First Round

Lydia looked in the mirror of her room in the inn, her dark brown eyes staring back at herself. She had to look as menacing as possible.

Her blonde hair was braided on both sides; it was too long, and she didn't want it getting in her face during the tournament. There were a few stray hairs here and there; she wasn't the best at trying to make herself look pretty, but she'd done a decent enough job that it shouldn't get in the way.

She had a pretty face, with a tribal tattoo on her left cheek cheek.

Although she wanted to look tough to fight, she also wanted to be distracting before donning her armour, so she’d worn a leather bralette with plenty of cleavage on show. Her shoulders and chest were covered in more tattoos, a thin tattoo of a sword pointed down into the space between her breasts.

She walked out into the town; her sword and armour had been left with the officials for inspection.

Agrazza was a decent size town, not as lavish as Octoton or Novilla, but it was pleasant enough.

It was built on a river mouth, three stone bridges crossing at different heights and intervals. Houses were scattered around the town, thick, lush green moss growing in almost all of their rooftops. She walked the stairs up to the first bridge, crossing it. A man with dark skin looked at her, his eyes drawn straight to her exposed cleavage. He walked by without looking at her face. Lydia paid him no mind as she continued through the town.

Several teenage boys sat on the rail of the bridge, they gave Lydia a few cat calls and wolf whistles, but she ignored them, continuing on her way to the tournament. When she was the tournament's champion, she'd have people's respect. That's all that mattered.

The most annoying thing about Agrazza was that the tournament wasn't actually in the town, it was out in the fields on the outskirts. The noble ruling family's castle was several miles away from the rest of the town. Lydia could have stayed in a tent near the tournament grounds, but the inn was nice, she liked the ale, and the company. She passed the market stalls and the mill on her way out of town.

There was a short walk through the woods, then she was at the field. Flags flew overhead, representing all the different regions and races of Hellsmere. Lydia felt a bit of a tingling feeling inside; it had been a year since the last tournament. Competing always gave her an anxious, but excited feeling.

The morning sun rose over the tourney grounds, casting a golden hue over the tents and banners fluttering in the breeze. Lydia stood at the entrance; her sword strapped to her side. The crowd murmured as they caught sight of her, some whispering in awe while others scoffed at the sight of a woman among the knights. There were comments about her pretty face, her tits, her arse, how she belonged back home in the kitchen, or on her knees, sucking dick, or how they'd love to bend her over. She ignored them, knowing she was already in their heads.

But Lydia paid them no mind. Her focus was singular, her eyes fixed on the field where her destiny awaited. As she stepped onto the grounds, the cheers and jeers blended into a cacophony of sound around her.

She was armoured by the squires in the centre; as she watched the squires do the same for her opponent.

Her first opponent emerged from the opposite end, a burly man with a sneer on his face. He brandished his sword, taunting Lydia with words she chose to ignore. The signal was given, and the fight began.

Their swords clashed in a flurry of steel, each strike ringing out like thunder. Lydia moved with a grace and agility that belied her strength, dodging and weaving through her opponent's attacks with calculated precision. With each clash, her resolve strengthened, her movements becoming more fluid and confident.

The crowd gasped and cheered as Lydia matched her opponent blow for blow, her skill shining brightly in the heat of battle. Dust swirled around them, obscuring their figures as they danced the deadly dance of combat.

In a swift move, Lydia disarmed her opponent with a deft twist of her wrist, sending his sword flying to the ground. With a steely gaze, she pointed her own blade at his throat, the crowd falling silent in awe of her victory.

The burly man stared up at Lydia with a mixture of defeat and respect in his eyes. She offered him a hand up, a silent gesture of camaraderie that spoke volumes more than words ever could.

As he rose to his feet, the crowd erupted into cheers, their voices echoing across the tourney grounds.

Lydia stood tall, her chest heaving with exertion.

She returned to the inn, full of excitement. Restless. Too restless to relax before the afternoon’s next encounter.

She had more to drink; she’d been able to shake off last night’s drinks, she’d be able to do it again.