The Contest

“We’ll handle these competitors easily and score high marks in the gauntlet!” Kawn shouted to his brother as he knocked down three contestants at once.

“Yes! That’s the plan. I could use the prize money to fix my house or maybe purchase some land here near you!” Balder called back as he knocked another contestant unconscious by striking him over the head with the flat of his short sword.

“I thought your favorite weapon was the halberd? Why are you using that short sword, brother?” Kawn jabbed as he blocked a blow with his shield.

“I’ll show you why the halberd is my favorite weapon, and I won’t hold back!” Balder shouted as he sheathed his short sword and pulled out the halberd strapped across his back. With a few swift swings, he quickly disarmed four contestants and tapped each one on the helm with just enough force to render them unconscious. “See! This is why it’s my favorite!”

Meanwhile, high above the arena floor, the Dragon Lord watched the brothers’ performance with growing interest.

“Good... very good. We have some skilled fighters out there!” the Dragon Lord said to the announcer, a smile spreading across his face. “Over there! Do you see him? That man has real talent!”

“His name is Kawn, sire. Kawn Renduit is the finest warrior in the Ramadaggan division at Draconia. He’s been honored six times for his battlefield courage and holds the record for most victories in a single campaign,” the announcer boasted. “My brother had the privilege of fighting alongside him before he fell at the Battle of Frug.”

“Watch him closely! I want him when he completes his trials�"that is, if he survives all six days and the final elimination round. That’s exactly the kind of man I need to lead the expedition once we assemble the party for our quest to find the scepter. Tell Bio I’ll require his services after the tests conclude,” commanded the Dragon Lord.

“As you wish, sire,” replied the announcer, his eyes fixed on the contestants battling below as they struggled to outwit and defeat each other. A horn blast signaled the end of the warm-up battle, and attendants rushed to tend the dead and wounded. The crowd watched in fascination as enchanted planks and weapons soared through the air, assembling themselves into the deadly obstacle course. The audience roared as the final pieces locked into position. Another horn sounded, and the gauntlet’s obstacles began their lethal dance. Contestants scrambled onto the platform, forming a queue for the trial.

First up was Spike Hammermore. He charged down the ramp as the crowd cheered, vaulting gracefully over a massive blade that shot up from the floor. He rolled beneath the razor-sharp pendulum and prepared to leap across a yawning gap when a large spiked ball suddenly swung out and impaled him. “Better luck next time, Spike!” the MC’s voice boomed as the crowd groaned in unison.

The next few contestants fared even worse than Spike, falling victim to the pendulum and the massive sword. A handful managed to pass Spike’s final position, only to miss the landing platform or get incinerated by the erupting flames deeper in the gauntlet.

Kawn stepped up to the starting block when a familiar voice cut through the crowd’s noise.

“Come on, honey! You can do it! Beat this gauntlet!” Letha shouted, cheering for her husband.

“This guy looks like he’s about to join Spike on that ball!” a drunk spectator yelled from behind Letha.

“Well, I’ve been watching him, and I noticed he was eyeing the other players real close. Maybe he’s got some kind of system to cheat using magic or something!” said the drunk man’s friend, taking a long pull from his mug of beer.

“Excuse me, fellas! Are you calling my husband a cheater?” Letha asked curtly, spinning toward the drunks.

“Maybe we are, and maybe we, ugh... are!” slurred the drunk as he raised his mug. Letha’s boot connected with the mug in a flash, shattering it against the man’s face and sending him tumbling backward, drenched in beer.

“Are you sharing his opinion too?” Letha asked the other man, already positioning herself for another strike. “No one calls my husband a cheat!”

“Ughhh... No, ma’am!” he stammered, scrambling to find a new seat far from her reach.

“You’ve got this, Kawn! This is going to be easy for you!” Letha shouted from the sidelines. Kawn vaulted, rolled, and lunged past the weapons and traps with fluid precision. He watched Spike swing by on the ball and leapt to the next platform. Dodging streams of fire that shot from every angle, he sprinted to the end of the course where the final challenge waited�"a set of throwing knives lay on a table beside a series of targets mounted on a spinning wheel.

“Kawn is poised to break the gauntlet record. Can he do it?” the MC’s voice boomed as the crowd held its breath. Silence fell when he picked up the first knife and hurled it at the first of six targets. The crowd erupted as the blade found its mark and the target dropped. Letha watched with pride as her husband took out the next three targets in quick succession. “Kawn is currently holding the record! Can he score all the points?” the MC announced. Kawn took a deep breath and threw the fifth knife�"it sailed wide of the mark. The crowd groaned at the miss. “Too bad! He’s got two targets left and only one knife remaining. So much for the perfect score! At least he still holds the record,” the MC declared.

