The next four days, Elias learned more about combat than he had in his entire life.

  Not from doing. From watching.

  The three of them claimed the same seats in the lower stands each morning—close enough to see details, high enough to get perspective. Keya brought her notebook. Tom brought questions. Elias brought [Keen Eye] Lv 7 and tried to absorb everything.

  The Thornhaven Regional wasn't just a tournament. It was a classroom.

  ———

  Day 57 - Novice Bracket, Round 2

  Dirk Stonefist fought again in the morning. This time against a Level 6 Berserker who came at him like a hurricane—all fury, no finesse.

  It lasted ninety seconds.

  Dirk let the Berserker exhaust himself. Blocked, deflected, gave ground when it didn't matter. Then, when the Berserker overextended on a wild swing, Dirk's counter came—precise, economical, devastating. Shield bash to stagger, sword to the legs, follow-up to the chest. Down.

  "He barely moved," Tom observed, awed.

  "Conservation of energy," Keya said, writing. "The Berserker burned stamina in thirty seconds. Dirk waited. Endurance wins."

  Sara Windcaller fought next. Lost to a Level 9 Warrior who closed distance before she could panic. She tried the same fire barrage that worked on Keya. The Warrior had fire-resistant armor. He tanked through her flames and ended it with a shield rush that sent her flying.

  "Equipment matters," Elias noted.

  "Fire resistance gear isn't cheap," Keya said. "Twenty silver minimum. But if you're fighting fire mages regularly, it's worth it. Cost-benefit analysis."

  Finn Quickblade advanced to Round 3. Beat a Level 7 Rogue in a match that was pure technical mastery—two invisible fighters, no crowd noise, just the occasional flash of steel. Finn won. Made it look easy.

  "He's going to win the bracket," Tom said quietly.

  "Probably," Keya agreed. "Level 8 with that much experience? He's a tier above everyone else in Novice."

  But the afternoon was when things got interesting.

  The announcer's voice boomed: "Special Exhibition Match! Before Intermediate bracket begins, we present: A Level 10 versus Level 9 showcase! These fighters have both aged out of Novice but wanted one last match for the crowd! No stakes, pure skill!"

  The crowd roared approval.

  Two fighters entered. Human woman, Level 10 Spellsword—armor and robes mixed, sword and magic both. Human man, Level 9 Monk—no armor, no weapons, just wrapped fists and absolute confidence.

  Elias leaned forward, [Keen Eye] active.

  The flag dropped.

  What followed was art.

  The Spellsword moved like water—flowing between sword strikes and spell casting, blade and magic working as one. A thrust became [Lightning Blade]. A parry became [Wind Shield]. Every motion had two purposes.

  The Monk was liquid motion. No wasted movement. Every dodge was minimal, every counter precise. He didn't block the sword—he redirected it. Didn't take hits—he wasn't there when they arrived.

  They fought for eight minutes. Neither dominated. It was chess at full speed. The Spellsword's magic forced the Monk to move. The Monk's counters forced the Spellsword to defend. Back and forth, escalating, beautiful.

  The ending came when both fighters, exhausted, executed simultaneous attacks. The Spellsword's [Lightning Blade] lit up the arena. The Monk's [Iron Fist] strike caught her in the ribs. Both went down.

  Tie. Crowd went insane.

  The fighters helped each other up, laughing, embraced. The exhibition had been for the love of combat, not victory.

  Elias sat back, breathless. That was Level 10. That was what competence looked like.

  "We're not even close," Tom said, voice hollow.

  "Not yet," Keya corrected. "But they were Level 4 once too. This is achievable."

  "In how many years?"

  "As many as it takes."

  ———

  Day 58 - Intermediate Bracket Begins

  The Intermediate bracket was Level 11 to 25. The jump in power was immediately obvious.

  The first match: Level 15 Knight versus Level 13 Berserker.

  These weren't the clumsy swings of Novice fighters. These were professionals. The Knight's movements were economical, practiced, perfect. Shield always positioned, sword always ready, footwork flawless. The Berserker's [Rage] wasn't wild fury—it was controlled aggression, channeled into devastating strikes that made the arena sand explode with each impact.

  "They're fast," Tom breathed.

  "Attribute scaling," Keya said, eyes fixed on her notebook. "Level 15 Knight has +14 to all attributes from levels alone. Plus Strength and Endurance bonuses from Warrior-type classes. She's probably sitting at 30+ in combat stats."

  "Thirty?" Elias's highest attribute was Endurance at 19. "That's... almost double mine."

  "And she has two classes minimum. Probably [Knight] Lv 10+ and [Paladin] or [Warrior] as secondary. Multiple skill trees synergizing."

