The crowd thickened as the tournament progressed.
Cain and Callum moved through the brackets like wind through reeds—graceful, swift, efficient. Neither sought to hurt their opponents, only to subdue them. Their strikes were precise. Their footwork, calculated. Each knock-out was clean, and their respect toward every fallen opponent won more cheers than the brute strength of others.
By midday, both stood undefeated.
Callum had felled a towering woodsman with a single shoulder throw and disarmed a quick-bladed street brawler using only timed pivots and his bracers. Cain's victories were just as swift, if not more surgical. His use of momentum and pressure points stunned even the druid hosting the event.
Calanthe watched from the edge of the ring, arms folded, smiling faintly but eyes scanning for danger. There was always a catch with these things.
Then Cain's final opponent before facing Callum stepped into the ring.
The drunk.
The same dockhand who had insulted him days prior, now shirtless and sneering, his lip split from an earlier bout, knuckles bruised. He looked at Cain with the same venom in his eyes, but this time, in front of a crowd, he felt emboldened.
"Witcher freak," the man spat, pacing in a slow circle. "Elven half-breed son of a whore. Not even a real man. Bet you didn't earn that sword or those eyes. Probably begged for 'em."
Cain said nothing, his golden eyes calm.
"And that red-haired girl you got followin' you around? When I win this potion, maybe I'll pay her a visit. Show her what a real man looks like."
Calanthe narrowed her eyes, her lips curling in disgust.
Cain tilted his head slightly. "Are you done?"
The drunk lunged forward suddenly, his punch cracking against Cain's jaw.
Cain didn't move.
Didn't flinch.
Didn't even blink.
Then Cain stepped in and answered with a single, fluid punch—a tight, turning strike to the chin. The drunk dropped like a felled tree, unconscious before he hit the dirt.
The crowd gasped. Then roared.
Calanthe smirked from the sidelines. "Show-off."
Cain shrugged and walked off the ring, jaw untouched, expression unreadable.
Callum was already waiting in the final ring, hands on his hips. But something in his stance was different.
The bright smile Cain always saw—that sense of good-hearted cheer—was gone.
Callum looked cold. Focused.
Cain narrowed his eyes.
"You good?"
Callum nodded. "I'm fine. Just one thing, Cain."
He stepped forward.
"We're brothers. You know that. But... I'm gonna need you to not pass out too quickly today."
Cain blinked. "Why?"
Callum exhaled slowly, flexing his fingers.
"Because I need to let out some anger. About what you did with my mom."
Cain's expression froze.
And the crowd cheered as the final match began.
The crowd thickened as the tournament progressed.
His fist slammed into Cain's stomach, knocking the air out of him. Cain staggered, then caught a jab to the jaw, followed by a spinning back elbow that rattled his skull.
Callum wasn't fighting to win.
He was fighting to vent.
Every blow was calculated. Controlled. Angry.
Cain had fought monsters, mages, and veteran Witchers in training—but Callum? Callum was something else.
He was fast.
Not wild, not berserk. Tactical.
Cain tried to roll with the punches, but Callum was relentless. He hammered Cain with a series of body shots, mixing high and low, switching stances mid-combo. A knee to the ribs. An uppercut. A low kick.
Cain staggered. Blood smeared his lip. His breath came ragged.
He didn't raise his hands.
Not yet.
From the edge of the ring, Cain caught Calanthe's smirk. She was watching, arms crossed, eyes alight with sadistic amusement.
Callum cracked his knuckles. "Still breathing?"
Cain nodded, spitting blood. "Barely."
"Good."
Another flurry.
Cain blocked one strike, took the next two. He grunted as a right hook caught his cheek and sent him spinning into the dirt.
The crowd winced.
Callum stepped back, chest heaving. He wiped sweat from his brow.
Cain slowly rose.
His eyes sharpened.
> [Trait Activated: Cold-Blooded]
Focus stabilized.
Adrenaline spike suppressed.
Critical response window extended.
Cain exhaled slowly, his vision clearing. The ache faded to background noise. His muscles steadied.
He adjusted his stance.
Callum blinked. "Alright. Round two."
They clashed.
Cain moved sharper now. He ducked a right cross, countered with a hook to Callum's ribs. He spun, planting a knee into Callum's chest.
Callum grunted and swung wide. Cain blocked, then headbutted him—stunning both of them.
They separated.
The crowd roared.
Then Cain surged forward. He weaved under Callum's punch, wrapped his arms around his waist, and lifted.
The suplex rattled the ring.
Callum groaned, dazed.
Cain didn't stop. He locked his legs around Callum's torso, arms around his throat.
A chokehold.
Callum thrashed.
Cain squeezed tighter.
Seconds passed. Callum's movements slowed—then ceased.
The druid entered quickly, checking the unconscious Callum's pulse, then lifted his hand.
"Winner: Cain "
The crowd erupted into cheers and whistles.
Calanthe finally smiled, genuinely this time. Cain sat back, exhausted, his body screaming.
The druid and sorceress moved to him, casting gentle spells to mend bruises and reset his broken nose. Callum was healed too, groggily waking with a wince.
"Damn," he muttered. "You really didn't hold back."
Cain offered him a tired grin. "You said not to pass out. So I didn't."
The sorceress approached, holding a small ceremonial vial glowing with golden light.
"You earned this, Cain. The ritual is yours."
Cain took the vial with reverence.
> [Quest Complete: Contest of Vital Flame] Reward Gained: Gold, rare alchemical ingredients, +1 Stat Point.
He drank it in one gulp. then saw a notification Potion of Vital Flame (Strength +1, Endurance +1, Agility +1)
Ritual of Flame bond (Longevity Buff: Cellular resilience enhanced. Aging reduced by 30%.)
+1 Stat Point Earned
Power surged through him—not like alchemy, but like controlled fire awakening in his veins. He felt his heart beat once, then steady with precision.
He looked over at Callum, who grinned weakly.
"Next time," Callum muttered, "I'm not telling you to stay conscious."
Cain laughed.
They stood side by side, bruised but grinning.