Chapter 287: One Man Team
Caprion let the hush deepen until every rustle died away, then lifted his chin and addressed the field.
"We have long been aware of the Outer Region’s tradition—settling disputes and establishing hierarchy through inter-race tournaments. The Honorable Wanderer Merchant recommends the same approach. In fact, before the Legacy Domain opens, he personally hopes to witness a fine display from the young generation of his birthplace."
Though the goatman’s tone was courteous, the meaning was ironclad: the Wanderer Merchant—still unseen—was already watching and intended to enjoy a tournament first.
"We accept."
The reply rose from several directions at once, steady and unhesitating.
Leaders spoke for their peoples; the 4 titled Practitioners were among them. None here was strangers to such contests, and all understood that, given the crowd and the stakes, this remained the most workable method.
Seeing their willingness, the goatman—Caprion—inclined his head in crisp satisfaction.
Hooves clicked once on the packed earth as he shifted his stance. "As for the rules," he continued, voice carrying cleanly, "they are traditional, with one addition. Not every candidate excels at raw, individual combat; some are supports whose value cannot be ignored. Therefore, I ask each leader to divide their candidates into groups of 5. The tournament will proceed in 5-person teams."
Liora stopped short at that. She drew a breath, then let her voice cut through the quiet—loud enough to carry, controlled enough to show respect. "What of those who cannot form 5?" She indicated Adyr with a small, deliberate gesture. "As you can see, we have only 1 candidate; we cannot assemble a 5-member team."
Caprion listened without interruption, then nodded—understanding in his eyes, firmness in his tone. "I recognize your concern. However, this clause is the Honorable Wanderer Merchant’s special request. It stands. In your case, your ’five’ will consist of 1."
Murmurs rolled outward like surf, and not only from the Velari. Several kingdoms had brought fewer than 5 Rank 1 or Rank 2 candidates; others had awkward totals that wouldn’t divide cleanly into teams of 5.
For example, a delegation with 12 candidates could form 2 full teams—leaving a third with only 2. Heads tilted toward leaders and advisors; mental arithmetic flickered across set faces.
In an instant, the advantage became obvious. The top 3 races, having arrived with hundreds, could field 20 or more five-person teams and push far more people into the Legacy Domain. Meanwhile, Velari and a handful of others would struggle to assemble even a single complete team.
Most considered the rule unfair, though no one raised a protest. Caprion had said it cleanly and publicly: this was the Wanderer Merchant’s personal request. To object was to challenge the host’s will.
Not everyone was displeased. Sevrak sat easily upon the Black Dragon, a sly smile turning the corner of his mouth.
The dragon’s dark wings made a low, leathery whisper as it shifted, and Sevrak looked every inch the self-assured predator who’d just been handed favorable terrain. "Liora the Earthshaker," he called, voice warm with false generosity, "if you wish, I can lend some of my children. What do you say?"
His offer rang generous, even sincere, yet it convinced no one—his reputation was common knowledge: he was no altruist, only selfish to the core.
Liora’s brow knit. "This is your doing, isn’t it?"
She had known about his visit to the marketplace the day before and had heard that he’d requested a private audience with the Wanderer Merchant.
She had not known the content of that conversation. Now she understood. Sevrak had pressed for a rule that favored those who arrived in numbers and punished those who came with few—but strong—candidates.
Her accusation carried across the field, clear enough for every race to hear.
Many already disliked Sevrak; now their eyes hardened, edges sharpening into open malice. Still, silence held.
Heat pressed down from the sun as a dry wind skimmed the plain and died. Silence gathered. Everyone understood: the rule would not change, and there was nothing to be done.
"What do you think?" Liora shifted her gaze to Adyr, who waited like stone—unmoving and silent, only observing without a flicker.
She understood that although a tournament sounded friendly and merely procedural—a way to select the top 200—fights between Practitioners were never harmless, even at low ranks.
The risk of death was real, and the chance of crippling injury was even higher. Because this format required him to stand alone against five-person teams, Adyr’s decision would be final and carried the greatest weight.
