The Ironworks was alive with energy as the sparring matches entered another round. Dust rose from the training grounds, carried on the wind along with the sounds of metal clashing and shouts echoing in the crisp air. Free-for-all matches had always been chaotic, but today the energy was even more intense.
Knights, mercenaries, miners, and smiths—all gathered to train for the Season of Fire—moved through the field in a storm of steel. The arrival of outside warriors had upped the stakes, their polished armor and disciplined techniques clashing with the rough-and-ready tactics of the Ironworks residents.
Kalem, standing at the edge of the fray, adjusted the straps on his focus core chest plate. His weapons gleamed in the midday sun, drawing more than a few curious glances. His arsenal was impossible to ignore: an axe and longsword strapped across his back, a standard sword and flail hanging from his waist, and a spear held loosely in his hand.
The whispers began as soon as Kalem stepped forward.
"Does he actually know how to use all that?" one mercenary muttered, elbowing his companion.
"I don't see how anyone could," came the reply. "Looks like he's ready to arm a squad, not himself."
A knight standing nearby scoffed. "Carrying that many weapons doesn't make you a better fighter. It just makes you slower."
Kalem ignored the murmurs, his focus entirely on the match ahead. He stepped into the sparring ring, where the combatants were already sizing each other up. There were no formal rules, no referees—just the understanding that serious injuries were to be avoided. Beyond that, it was a chaotic melee where alliances shifted and every fighter was for themselves.
The starting bell rang, and the sparring match erupted into chaos. Combatants surged forward, weapons clashing in a cacophony of sound. Kalem stayed on the periphery at first, observing the flow of battle. He gripped his spear tightly, waiting for the right moment to engage.
It didn't take long. A miner armed with a pickaxe charged at him, swinging wildly. Kalem sidestepped the first blow and used the spear's shaft to block the second. With a swift, calculated movement, he jabbed the blunt end into the miner's stomach, forcing him to retreat.
As the miner stumbled back, a mercenary armed with dual daggers took advantage of the opening. He lunged at Kalem, his blades flashing. Kalem spun his spear into a defensive position, parrying the strikes with ease. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he disarmed the mercenary, sending one of the daggers skittering across the ground.
Instead of pressing the advantage, Kalem released the spear and drew his flail in one fluid motion. The chain weapon whirled through the air, its menacing arcs keeping the mercenary at bay. A well-placed strike forced the mercenary to retreat entirely.
The crowd watching the match couldn't stay quiet.
"Did you see that? He switched weapons like it was nothing!" one of the knights exclaimed.
"Not just that," another observed. "He's using each one like it's his favorite. No hesitation."
Even Vornar, standing at the edge of the ring with arms crossed, seemed impressed. "Looks like the kid's been putting in the work," he muttered to Tharic, who nodded in agreement.
As the match progressed, Kalem found himself surrounded by three opponents: a knight with a shield and sword, a miner armed with a heavy hammer, and a mercenary wielding a longsword.
Kalem's movements were a blur as he transitioned between weapons. Against the knight, he used his axe to deliver powerful, sweeping strikes that forced the shield to stay raised. When the miner charged, Kalem drew his longsword, meeting the hammer's heavy swings with precise parries. And when the mercenary joined the fray, Kalem drew his standard sword, dual-wielding it with the flail to control the flow of combat.
The match became a spectacle, with Kalem at its center. His ability to adapt to each opponent's style, switching between weapons seamlessly, left the onlookers in awe.
The battle came to an end when Kalem disarmed the miner and knocked the mercenary to the ground with a well-placed blow from the flat of his axe. The knight, recognizing Kalem's skill, lowered his sword and stepped back.
"Well fought," the knight said, offering a nod of respect.
Kalem returned the gesture, his chest heaving from exertion. "Likewise."
The watching crowd erupted into cheers and applause.
As Kalem stepped out of the ring, he was greeted with a mix of admiration and curiosity.
"Where'd you learn to fight like that?" one of the knights asked.
Kalem shrugged. "Just picked it up along the way."
Vornar approached, clapping him on the shoulder. "You've done well, Kalem. But don't let it get to your head. The Season of Fire will be a whole different beast."
Kalem nodded. "I know. This is just the warm-up."
As the day drew to a close, Kalem returned to his workshop to inspect his weapons. The sparring match had been an opportunity to test himself, but he knew the real challenge lay ahead. The Season of Fire loomed ever closer, and with it, the promise of chaos and danger unlike anything he'd faced before.
Still, Kalem felt a growing sense of readiness. Whatever came next, he would meet it head-on, armed with everything he had learned and forged.