  The fight was brutal. Eight minutes of sustained high-level combat. The Knight used [Holy Smite]—her sword glowing white-gold, each strike carrying divine power. The Berserker's [Rage] made him faster, stronger, but reckless. The Knight weathered his assault, then countered with a [Shield Bash] enhanced by [Divine Strength]. The Berserker flew ten feet, hit the sand, didn't get up.

  Winner: Knight. The crowd roared.

  "That [Holy Smite]," Elias said. "That would have killed me. One hit."

  "Yes," Keya agreed simply. "E-rank adventurers die to D-rank threats regularly. The power gap is exponential, not linear."

  The next match featured a Level 17 Fire Mage. Not like Sara Windcaller's desperate flame bolts. This mage cast with precision, control, artistry. Her [Fire Wall] spell created a barrier of flame fifteen feet high. Her [Flame Lance] moved like a living thing, tracking her opponent. Her ultimate spell—[Meteor Strike]—took five seconds to cast and created a crater in the arena floor.

  The binding enchantments barely contained it.

  "That spell would kill all three of us," Tom said flatly. "Simultaneously."

  "Correct," Keya said. She was writing furiously. "Note: At Level 20+, mages become battlefield weapons. Area denial. Mass damage. Single-target combat becomes inefficient. They're siege engines."

  A Level 20 Rogue fought in the afternoon. Elias couldn't even track him with [Keen Eye]. The man moved between [Stealth] and visibility so fast it looked like teleportation. His [Backstab] Lv 8 ended fights in single strikes. His opponent, a Level 18 Warrior, lasted two minutes and never landed a hit.

  "I feel inadequate," Tom announced.

  "You are inadequate," Keya said. "We all are. That's why we're here. To see the gap. To understand what we're working toward."

  "And feel depressed?"

  "And get motivated," Elias corrected. "They weren't born Level 20. They climbed. So will we."

  This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  But even he felt the weight of it. The distance between Level 4 and Level 20 wasn't just numbers. It was years. Experience. Dedication.

  The long way up was very, very long.

  ———

  Day 59 - Advanced Bracket

  The Advanced bracket started at Level 26. The arena officials reinforced the binding enchantments. Twice.

  The first match was Level 32 Spellblade versus Level 30 Monk.

  Elias had thought the Level 10 exhibition was impressive. He'd been wrong. That had been a preview. This was the real show.

  The Spellblade moved like lightning given form. Sword strikes weren't just sword strikes—they were [Flame Edge], [Ice Slash], [Wind Cutter], different elements flowing between attacks. Magic and bladework weren't separate skills. They were one continuous dance.

  The Monk caught a sword strike barehanded. Didn't block it—caught it. Mid-swing. [Iron Palm] Lv 9 turned her hand into something harder than steel. The sword didn't cut. Couldn't cut.

  Then she twisted. The Spellblade lost grip on his weapon. Before he could react, the Monk's [Pressure Point Strike] hit him in seven places—neck, ribs, thigh, shoulder, spine. Non-lethal but devastating. He went down like someone had cut his strings.

  Binding enchantments flared gold. The Monk released. Healers rushed in.

  The crowd was silent for three seconds, then erupted.

  Elias sat stunned. "Did she just... catch his sword?"

  "[Iron Palm]," Keya said, voice distant. "Monk ability. High-level martial artists can do things that look impossible. That's... that's decades of training."

  "She's thirty years old at most," Tom said.

  Two men nearby—grizzled adventurers with C-rank tags—were talking.

  "That's Chen Mei," one said. "Started training at ten. Monastery upbringing. Became a Monk at twelve when she Awakened. She's thirty-two now. Twenty years of pure dedication to the martial path."

  "Her [Monk] is Level 25," the other added. "But she also has [Martial Artist] Lv 18 as a secondary. Both synergize. That's why she's that good."

  Twenty years. To reach Level 30. And she'd started at twelve.

  The math was sobering.

  Another fight: Level 35 Dragoon versus Level 33 Battlemage.

  The Dragoon's spear moved faster than Elias could track even with [Keen Eye]. Each strike left afterimages. The Battlemage responded with area-effect spells that forced the Dragoon to dodge—[Lightning Field], [Ice Storm], [Meteor Shower]. The arena became a war zone.

  Ten minutes. Both fighters giving everything. The Dragoon finally landed [Dragon's Thrust]—a piercing strike that hit with the force of a charging beast. The Battlemage's [Mana Shield] shattered. The spear stopped an inch from his chest, binding enchantments holding.

  Both fighters collapsed, exhausted. Winner: Dragoon, by technical superiority.

