The sun was shining brightly in the sky, not a cloud in sight. It was a perfect day for the tournament, and the crowd was buzzing with excitement. The tournament had already begun, and many skilled swordsmen had taken to the field to duel against each other. The losers were being eliminated, and the winners were moving forward to the next round.
Eryndor, the infamous swordsman with a reputation for bad luck, was also moving forward in the tournament. But it wasn't because of his skills that he was winning. In fact, it was quite the opposite. His first opponent, a skilled swordsman named Sir Reginald, had failed to show up for the duel. The reasons for his absence were unknown, but rumors were circulating that he had been afflicted with a sudden case of food poisoning after eating a suspicious-looking meat pie from a street vendor.
Eryndor's second opponent, a young and ambitious swordsman named Sir Edward, had fought valiantly in his first duel. However, he had exerted himself too much and was now too exhausted to continue fighting. He had stumbled onto the field, his sword trembling in his hand, and had promptly collapsed to the ground. Eryndor had been declared the winner by default, and he had advanced to the next round without even breaking a sweat.
The third swordsman, a grizzled veteran named Sir Lucas, had heard about Eryndor's infamous bad luck and had decided to take no chances. He had turned tail and run, abandoning his duel against Eryndor and forfeiting the match. Eryndor had won his third duel without even drawing his sword, and the crowd was beginning to murmur about his uncanny ability to win without doing anything.
Lord Ravenswood, who was watching Eryndor's progress with growing unease, was getting increasingly frustrated. He had been tracking Eryndor's fights, and he couldn't believe the sheer amount of luck that was going his way. Ravenswood had a personal history with Eryndor, and he knew firsthand about the devastating effects of his bad luck. He had almost been killed by Eryndor's carelessness in the past, and the memory still haunted him.
For a moment, Ravenswood considered quitting the tournament. He didn't want to risk getting caught up in Eryndor's bad luck, and he certainly didn't want to face him in a duel. But then he steeled himself, remembering why he had entered the tournament in the first place. He wanted to win, and he was determined to do whatever it took to achieve his goal.
Meanwhile, in a distant sky, King Arin the Third was sitting on his mythical beast, a flying unicorn named Starlight. He was gazing down at the lower world, a small blue star that twinkled in the distance. His eyes were burning with fire, and his voice was cold and deadly as he addressed his army.
"Men, we have crossed into the lower world," he declared. "Our mission is to find Eryndor and bring his head back to me. I want him dead, and I want him dead now. Search every corner of this world, leave no stone unturned. I will not rest until Eryndor is brought to justice."
The army roared in response, their voices echoing across the vast sky as they rushed forward to carry out their king's orders. The hunt for Eryndor had begun, and it would not end until he was caught and brought to justice.