"It’s fine with me," Adyr answered, his tone casual and steady, free of both arrogance and fear.
From the moment he arrived, he had been studying every potential candidate from atop Collossith, matching each face to the report Vesha had provided.
In his mind, the list had already begun to order itself, ranking names alongside affinities, likely stat profiles, and combat tendencies, and arranging their potential strengths accordingly.
He was not reckless enough to judge without seeing their power firsthand, yet he felt confident. There were strong contenders among them, and facing full five-person squads would not always be easy, but he would not be defeated.
Even if he could not reveal the more conspicuous abilities granted by his bloodline talents before so many witnesses, the raw stats those talents provided were sufficient to put him above the rest for now, and he had no doubt they would carry him into the top 200.
"If everyone is satisfied with the arrangement and there are no objections, you have 30 minutes to form your teams," Caprion announced. No dissent followed. He inclined his head once, turned on his hooves, and disappeared back into the great tent.
With the announcement over, every race fanned out to form teams.
Names were counted and recounted, and elders sketched quick formations in the dust. Under the hard sun and a thinning wind, orders passed in low, steady voices while groups rearranged themselves with purposeful urgency.
Races with few Practitioners didn’t have much to decide: they put their best geniuses into one team and placed the rest into a second or third team if possible.
Races with many candidates—some nearing a hundred—took much longer to organize. Their leaders assembled squads with care, mixing front-liners to hold ground, supports to reinforce, healers to sustain, controllers to tilt the field, and scouts to gather information—all tuned to a single aim: to push as many of their own as possible into the top 200.
For the Velari, the thirty minutes were the simplest of all: with Adyr forming a one-person team, they passed the time talking quietly while watching the other races go about their business and assemble their squads.
"Brother," a voice called.
As Adyr waited, he turned toward the voice and saw a familiar figure approaching with a smooth, gliding stride, the fin-like wings along his back rising and falling in effortless beats that caught the light like wet glass, and the blue skin with broad, fishlike lips left no doubt it was an Aqualeth—more specifically Maruun Aqua.
Maruun was not alone. At his side glided another fishman, older and heavier in presence, his skin a darker blue and his fin-wings broader, thicker, and edged like living blades.
Strength showed in every line of his build, and the air around him carried the quiet pressure of command, making it clear to everyone that he was a Rank 4 Practitioner—without question.
"Isn’t that the young heir of the Aqualeth Kingdom—and his father, King Balech Aqua?" Mirela asked, recognition cutting clean through her surprise.
"Lady Liora Virell... the Earthshaker," Balech said, stepping onto Collossith’s vast crown with measured care, neither hurried nor hesitant, and offering a courteous incline of the head.
His voice was deep and even, the kind that carried without strain. "I have come to congratulate you in person. I hope I’m not intruding."
"Not at all, King Balech Aqua—it’s a welcome surprise that you are the first to offer congratulations," Liora said, meeting him with a warm, open smile and a measured, gracious tone that made the reception feel weighty and sincere.
The Aqualeth were followers of the Ignis path, with [Will] as their sole stat—an energetic, forward-moving people.
Maruun, in particular, ran one of the small tents around the marketplace, which meant many races knew him by face and name, and the Aqualeth were known to maintain good relations with most kingdoms. Even so, they shared no special bond with the Velari; that’s why Liora had not expected a personal visit—especially now, when every race was busy forming teams and delivering final instructions.
"I am very pleased," Balech said. "To be honest, I didn’t come solely because I was in a hurry to offer my congratulations; the real reason is that my son urged me." A quiet laugh touched his voice as the gills along both sides of his neck opened and closed in slow, even pulls.
Every gaze shifted to Maruun as he gave a small, tense chuckle—understandable with a Titled Practitioner studying him—and lifted a finned hand to scratch his bare scalp. "Sorry about that," he said. "I was worried for Adyr when I saw that he had no teammates and would be going in alone. If he’s willing, I’d like to invite him to join my team."
At those words, Liora and the other Velari Practitioners exchanged looks—surprised at first, and then clearly, quietly pleased.