“You can do this, Kawn! Concentrate!” Letha whispered, her voice barely audible above the crowd’s murmur. Kawn shook off the disappointment and gripped the final knife. He studied the targets spinning on the wheel, spotted a pattern in their rotation, then released the blade. The crowd leaped to their feet as the knife struck the first target and ricocheted perfectly to hit the final one, scoring maximum points.

“Amazing! Simply amazing! Ladies and gentlemen! A perfect score for the gauntlet! The first perfect score!” the MC shouted in disbelief. The crowd erupted as Kawn raised his arms in triumph.

“I knew you could do it!” Letha thought, watching the remaining games unfold. The other contestants took their turns at the gauntlet, but only one came close to matching Kawn’s performance.

As the horn signaled the next trial, a portion of the arena floor split with a deafening crack, revealing a sunken labyrinth wreathed in molten glow. Steam hissed up from vents along the walls, and the audience leaned forward as the ground itself began to shift.

Kawn peered down the ramp at the Molten Maze, its obsidian paths veined with glowing lava channels. Pillars of basalt rose and sank at uneven intervals, reshaping walkways as if the arena were breathing.

“Lovely,” Kawn muttered, gripping his b*****d sword. Balder clapped him on the shoulder with a grin.

“You’ve danced across boiling sands before. This’ll be fun,” Balder chuckled, leaping onto a sinking platform that began to glide sideways. Kawn followed as a geyser of flame erupted behind him, licking the edges of his cloak.

Tiles rotated ahead�"some revealing harmless stone, others igniting seconds after exposure. Kawn dashed across one, his bootheel singed. Behind him, a contestant wasn’t so lucky; the tile burst into flame, throwing him backward into a jagged wall.

“Watch the rhythm,” Balder shouted, timing his jump to a rising platform. “The arena’s pulsing like a heartbeat!”

Kawn nodded, feeling the heat ripple in waves. The molten channels widened, and just as he prepared to leap a gap, the platform ahead collapsed. With a swift pivot, he launched himself toward a swinging rope conjured by one of the arena’s enchanted constructs, catching it midair.

Spectators gasped. Even the Dragon Lord leaned forward, eyes gleaming with excitement.

“These obstacles measure more than strength,” the announcer said from above. “They test foresight, adaptability... and a touch of madness.”

Balder, now on the far side, reached a lever embedded in the wall. “Let’s make things interesting,” he said with a wink, pulling it.

Lava surged upward through glass tubes, racing toward the ceiling. The paths began rearranging violently�"walls rotated, platforms vanished, and a new route opened like a blooming flower made of fire and stone.

Kawn grinned. “This arena’s trying to kill me. I might just kill it first.”

As the final geyser hissed behind him, Kawn stumbled onto a narrow stone bridge suspended over glowing magma. The platform ahead shimmered�"and then, with a low hum, transformed. The lava sank from view, replaced by an endless starfield below, and the arena darkened into twilight.

“Looks like we’ve entered the Trial of Wit,” Balder muttered, appearing beside him. Their weapons dissolved into mist. Floating puzzles spun into formation�"runes etched on shifting tiles, illusory doors hovering in space, and a pedestal with a glowing orb at its center.

A voice echoed across the arena�"serene, disembodied, and maddeningly cryptic.

“A hero knows how to strike. A sage knows when not to. Step wrong, and the stars themselves may forget you.”

Kawn eyed the first puzzle: a grid of nine tiles, each labeled with an ancient riddle. Behind him, one contestant stepped on a false solution tile and vanished into darkness, no scream, no trace.

“The answers are in the logic of the phrasing,” Balder whispered. “Remember your studies!”

“Or die clever,” Kawn replied, stepping forward. His chosen tile pulsed gently. Correct.

The second challenge shifted into view�"a mirror maze within a gravity bubble. Kawn’s reflection fractured into dozens, each mimicking his gestures with varying delays. Only one was true; the others mirrored traps.

He stilled his body, narrowing his gaze, and whispered the name of his horse�"a word the true reflection mouthed one beat earlier than the rest. With a grin, he lunged through the correct portal.

Above, the Dragon Lord chuckled. “Not just muscle, eh? Interesting...”

On the final platform, Kawn faced a levitating scroll surrounded by four floating skulls. Each recited a different truth�"but only one was real. The others lied with exquisite cunning.

Kawn closed his eyes. “Truth,” he murmured, “is not in the words. It’s in the reason those words are spoken.”

He chose the quiet skull�"the only one that spoke after he had asked a question, not before. The arena brightened, and the next portal opened, leading deeper into the trials.

