The following morning, we found ourselves just beyond the city's borders. A raised embankment emerged from the surrounding swamps, offering solid ground for the upcoming exhibition match. Thousands of eager citizens had gathered, and Lord Griffon graciously allowed our party to join him on a grand wooden stand that overlooked the unofficial arena.
As I settled into my seat, which seemed designed for someone twice my size, Lord Griffon leaned in and whispered, "Everything will be ready in about an hour."
I nodded my thanks and shifted my attention to Soltair, who stood at the center of the cleared space, clad in his gleaming armor and wielding his holy sword. Faint streams of light danced off the blade, giving him an almost divine aura. His first opponent, a grizzled man with more gray than color in his hair, offered a respectful bow.
"It will be an honor, Great Hero," the man announced, loud enough that the crowd caught wind of his words.
