Lord Summoner's Freedom Philosophy: Grimoire of Love
Chapter 226: The Martial Tournament (2) The Second Round

Chapter 226: The Martial Tournament (2) The Second Round

The first round of the tournament unfolded swiftly, yet it was an exhilarating spectacle for the spectators who watched eagerly from beginning to end. As the competitors clashed in the arena, the audience was captivated by the intensity of the battles, cheering on their favorite fighters with fervor.

For the tournament hosts, the first round served as a crucial evaluation period. It provided them with valuable insights into the strengths and weaknesses of the participants, allowing them to carefully match opponents for the upcoming elimination rounds. By observing the battles unfold, they could ensure that the matchups would be both thrilling and evenly matched, guaranteeing an exciting tournament for all involved.

The first round of the tournament drew to a close, the echoes of battle fading into the evening air as the competitors retreated to rest and regroup.

In the stands, the audience hummed with excitement, animatedly discussing the day’s thrilling matches and eagerly anticipating what the next rounds would bring. The first round had far surpassed their expectations, delivering adrenaline-fueled action and unexpected twists at every corner.

As the tournament organizers convened to debrief, they shared knowing looks, already contemplating the challenges that awaited in the elimination rounds. These upcoming stages promised even fiercer competition, with only the most skilled and resilient fighters advancing to the tournament’s climax.

But for now, they allowed themselves a moment of satisfaction, basking in the success of a tournament that had captured the hearts and imaginations of all in attendance. As they gazed out over the tranquil arena bathed in the gentle glow of twilight, a sense of pride washed over them, knowing they had orchestrated an event to be remembered.

"That was quite the workout, huh?" Lyan chuckled, casting a glance at his group, who appeared remarkably unfazed by the first round. It was evident they had warmed up nicely, ready for whatever challenges lay ahead.

Solia flashed a grin, wiping a trickle of sweat from her brow. "Just getting started! Can’t wait to see what’s next."

Wilhelmina nodded, her eyes shining with anticipation. "Absolutely. The real test is yet to come, but I trust in our teamwork. We’ve got this."

Tesha’s smirk was infectious as she effortlessly twirled one of her knives between her fingers. "Bring it on. I’m ready for anything they throw at us." Her youthful tone belied her confidence, earning a chuckle from the group.

The seamless victory in their first battle spoke volumes about their teamwork. Back in their days as slaves, Wilhelmina, Solia, and the others had honed their skills to perfection, becoming the backbone of their former owner’s forces. With Lyan and Tesha joining the fray, their adaptability and quick thinking only bolstered their effectiveness. Thanks to Lyan’s and Wilhelmina’s guidance, their cohesion improved by leaps and bounds in record time.

"Looks like we’re on the right track," Lyan remarked, a smile tugging at his lips as he acknowledged their progress.

Their confidence was infectious as they reveled in their shared triumph, their bond strengthened by the challenges they had overcome together. However, their moment of respite was cut short as the tournament organizers ushered them toward the designated arenas for the next round.

"We don’t have much time to rest," Lyan said, urgency coloring his voice. "Let’s stay focused and give it our all in the next round. This might be a great chance for all of you to get a whole new chance to live your lives, after all."

Lyan’s gaze shifted towards Wilhelmina and her group. Their reasons for journeying to the empire shared similarities but were not identical. Unlike Wilhelmina, whose purpose was more defined, Lyan’s motives were fluid, akin to testing the waters of settling down. His perception of the empire remained nebulous, though he had gleaned a rough outline.

Through conversations with adventurers, peddlers, and locals, Lyan learned of the risks of living in the empire. Its customs were rigid, and the presence of numerous nobles and authorities posed challenges for commoners. Additionally, the empire’s religious beliefs, which elevated the imperial family to godlike status, troubled Lyan.

"You’re right, Lyan. We’re going to do our best," Wilhelmina affirmed, her hand clasping Solia’s in solidarity.

With determined nods, the group followed Lyan towards the arena entrances. Anticipation crackled in the air as they readied themselves for one-on-one combat in the next round.

The format of the next round differed significantly. The arena boasted ten rooms, five on the west and five on the east. Each room housed a group set to face another in combat. Due to their registration, Lyan and the girls found themselves in the same room.

"Hey, you. Participant Lyan," a tournament organizer called, gesturing towards Lyan. "You’re next."

The arenas were bustling with activity as competitors squared off against each other, the sounds of clashing weapons and shouted challenges filling the air. Lyan stepped into the entrence of the arena, his senses sharpened as he assessed his opponent—a skilled swordsman with a fierce glint in his eyes.