  "They fought for ten minutes at that intensity," Keya said, awed. "Their Endurance must be over 40. They have stamina pools we can't comprehend."

  "How long would I last in that fight?" Tom asked.

  "You wouldn't," Keya said simply. "The opening [Lightning Field] would kill you. No saving throw. Just dead."

  Tom nodded slowly. "Right. That's... yeah. That's fair."

  But Elias noticed something. These fighters—Level 30s, 35s—they still got hit. Still made mistakes. Still struggled. The gap between them and Level 4s was massive. But they weren't invincible. They were just... further along the same path.

  "We can get there," he said quietly.

  Keya looked at him. "Yes. In ten, fifteen years, if we don't die. If we train consistently. If we don't give up."

  "Then that's what we do."

  ———

  Day 60 - Expert Finals

  The final day of the tournament. Expert bracket finals. Level 41-60.

  The arena was packed. Every seat filled. Standing room only. People had traveled from across the kingdom to watch this.

  The two finalists:

  Thunderfist - Level 52 Monk. Five-time Expert champion. Legend. Fought barehanded, lightning magic coursing through his strikes. In his fifties but moved like he was twenty.

  Ironsoul - Level 48 Paladin. Former royal guard. Heavy plate armor that looked like it weighed more than Elias. Sword and shield, holy magic, defensive mastery.

  The arena officials reinforced the binding enchantments. Again. Three layers.

  The crowd went silent as both fighters entered.

  "BEGIN!"

  Thunderfist moved first. Not running—flowing. One second at his starting position, next second across the arena. [Lightning Step] Lv 10. The air itself couldn't keep up.

  His first strike hit Ironsoul's shield. The sound was thunder. Literal thunder. Lightning exploded from the impact point. The sand around them turned to glass.

  Ironsoul didn't budge. [Immovable Object] Lv 8. His shield glowed gold. His feet were planted. The force of the strike—enough to send a Level 30 flying—did nothing.

  His counter was methodical. Sword came around, blessed with [Holy Strike] Lv 9. The blade blazed white. It cut through the air with a sound like angels singing.

  Thunderfist dodged. Barely. The sword passed through where his neck had been. He countered with [Lightning Fist]—five punches in one second, each trailing electricity, each landing with explosive force.

  Ironsoul took all five. His armor sparked. His shield glowed. He didn't fall.

  The fight lasted fifteen minutes.

  Fifteen minutes of combat that made everything else in the tournament look like children sparring. The arena shook. The binding enchantments—three layers deep—cracked twice and had to be hastily repaired by mages in the stands.

  Thunderfist used skills Elias had never heard of: [Lightning Incarnation], [Thunder God's Descent], [Storm Fist Barrage]. Each more devastating than the last.

  Ironsoul responded with [Divine Bulwark], [Paladin's Judgment], [Heaven's Wrath]. His defense was unbreakable. His counters precise.

  The crowd was screaming. Ten thousand voices as one.

  Elias couldn't look away. This was what power looked like. Real power. Level 50s were forces of nature. They reshaped battlefields. They fought like legends because they were legends.

  The ending came when both fighters, exhausted, executed final attacks simultaneously.

  Thunderfist: [Lightning God's Final Strike]. Everything he had. His body became lightning. The strike came faster than sight.

  Ironsoul: [Divine Sacrifice]. Dropped his defense, poured everything into offense. His sword blazed bright enough to hurt eyes.

  They hit each other.

  The explosion was visible from outside the arena. The binding enchantments shattered. All three layers. Mages in the stands threw up emergency barriers to protect the crowd.

  When the smoke cleared:

  Thunderfist was standing. Barely. Swaying. Blood running from his mouth. His left arm hung limp. His ribs were probably broken.

  Ironsoul was on one knee. Armor shattered. Shield cracked in half. Sword dropped. Breathing hard.

  Thunderfist took one step forward.

  Ironsoul couldn't rise.

  The official's flag dropped. "Winner: THUNDERFIST!"

  The arena exploded. Ten thousand people screaming themselves hoarse. Thunderfist raised his working arm. Barely. Then collapsed.

  Healers swarmed both fighters. Emergency [Greater Regeneration]. [Life Restoration]. High-level healing magic Elias had only read about.

  Five minutes later, both fighters stood. Supported by healers, battered, but alive. They embraced. The crowd screamed louder.

  Prizes were announced:

  Thunderfist: 50 gold, enchanted gauntlets (Legendary), sponsorship offers from three merchant consortiums, invitation to the Royal Tournament in the capital.

  Ironsoul: 25 gold, masterwork shield (Rare), recruitment offer from the Kingdom Guard.