As Kawn stepped through the glowing portal, the twilight arena morphed again�"this time into an opulent amphitheater, its tiers packed with shimmering phantoms: nobles in ethereal robes, cloaked merchants with ghostly coin pouches, and warlords carved from shadow and smoke. The air shimmered with enchantment, and a grand dais rose in the center, lit by a golden spotlight.

“This is... strange,” Kawn whispered, adjusting his tunic as a silver mask appeared in his hand.

Balder’s voice echoed faintly from behind. “Charisma’s not just about being likeable�"it’s commanding presence, clever speech, and knowing when to listen.”

A booming voice rang out from above:

“Contestants, behold the Grand Convocation. You must earn the favor of three legendary specters through dialogue, wit, and allure. Fail, and be forgotten.”

Kawn approached the dais. Three spirit-lords materialized:

• Lady Lysatra, mistress of riddles and sorrow

• Duke Verrin, speaker of truths and challenges

• Commander Rocht, whose respect must be won through verbal dueling

Lady Lysatra floated forward. “I seek a voice that can mend grief. Speak to me of loss.”

Kawn bowed low. “When my brother nearly fell in battle, I felt an emptiness claw inside me. But my shield rose. Not just to defend�"but to defy despair. Grief teaches us to protect.”

She nodded, the tears at her cheeks crystallizing into starlight.

Duke Verrin snapped his fingers, a scroll unfolding in midair. “Convince me that ambition does not corrupt the soul.”

Kawn paced once, then spoke calmly. “Ambition is neither light nor dark. It is a blade forged by purpose. It corrupts when wielded for pride alone�"but with duty as its edge, it cuts paths others fear to tread.”

A flicker of approval crossed Verrin’s brow.

Commander Rocht leaned forward. “Then let’s see your resolve. You claim to lead a quest, yet many will die. Convince me your cause is worth their loyalty.”

Kawn’s voice hardened. “I do not seek followers�"I inspire comrades. They’ll see me bleed first, shield last, and rise when all seems lost. My cause is not mine alone; it is the banner beneath which others can carve legend.”

Rocht's spectral sword flashed once, then vanished. “Accepted.”

The golden spotlight pulsed. Applause�"real and imagined�"echoed through the phantasmal audience. The portal reappeared behind Kawn, glowing with approval.

The moment Kawn stepped through the portal, the world dimmed once more. The arena had transformed into a barren wasteland�"a twisted expanse of stone and ash under a blood-red sky. Razor-edged winds screamed through the cracked landscape, carrying the dust of fallen warriors. No cheers. No grand music. Only silence, broken by distant thunder.

A glowing sigil on the ground pulsed beneath his feet. Text appeared above it in the air, hovering like a commandment:

“This trial lasts as long as your resolve. No clock. No help. No way forward until you prove you can withstand everything.”

Balder didn’t follow this time. He watched from the edge, eyes narrowed with concern.

Kawn trudged forward. The ground shook�"then split open, forcing him to leap sideways. A jagged rock gouged his arm, drawing blood. But there was no pause. A blizzard swept through next, ice clinging to his armor, frost biting deep into his joints.

Then the terrain changed�"again.

His surroundings dissolved into a blistering desert. The air shimmered with unbearable heat. His vision blurred, sweat pouring down his brow as phantom figures walked beside him, mocking him with whispers: You’ll fail. You’ll fall. You’ll never reach the end.

Still, he marched.

Hours�"or minutes, time bent and twisted�"passed before the next torment arrived. He faced a gauntlet of stone fists that lashed out at random intervals. Each blow, he absorbed. His shield cracked. His legs buckled. But he rose again.

Spectators watched, stunned by his silent struggle. The Dragon Lord leaned in.

“He’s still standing?”

“Barely,” said the announcer. “But his endurance is far beyond recorded limits.”

Kawn collapsed once more at the base of a spire. From its top, a flag waved�"the mark of completion. He crawled, fingers bloodied, armor half-melted from heat and frozen from ice. With one final roar, he stood�"and touched the flag.

The terrain dissolved. A golden path formed beneath his feet.

“You are worthy to advance,” the voice echoed.

As Kawn steps into the glow of the next portal, he doesn’t swagger�"he limps. But the crowd sees something different: not weakness, but grit. The kind of strength only forged in suffering. The Dragon Lord stood, eyes shining. “He did it.”

A golden sigil formed at the center of the arena, etched with Kawn’s name.

He had completed all six trials�"and now, he would lead the expedition in search of the scepter of Cosiximus Laxitus.

Letha stood and stared lovingly at her husband beaming with pride for his accomplishment.