Luka glanced around, noting the faint glimmer of runes that spiraled along the edges—fail-safes to prevent mortal injuries.
Of course, pain was still very real, but death was off the table.
At least officially.
From the center, the announcer's voice echoed once more:
"The first match will determine the flow of battle—each side shall select one champion to face off! The victor shall earn an advantage for their team."
Luka watched as the main character stepped forward without a hint of hesitation, his armor gleaming beneath the sunlight.
His sword rested on his shoulder.
"I'll handle this," Arthur declared, his eyes locked onto the elven formation.
Nuvian watched him, her expression cold.
Her hair fluttered in the breeze, and her eyes met the human's.
She raised her hand gracefully, signaling one of her men to step forward.
A tall elf with sharp features and braided silver hair stepped out from the formation.