  And the respect of everyone watching.

  Elias sat back, emotionally exhausted just from watching.

  "That's the peak," he said quietly. "That's what we're aiming for."

  "In twenty years," Keya added. "If we're lucky. If we survive."

  "Twenty years," Tom repeated. "We're seventeen. We'd be thirty-seven. Middle-aged."

  "Thunderfist is in his fifties," Elias pointed out. "He's still fighting. Still winning. This isn't a sprint. It's a lifetime."

  They sat in silence as the crowd slowly dispersed. The tournament was over. The arena would be cleaned, packed up, moved to another city next year.

  But the lessons remained.

  ———

  That evening, back at the Iron Hammer Inn, they sat in the common room with Keya's notebook spread between them.

  Twenty pages. Filled front to back with observations, tactics, skill names, fighter profiles. Four days of dedicated study condensed into written knowledge.

  Keya had organized it into sections:

  **Level Progression Reality:**

  - Level 1-10: Novice (1-2 years if dedicated)

  - Level 11-25: Intermediate (3-5 additional years)

  - Level 26-40: Advanced (8-12 years total)

  - Level 41-60: Expert (15-20 years total)

  "Most people never get past Novice," Keya said. "The tournament shows the exceptions. The dedicated ones. The survivors."

  **Combat Insights:**

  - Defensive fighters (like Dirk) are hard to beat without overwhelming power

  - Mages above Level 15 become area-denial weapons

  - High-level Rogues are nearly untouchable (Finn, Level 20 example)

  - Multi-classing is standard above Level 20

  - Equipment matters more as levels increase

  - Endurance/stamina determines long fights

  **Class Combinations Observed:**

  - Warrior + Knight = tank specialist

  - Mage + Scholar = spell researcher, custom magic

  - Rogue + Assassin = stealth killer

  - Scout + Warrior = mobility fighter (what Elias wants)

  - Monk + Martial Artist = pure combat specialist

  "This is a roadmap," Tom said, reading through the notes. "This is literally a guide for the next ten years of our lives."

  "That's the idea," Keya said. "We know what to aim for now. We know the milestones. We've seen what competence looks like at every tier."

  Elias traced a finger down the level progression timeline. Level 4 now. Level 10 by end of year if they pushed hard. Level 20 in five years. Level 30 in ten.

  Long. But doable.

  "So what's our immediate plan?" he asked.

  Keya flipped to a fresh page, started writing:

  **Short Term Goals (Next Month):**

  1. Reach Level 5 (Elias adds Warrior class)

  2. Train with Master Roland (50 silver, 4 weeks)

  3. E-rank quests consistently

  4. Build party coordination

  5. Save for better equipment

  **Medium Term Goals (6 Months):**

  1. Reach Level 10-11 (E-rank promotion)

  2. All party members get second class

  3. Tackle D-rank dungeons

  4. Upgrade to Rare equipment

  5. Build reputation at Ironford Guild

  **Long Term Goals (5 Years):**

  1. Reach Level 20+ (Intermediate tier)

  2. Master two classes each

  3. Explore multiple continents

  4. Become recognized adventurers

  5. Return to tournament—and win

  Tom read it twice. "That's... actually achievable. Not easy. But possible."

  "That's the point," Keya said. "We're not trying to become Thunderfist overnight. We're climbing one level at a time. One skill at a time. One quest at a time."

  "The long way up," Elias said.

  "Exactly."

  They sat for a moment, the weight of the commitment settling. Years of work. Danger. Failure. Loss. But also growth, achievement, eventually—maybe—mastery.

  "I'm in," Tom said. "For however long it takes. I want to be able to do what Finn did. What that Level 20 Rogue did. I want to be that good."

  "I want to understand magic at the level of that Level 35 Battlemage," Keya said. "Control. Precision. Power. Years of study and practice. I'll do it."

  Elias thought about his goal. The seven continents. The jade cities, the ice palaces, the mysteries waiting. To see them all, he needed to be strong enough to survive anywhere. Strong enough to face anything.

  "I want to see everything," he said quietly. "Every wonder this world has. To do that, I need to become someone who can go anywhere. Face anything. That takes years. Decades maybe. But I'm willing."

  Keya closed her notebook. "Then tomorrow, we start. Properly. No more herb gathering unless we're desperate. No more safe quests. We push. We train. We climb."

  "Agreed," Elias and Tom said together.

  Outside, Ironford's forges still burned, their orange glow visible through the window. The city never slept. Always working. Always building.

  That's what they'd do. Work. Build. Day by day. Level by level.

  The tournament had shown them the peak.

  Now they knew where they were going.

  Time to start climbing.