Chapter 106: Grand Northern Martial Tournament [1]

“How about a glass of wine?”

“Sounds good. It’s been a while since we’ve had something strong enough to knock our heads sideways.”

The Draken Ducal House—usually wrapped in a blanket of cold northern winds—buzzed with an unusual warmth today. Not from the weather, but from excitement.

Even the Colosseum, typically quiet save for the occasional duel or training match, was now alive with noise and movement. Laughter echoed through the stone stands, and vendors shouted over the crowd, peddling roasted meat, fresh bread, and strong spirits.

Today wasn’t just any day.

It was the day of the Grand Northern Martial Tournament—the biggest event held in the North. A day when warriors, nobles, and commoners alike gathered under one sky to witness strength, skill, and blood.

Standing atop a balcony that overlooked the massive arena below, Duke Draken watched the scene unfold with quiet satisfaction. His fur cloak flapped gently in the breeze, and his expression was one of pride.

“Attention, everyone!” came the thunderous voice of Hans, the duke’s right-hand man and steward. “Duke Draken will now give his opening address!”

A hush fell over the crowd. All eyes turned to the raised platform at the edge of the Colosseum.

Duke Draken stepped forward—not with the stiff gait of an old man, but with the commanding presence of a warrior who had weathered countless winters. His voice boomed, clear and strong.

“Greetings, warriors of the North.”

His gaze swept across the sea of spectators. Lords from faraway lands. Mercenaries. Young hopefuls with fire in their eyes. Veterans with scars on their faces. All had gathered for this day.

This tournament wasn’t just tradition.

It was necessity.

For the North was a land forever under siege—from demons lurking in the shadows of the mountains, and monsters crawling from beneath the frozen earth. Without strength, there was no survival here.

“That is why we gather,” the Duke continued. “To find the strong. To recognize them. To reward them.”

The tournament was open to anyone. A farmer’s son, a disgraced knight, a noble heir—it didn’t matter. If they had the strength, they could claim glory here. And if they were lucky… even join the ranks of the ducal guard, or earn a title.

To ensure participation, the Duke had done something few others dared—he opened the vaults of House Draken.

Artifacts, weapons, ancient relics passed down through generations—were all placed as prizes for this tournament. That alone had drawn warriors from across the Empire.

Ambition, honor, greed, desperation.

So many motivations. And yet, each of them gave life to the spectacle unfolding today.

“I imagine many of you have been wondering what the grand prize for this year’s tournament will be,” Duke Draken said, his voice dropping slightly, but carrying a weight that drew the entire Colosseum’s attention.

The nobles already knew, thanks to whispers in the halls and taverns. But for the rest, this was the moment they had waited for.

Duke Draken raised a hand over Colosseum and continue to address the audiance.

“The winner of this tournament will have right to enter the Draken Vault and can choose any one artifact!”

– Wow!

– Vault? Did he just say ’vault’?

A ’vault entry’.

Not just something predetermined by the ducal house, but a privilege for the victor to choose any one treasure stored in the legendary Draken Vault.

A stunned silence spread through the Colosseum—only to be broken a breath later by an explosion of cheers.

– “Is he serious?!”

– “The Vault? That’s insane!”

– “Even a high noble wouldn’t be allowed inside without permission!”

The stands shook with noise, disbelief, and wild excitement. People shouted, stomped, clapped, and hollered as if their roars could shake the heavens.

Veterans looked at each other in awe, while rookies trembled—not from fear, but from the overwhelming possibility that now shimmered before them.

In that instant, the North wasn’t just cold, harsh land anymore.

It was a promised land.

A proving ground.

Duke Draken let the cheers echo for a moment, then raised one hand.

Silence fell once more—like snow blanketing a battlefield.

“But remember,” he said, voice firm, cutting through the air like a blade. “Only the strong shall earn it. Only the one who rises above all.”

A final wave of murmurs passed through the crowd, and then—

“LET THE TOURNAMENT… BEGIN!”

A massive, deep horn bellowed across the arena.

Below, the gates of the Colosseum’s underground holding pens began to open.

One by one, the challengers stepped into the light.

Warriors clad in mismatched armor. Cloaked mages with staffs and grim faces. Bare-chested berserkers howling with bloodlust. Even a few masked fighters whose identities were completely hidden.

The Duke watched with a quiet, reserved satisfaction.

It was a rare sight—his people laughing, smiling, and enjoying themselves in the cold, unforgiving lands of the North. A moment of peace, however fleeting, was always something to cherish.

“Now that I think about it… isn’t Alice’s servant also participating?”

His thoughts drifted back to that harrowing day, just a month ago, when his daughter had miraculously returned home—barely alive, bloodied, and shaken to the core. She had survived an encounter with a vampire demon. An upper-class threat. One that should have claimed her life.

And yet, she came back.

Not on her own… but because of him.

That servant.

That boy had used a return stone—on her.

Had he not made that decision, the Duke was certain his daughter would have died that day. No title, no lineage, no sword could have saved her.

And now… that same servant was participating in this event. No doubt at Alice’s request.

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

He remembered the conversation vividly.

“Father, how about giving Julies a chance as well?”

“Even though he’s from the West?” he’d asked, raising a brow.

“He’s practically a Northerner now,” Alice had replied without hesitation. “He trains here. Lives here. And he can even go toe-to-toe with me. He’s going to surprise everyone—you’ll see.”

The Duke had chuckled at her confidence then.

But he didn’t laugh now.

He stood quietly at the edge of the training ground, eyes following the young man in question.

Julies. The servant who had once been little more than a background fixture.

Now, he moved with focus and strength. There was something solid in his stance. A fire behind his eyes. The kind of aura that couldn’t be faked.

He’s changed, the Duke thought.

The West may have raised him, but it was the North that forged him.

And in that moment, the Duke of the North made a quiet decision.

Let the boy prove himself.

Let the North witness what loyalty and grit can become.

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