As the sparring match continued, Varron found himself pushing his limits more and more. Each parry, each strike demanded more of his strength, more of his stamina. He could feel his muscles screaming in protest, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
'I can do more!'
But Varron was stubborn. He refused to give in, refused to admit defeat. He pushed himself harder, forcing his tired body to keep moving, to keep fighting. But even his stubbornness had its limits.
As the match dragged on, Varron felt his strength waning. His movements became slower, his strikes less forceful. He was reaching his limit, and this time, he knew he couldn't push any further.
'Tch'
With one final effort, Varron aimed a strike at Gareth, but the knight easily parried it, countering with a swift move that had Varron stumbling back. He tried to regain his balance, to raise his sword again, but his strength failed him. His sword slipped from his hand, clattering onto the ground.
The crowd watched in silence as Varron knelt on the ground, panting heavily. The sparring match was over. Gareth had won.
Despite the defeat, Varron managed to lift his head, meeting Gareth's gaze. His eyes were filled with determination, a silent promise that he would come back stronger.
As the dust settled on the training grounds, Varron remained kneeling on the ground, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His body ached from the intense sparring match, his muscles screaming in protest. But despite the physical exhaustion, his spirit remained unbroken.
Tap,Tap,Tap
Slowly, a figure emerged from the crowd, her steps hesitant but determined. It was Melissa, the maid who had been a silent observer of the match. She held a towel in her hands, the fabric clean and crisp against the dust and sweat of the arena.
"Lord Varron," she called out softly, her voice barely carrying over the murmurs of the dispersing crowd. She held out the towel to him, her hands trembling slightly. She had seen a different side of Varron today - a side that was strong, determined, and unyielding.
Varron lifted his head, his eyes meeting Melissa's. There was a softness in his gaze that surprised her. He reached out, accepting the towel with a nod of gratitude. As he wiped the sweat from his face, he saw the change in Melissa's eyes. The fear was still there, but it was overshadowed by a newfound respect.
He took a moment to catch his breath, the cool fabric of the towel providing a small relief. He looked around at the training grounds, at the crowd that was slowly dispersing. He had lost the match, but he had gained something far more valuable - respect, understanding, and a fierce determination to become stronger.
As Melissa helped him to his feet, Varron couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment. He had proven to himself, and to everyone watching, that he was more than just the cruel Lord Varron. He was a fighter, a warrior, and he would continue to grow stronger.
As Varron slowly stood up, leaning on Melissa for support, he noticed a figure making his way through the dispersing crowd.
".....Father."
It was his father, Duke Eldrige Ainsworth. His stern features were softened by an amused smile, his piercing gaze filled with a strange mix of surprise and pride.
"Varron," he called out, his deep voice echoing across the now quiet training grounds. His eyes were fixed on his eldest son, taking in his exhausted but determined form.
Varron straightened up, meeting his father's gaze. An air of anticipation hung between them, the crowd around them falling silent. Duke Eldrige was not a man known for his praises, and the attention he was giving Varron was unexpected.
"You've shown us something today," Duke Eldrige began, his voice carrying a rare note of approval.
"Courage, determination, strength. You've earned an accomplishment."
A murmur ran through the crowd at his words. An accomplishment from Duke Eldrige was a highly prized reward. Varron looked at his father, curiosity flickering in his tired eyes.
"What kind of accomplishment?" he asked, his voice steady despite his exhaustion.
Duke Eldrige's smile widened, a rare sight that added to the growing anticipation.
"A wish. You may ask for anything within my power to grant."
Varron didn't need really need something right now.Even if he desire something,it was something that even The Duke can't grant.
But there's one thing he need to do,in order to become stronger and at the same time achieve something that will help him in the future.
"I wish to join the Tournament of Light," he declared, his voice echoing across the training grounds.
The Tournament of Light was a prestigious event held annually in the kingdom. It was a grand affair that attracted participants from all walks of life, from noble knights to commoners with a flair for fighting. It was a chance for everyone to showcase their skills, to earn honor and glory.
Duke Eldrige looked at his son, surprise flickering in his eyes. But it was quickly replaced by a nod of approval.
"Very well," he said, his voice filled with an unspoken promise.
"I look forward to seeing you compete."
As his father walked away, Varron was left standing in the middle of the training grounds, a sense of anticipation filling him. He had a new goal, a new challenge. And he was ready to face it head-on.
As Duke Eldrige walked away, leaving Varron standing in the middle of the training grounds, other figures began to approach him.
Gareth, still looking as composed as ever despite the intense match, was the first to reach him. Lucius and Isolde, Varron's younger siblings, trailed behind him, their eyes wide with a mix of awe and surprise.
"Well fought, Lord Varron," Gareth said, offering Varron a nod of respect.
His gaze held a hint of amusement, a silent acknowledgement of the unexpected challenge Varron had presented him with.
Lucius was next, his usual bravado replaced by a look of reluctant admiration.
"I didn't expect that," he admitted, crossing his arms over his chest.
"You've surprised us all."
Isolde, the youngest, remained silent, her small hands clutching the fabric of her dress. She looked at Varron with wide eyes, her fear replaced by a newfound respect.
From a distance, their mother, Lady Eleanora, watched them. She offered Varron a nod, a silent message of approval, before turning to retreat with her husband.
As his family dispersed, Varron was left standing in the middle of the training grounds, the events of the day replaying in his mind. He had taken the first step towards change, towards proving his worth. And as he looked towards the future, towards the upcoming Tournament of Light, he felt a sense of anticipation, a readiness to face whatever came his way.