pavilion. Aingo shook his head, a fond exasperation coloring his features, and walked towards Rider. They settled into their seats, the anticipation in the arena growing palpable.
Azreal stood poised at the edge of the battlefield, his eyes scanning the contenders' area, ready to commence the semi-finals. After a brief delay, Enshou and Bianca emerged, their expressions focused and determined. Azreal offered them a curt nod. But as he took a closer look, he realized one of the semi-finalists was conspicuously absent.
(Where the hell is Tanker? We should have started minutes ago.) Azreal's internal frustration mirrored the growing unease among the crowd, who had also noticed the flamboyant warrior's absence. Murmurs rippled through the stands. Even Rider leaned over to Aingo, a puzzled expression on his face. "Is he always this late? Where the hell is Tanker?"
A deep, booming voice beside Rider startled him so badly he yelped and instinctively scrambled onto Aingo's lap in fear. "What do you mean? I'm right here."
"Wha-where did you come from?!" Rider stammered, his eyes wide with disbelief.
Aingo, looking thoroughly unimpressed, unceremoniously dumped Rider back onto his feet. Tanker chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. "What a nonsensical question, Warrior Rider. Of course, I came to watch the fight."
Aingo's brow furrowed in exasperation. "You idiot! You are the fight! You're supposed to be on the battlefield right now!"
Tanker waved a dismissive hand. "How rude, comparing me with these… wanna-be warriors. My standards are high. I refuse to engage in combat with unworthy opponents."
Aingo pinched the bridge of his nose, a groan escaping his lips. "Oh, for God's sake…"
Rider, having regained his composure, stood up, glaring at Tanker. "You can't do that! You already signed up for the tournament. You being here now and refusing to continue means you're disqualified. That means these so-called 'wanna-be warriors' win by default, and they advance to the finals!"
Tanker blinked, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his arrogant features as he rethought his stance. "You're right, Warrior Rider. A valid point." He puffed out his chest. "I will participate, just to show them all who truly stands at the top. Thank you for enlightening me." With a theatrical flourish, Tanker leaped from the pavilion, soaring through the air and landing gracefully in the center of the battlefield, leaving the crowd and the other contenders in stunned silence. "Alright," he announced, his booming voice echoing through the arena, "let's not waste any more time. So, who am I fighting first?"
Azreal, recovering from his own surprise, addressed Tanker with a mixture of relief and exasperation. "You need to pick a paper first, Tanker. It will determine your opponent for this round of the semi-finals."
Tanker blinked again, confusion evident on his face. "Pick a paper? Sure, I'll go first then!" He strode towards a small table in the middle of the battlefield, completely misunderstanding the process but nonetheless eager to get the show started.