Match Started

As Varron and Sir Gareth prepared to spar, a crowd began to gather around the training arena. Word had spread about the unusual event, and it seemed like everyone in the castle was eager to witness it.

Among the crowd were Varron's family members. Duke Eldrige stood tall, his stern expression betraying no emotion. Beside him, Lady Eleanora watched with a worried frown, her hands clasped tightly. Lucius, Varron's younger brother, had a curious look on his face, while Isolde, the youngest, watched with wide, fearful eyes.

Servants, maids, guards, and nobles - everyone was there, their eyes fixed on Varron. The air was filled with a mix of anticipation and curiosity. Varron, who had always boasted about his strength, was finally going to prove his words.

"Look at him, acting all high and mighty," one of the guards muttered, a sneer on his face.

"Let's see if he can back up his words," a maid chimed in, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Despite the murmurs and whispers, Varron remained unfazed. He gripped his sword tighter, his gaze locked on Gareth. This was his chance to show them all, to prove that he was more than just the cruel Lord Varron.

As the first clang of the swords echoed through the arena, the crowd fell silent. The sparring match had begun.

__________

Tang,Tang,Tang.

The sparring match had been underway for several minutes, the sounds of clashing swords filling the air. To the onlookers, it seemed like an equal match, both Varron and Gareth landing and parrying blows with equal skill.

But Varron knew better. He could tell that Gareth was holding back, his strikes lacking their usual force. He was treating Varron with kid gloves, careful not to hurt him. This realization made Varron frown in frustration.

"I can't believe it," one of the guards muttered, his eyes wide in surprise.

"Lord Varron is holding his own against Sir Gareth."

"Who would have thought?" a noblewoman replied, her voice filled with disbelief.

"He's always been so... dismissive of training."

With a swift move, Varron created a gap between them, putting some distance between his sword and Gareth's. He looked at the knight, his gaze stern.

"Sir Gareth," he said, his voice carrying across the now silent arena,

"I asked you to spar with me, not to go easy on me. I want you to take me seriously."

Gareth looked at him, surprise flickering in his eyes. "Lord Varron, I..."

But Varron cut him off, raising his voice so that it echoed around the arena,"Show me the dignity of a knight, Gareth! Fight me with all your might!"

The crowd held its breath at Varron's words. Gareth looked at him, a determined look replacing the surprise.

"Very well, Lord Varron," he said, raising his sword again,

"Prepare yourself."

As the crowd watched with bated breath, Varron readied himself. This was what he wanted - a real match, a chance to truly test his skills. And as Gareth charged towards him, Varron met him head-on, ready for whatever came his way.

Tang

Their swords clashed with a resounding clang, sending sparks flying. The noble knight moved with a speed and precision that Varron had never encountered before. He found himself struggling to keep up, his breath coming in ragged gasps, sweat trickling down his face.

But this was what he wanted. This was the challenge he had asked for. He could feel his core magic pulsating within him, ready to be unleashed. With a determined glint in his eyes, Varron summoned his Telekinesis, using it to enhance his movements.

His sword moved faster, his parries became stronger. He met Gareth's strikes with equal force, their swords clashing again and again. The crowd watched in stunned silence as Varron held his own against the renowned knight.

Gareth, for his part, seemed amused. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he matched Varron's moves.

"You have spirit, Lord Varron," he said, his voice carrying over the sound of clashing steel,

"I can see why you wanted a real match."

Their battle continued, Varron pushing himself to his limits, his core magic working in tandem with his swordsmanship. He was proving to everyone, and to himself, that he was more than just the cruel Lord Varron. He was a fighter, a warrior ready to face any challenge.

As Varron and Gareth continued their intense battle, the crowd was enthralled. But among the onlookers, one figure stood out - Lucius, Varron's younger brother.

Lucius watched the match with a complex mix of emotions. He gritted his teeth, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He had always been the one to train hard, to follow the path of the knight diligently. He had spent countless hours in this very training ground, honing his skills, striving to be the best.

But now, he was watching his older brother, the same brother who had always dismissed training as unnecessary, match one of the kingdom's best knights blow for blow. It was a bitter pill to swallow.

"Why... why is it always Varron?" Lucius muttered under his breath, his gaze never leaving the sparring match. He could see the determination in Varron's eyes, the strength in his strikes. It was a side of Varron he had never seen before, and it filled him with a mix of admiration and envy.

Among the crowd, whispers started to spread. "Is this the same Young Master we serve?" one of the maids asked, her voice filled with disbelief. "He's like a completely different person."

"I never thought I'd see the day when Lord Varron would take training seriously," a guard added, shaking his head in astonishment.

As the match continued, Lucius was left to grapple with his feelings. He was proud of his brother, but he couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy. He was the one who had worked hard, yet it was Varron who was shining on the training grounds today.

While Lucius grappled with his feelings, their younger sister, Isolde, watched the sparring match with wide, fearful eyes. Isolde was unique, gifted with a rare core magic ability - she could see the colours of auras which revealed a person's true nature.

Varron's aura had always scared her. It was a chaotic mix of dark hues, a representation of his cruel behavior and disdain for others. It was why she had always kept her distance from him,and why she feared him.

But today, as she watched Varron spar with Sir Gareth, she saw a change. His aura was still dark, but there were streaks of lighter colors - determination, courage, a will to change. It was a sight that both surprised and confused her.

She watched as Varron matched Gareth's strikes, his aura flickering with each move. She could see his determination, his struggle, and it made her view him in a different light.

"Is he... changing?" she whispered to herself, her small hands clutching the fabric of her dress. She didn't know what this change meant for Varron, for their family, but she hoped it was for the better.

As the match continued, Isolde was left to ponder on her brother's changing aura. She was afraid, but she also felt a spark of hope. Maybe, just maybe, Varron was more than just the cruel Lord everyone believed him to be.

________

As Varron continued to spar with Sir Gareth, he felt something stir within him. It was a feeling he hadn't experienced before - a rush of adrenaline, a thrill of the fight. He was pushing his limits, testing his strength against one of the kingdom's best knights, and he was holding his own.

This feeling, this spirit of fighting, filled him, invigorating him. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, his blood singing in his veins. He was alive, truly alive, and it was exhilarating.

In the heat of the moment, caught up in the thrill of the fight, Varron's lips curled into a smirk. But this wasn't his usual smirk of arrogance or disdain. This was different - it was a smirk of enjoyment, of satisfaction from the thrill of the fight.

The crowd watching the match was taken aback. They were used to seeing Varron smirk, but not like this. This was a smirk that spoke of his resolve, his determination, his enjoyment of the challenge he was facing.

As Varron continued to spar, his smirk remained, a symbol of his resolve, his determination. He was changing, evolving, and he was ready to face whatever came his way.