'We do not take of this earth. We become it.'

– Solomense, the Barbarian King

*Sadrianna*

*3 years ago*

It felt loud enough to wake the great bears from their ancient slumber in the bowels of the earth. But then again, it always did.

She'd fought six times in the circle so far, not including today, and each was the same. Hooting calls and jeers bounced around her, shouts from a hundred throats echoing off the sheer granite walls only adding to the confusion.

Emotions ran hot in The Blending, even the intra-clan ones held every year far away from the Titan's Crown. She could only imagine the majesty of those rare festivals held in that sacred place, where every clan gathered in a riotous blend of colour and chaos.

The Blending itself, no matter where it was held, was a time of greatness for her people. Great victories and great tragedies alike. The highs and lows of their entire existence sketched out in a single festival.

'A bloodbath' the lowlanders called it. 'Uncivilised' was the favourite word of the aristocrats in their ivory towers on the great plains below, as they sat fat on stores of grain behind their high walls, shut away from the world around them. 'A circus of violence better left in the past' was her personal favourite – a quote her father had overheard from some lowlander general.

The fucking cheek of it! Complaining about violence while coordinating the systematic destruction of not just their enemies' people, but their very land too. She snorted to herself softly, rolling her head around to stretch out her neck, as the cacophony of noise continued. She caught snatches here and there but let most pass by – not worth her time. The insults weren't so bad this year.

At last year's Blending she had stepped into the circle untested against the other clans, and she had imagined a barrage of jeers, callouts, and general nonsense to be expected when a new challenger entered the games. Not that she could have heard them over the thunderous roar, but she could well imagine. She'd shut them up quick though, and this year, at a smaller circle held between only the Yellow Peak and White Cliff clans, there was a markedly different tone in the air.

Members of her clan used her current dominance of the circle to their advantage, calling out insults to their opponents, jockeying for position, and generally leveraging her victory for cheap political points. It was all a game for most at this stage. For Sadrianna, and a few select others, the Blending this year was a chance to hone themselves against a calibre of competition they could not find in their own clans, outside of the few old monsters that each clan seemed to have hidden away.

Individuals who, for whatever reason, never managed to achieve a higher tier class but somehow kept their drive for excellence, and so harboured a wealth of experience alongside finely honed Skills. They were often essential to the clans' continued functioning though, so had little time to spare for training the younger generation, and besides, they were so rare that she'd already fought any of them that would indulge her.

At this point, Sadrianna needed variety more than anything else. Hence why she was standing in the centre of the circle, listening to her clansmen shout boasts and insults towards the young 1st tier warriors of the Yellow Peak clan.

Her last opponent was being helped back through the men and women thronging the edge of the circle, limping from a nasty gash on his inner thigh. He shifted in the arms of his companions though, sparing a final glance back at her, where he offered a respectful nod. He had evidently realised that she could've sliced clean through his artery if she had wanted to, probably his entire leg, too – RazorBeak was a powerful Skill, after all. She offered a nod of respect in turn, and the man was hurried off to the healers.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

A particularly nasty remark involving a girl in the Yellow Peak clan and a camp dog caught her ear, and she whipped around sharply, eyes narrowed. She scanned the crowd, searching for the man that had made the call. She quickly found him, wearing the white markings of her own clan, and she stared him down intently.

His smile faltered, then fled completely when she turned to the girl from Yellow Peak, offered a low bow and withdrew from the circle entirely. A hush spread around the circle, catching from one person to the next like a wildfire, as all around picked up on the change in mood.

Most had obviously not heard the jab, but any who had were eager to share, and soon, the entire crowd was waiting with bated breath. The Yellow Peak girl, a strong competitor a few years younger than Sadrianna by the name of Nahail, strode to the centre of the circle angrily, every step sharp and filled with barely contained outrage.

Indeed, it had been a vile insult, and one she was sure the boy had only thrown out because he was confident that Nahail would not seek to challenge Sadrianna's place. He obviously hadn't counted on her ceding the circle voluntarily, and she allowed herself a venomous smirk as the lanky boy half stumbled, half fell into the circle opposite the girl, pushed as he was by those around him.

A few jeers rose in response, but were quickly hushed, as silence settled once more. Nahail drew her weapon, a short spear with a long, gracefully curved blade, and settled into a fighting crouch.

"Nahail of the Yellow Peak clan challenges her opponent," she called in a high, clear voice.

The boy looked a little sick now. He was maybe a summer or two older than Sadrianna, but while she felt a vague recognition, she knew next to nothing about him. He didn't look to be part of the hunters or scouts and from his build, she knew he was no true clan defender, either. He was likely part of one of the non-martial professions, but given the amount of time she spent in the training yard and amongst the fighters of the clan, her relative ignorance of him was not a good sign for his chances of success.

But then again, that is why she had ceded the circle to him. After he tried to use her protection to say such hurtful things to a young woman likely just on her first Blending, she would have beat him herself if there wasn't a better lesson here for both the disrespectful boy and for Nahail herself. One would be given the chance to grow in confidence and see that standing up for oneself could end in victory, and the other would learn some respect.

Or at least learn to shut his fucking mouth around those of greater ability. She hoped for the former but would settle for the latter. Not her job to teach every arrogant carhargg in the clan, after all.

The boy found his voice after a few hard swallows and warbled out a reply. "Vargel of the White Cliff clan accepts this challenge", before drawing his own weapon.

His stance was sloppy, and his round shield looked meek from where it hovered just below his eyes, the straight blade poking out from beneath managing to look almost pathetic in the tall boy's grip.

Then followed a few awkward exchanges where the girl tried to get him to repeat his words before passing his guard with ease and bashing him across the jaw with the haft of her weapon. His voice was so clearly filled with humiliation and desperation though that she seemed to take pity on him in the end. A rapid series of cracks rang out as wooden spear haft met flesh and bone, and the boy collapsed nursing his right arm, whimpering pathetically.

Sadrianna watched the display with barely concealed contempt. It wasn't the weakness that bothered her, for she had been diligent in studying under her father. His lessons of the world and their place within it were instrumental in shaping her into who she was today, and she knew in her heart that without them she would be an arrogant woman, no doubt.

No, it wasn't the boy's relative weakness that bothered her so, but rather the fact that he clearly knew he was weak, was insecure of that weakness, and still did nothing about it. If he had accepted his place as one of the clan's non-combatants, in need of protection by White Cliff's warriors, and decided to pursue a different path of utility… well, then there would have been no issues. But no, the boy clearly longed for the status and respect of a great warrior, without the necessary drive to get there. Even worse, he seemed to have the ego of one already, without the power to justify it.

She was drawn from her musings by Nahail catching her eye, bowing low and withdrawing from the circle once again. Sadrianna shook herself off and strode back into the centre of the circle. She swept her gaze around the young faces before her, searching for an opponent. There was a moment of calm, where people looked on expectantly, no challengers in sight.

"On behalf of the White Cliff clan, I extend thanks to Nahail of Yellow Peak for educating one of our own."

Chuckles and sniggers from among the crowd at the ritualised words, a clear insult to the defeated boy, for the old words were used mostly to make and accept challenges and little else in these modern times.

She straightened then, grinning at the expectant faces before her.

"Now then… who's next?"

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