Northern's gaze rested impassively on the smooth gash carved across the arena floor, stretching from the point of impact all the way to the far edge. It looked as though half the stage was on the verge of splitting in two.
Then, slowly, he shifted his eyes back to Kaelan—who was now tapping the flat of his sword against his shoulder, chin raised, eyes brimming with satisfied glee.
"See? Told you… I wasn't joking with you."
Northern remained silent.
Was he taking Kaelan lightly?
Not exactly. He wouldn't be that disrespectful—not to someone who had at least earned a place on the stage.
But that didn't mean Kaelan's constant yapping or noble pride mattered in the slightest. The truth was simple: Northern had treated every opponent with the same cold efficiency.
And the fact that he could keep up with Kaelan's high-speed movements in his current weakened state only proved what he suspected from the start—
The boy was average at best.