"Looks like you’re up first," Solia called out, her voice carrying across the arena. "Show them what you’re made of!"

Lyan nodded, a determined expression... Well, with a smile on his face, Lyan entered the arena. The crowd watched in hushed anticipation as the two combatants circled each other, each waiting for the other to make the first move.

Lyan observes his opponent before him as his eyes slightly narrowed.

"Hm... A spearman...?" (Lyan)

As Lyan locked eyes with his opponent, he couldn’t help but admire the formidable presence the man exuded. Standing tall and lean, he moved with a fluid grace that spoke of years of dedicated training. His stance was solid and balanced, betraying a deep-rooted confidence in his abilities.

The man’s attire was simple yet practical, adorned with subtle embellishments that hinted at his status as a seasoned warrior. His armor, though well-worn, gleamed in the sunlight, each piece meticulously crafted for maximum protection without sacrificing agility.

But it was the man’s weapon of choice that caught Lyan’s attention—the spear clutched firmly in his grasp. Its shaft was crafted from polished wood, adorned with intricate carvings that spoke of craftsmanship and care. At the tip gleamed a razor-sharp blade, honed to perfection and glinting menacingly in the light.

As Lyan studied his opponent’s movements, he noted the subtle nuances of his fighting style. The man’s footwork was impeccable, each step purposeful and precise as he maneuvered around the arena with ease. His strikes were swift and controlled, each movement calculated to maximize both speed and power.

As Lyan surged forward, his opponent reacted with lightning speed, meeting his charge with a deft sidestep. The man’s movements were fluid and graceful, a testament to his years of training and experience. With a flick of his wrist, he thrust his spear toward Lyan’s chest, aiming for a swift and decisive strike.

But Lyan was prepared. With a quick pivot, he twisted his body to the side, narrowly avoiding the deadly thrust. The spear whistled past him, missing its mark by mere inches. In the same motion, Lyan countered with a sweeping slash of his sword, aiming for his opponent’s exposed flank.

The man reacted with impressive agility, leaping back to evade the attack. His footwork was precise, his movements calculated to maintain distance and control the pace of the fight. With a fluid motion, he spun his spear in a tight arc, the blade gleaming as it sliced through the air.

Lyan remained focused, his senses sharp as he watched his opponent’s every move. He could sense the man’s hesitation, the uncertainty that lingered beneath his confident facade. It was a weakness Lyan intended to exploit.

As the man lunged forward once more, Lyan anticipated his attack with practiced precision. With a swift step to the side, he dodged the spear thrust and countered with a series of rapid strikes, each blow aimed with deadly accuracy.

With each clash of steel, sparks flew, illuminating the arena with a dazzling display of skill and determination. Lyan’s movements were fluid and controlled, his sword dancing through the air with deadly grace as he sought to break through his opponent’s defenses.

The man fought with equal fervor, his spear a blur of motion as he parried Lyan’s strikes with expert precision. His expression was a mask of concentration, his eyes narrowing in determination as he sought to gain the upper hand in the duel.

"Is that all you’ve got?" the man taunted, his voice filled with confidence as he launched a flurry of attacks.

Lyan’s response was a confident smirk as he deftly evaded each blow, his movements calculated and precise. "Not even close," he retorted, his voice calm and composed despite the intensity of the battle.

As the duel raged on, the crowd watched in rapt silence, captivated by the skill and determination of the combatants. Each clash of their weapons echoed through the arena, a symphony of steel that resonated with the spirit of competition.

But beneath the surface, Lyan could sense the tension mounting. His opponent’s movements were growing more erratic, his attacks losing their precision as fatigue began to set in. Lyan knew that now was the time to strike.

With a sudden burst of speed, Lyan launched himself forward, his sword flashing in the sunlight as he unleashed a barrage of strikes. The man fought desperately to defend himself, but it was clear that he was struggling to keep up with Lyan’s relentless assault.

As Lyan pressed his advantage, he saw a flicker of fear in his opponent’s eyes—a realization that victory was slipping from his grasp. With a final, decisive blow, Lyan disarmed his opponent, sending his spear clattering to the ground.

The crowd erupted into cheers as Lyan emerged victorious, a small sigh left out his mouth. His opponent lay defeated before him, his expression a mixture of frustration and resignation.

"Well fought," Lyan said, extending a hand to help his opponent to his feet. "You’re a skilled warrior."