Devourer's Legacy: I Regressed With The Primordial Crest-Chapter 20: The Festival Begins (2)

Renard pushed himself harder each day as the festival drew closer.

Between training sessions, he made sure to spend time with Aria, sharing meals and quiet talks whenever he could.

'Still feels a bit strange,' he thought to himself.

His memories of his sister from his past life were hazy at best, making these moments together feel both new and uncertain at once.

But somehow, they felt right.

Aria had also noticed the change in him—the way he smiled more, talked more, tried harder to be there. At first, it caught her off guard. But day by day, she was warming up to this new brother of hers.

"Going to train again?" she asked over breakfast one morning.

"Yeah," he nodded, finishing his bread. "Can't get lazy with the Awakening Ceremony coming up."

Aria raised an eyebrow.

"You? Caring about the ceremony?" She put on her best grumpy face, trying to mimic how he used to look.

"What happened to 'I don't care about stupid ceremonies'?"

Renard just smiled and shrugged. "Did I really say that?"

The old memories were there, but fuzzy. He remembered being difficult as a child, but the details slipped through his mind like sand through his fingers.

"You did! Gerald told me Mother was really worried about you back then."

Aria's voice softened. "She'd be happy to see you now, I think."

"Would she? Maybe..."

Their mother, Arwin Grim, was far away in Tiara castle, undergoing treatment for her illness. Neither of them were allowed to visit her. At the mention of her name, Renard saw the sadness flash across Aria's face. The girl missed her mother terribly.

"Well, time for training," he said, standing up.

"How many hours this time?" Aria called after him while he headed for the door.

He caught the hint of a smile in her voice. It was nice, this gentle teasing between them—it was different from before.

But better.

✽✽✽

The Festival Day.

The Draemir territory was bustling with life, its streets and squares filled with countless visitors from distant lands. Warriors had journeyed far and wide, each seeking glory and wisdom in their own way. But among the sea of faces, one could notice something peculiar—there weren't many warriors from the House of Grim.

The reason was simple.

The Grims were not warriors in the traditional sense; they were tamers. While warriors dedicated their lives to mastering weapons and honing their combat skills, the House of Grim walked a different path.

Their strength lay in the magical beasts they tamed, a tradition so deeply rooted that even their ancestral blood crest—passed down through generations—was designed to enhance their beast-taming abilities.

This didn't mean the House of Grim was completely devoid of warriors. There were always exceptions to every rule. Take Lord Augustus, for instance. Though a tamer himself, his retainer, Kasim was a prideful warrior through and through.

Some might argue 'prideful' wasn't the right word for an assassin, but Kasim's mastery of combat was undeniable.

As the festival began, so did the competition. Thousands of hopefuls were swiftly screened through a simple process, narrowing the field to just 32 contestants. The rules were straightforward—fight one-on-one until your opponent either surrendered or could no longer continue.

From the highest viewing point, Lord Augustus observed the matches with keen interest. Beside him sat Renard, fresh from his training, and next to Renard, his sister, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she watched the matches unfold.

Renard cast his sister a sidelong glance, puzzled by her enthusiasm. While most noble girls her age would be hosting delicate tea parties with their fancy dolls and discussing proper etiquette, here she was, leaning forward in her seat, completely captivated by the clash of steel and raw display of strength.

Every time a particularly fierce exchange erupted in the arena, her eyes would light up with pure joy. His sister was certainly different from other noble children—but perhaps that wasn't such a bad thing.

'Three monsters,' Renard thought, watching the matches with focused eyes.

One was, of course, Jin, the Wandering Warrior. He was like a force of nature. His matches weren't just victories—they were like displays of pure, overwhelming power.

When he struck, the ground seemed to tremble, and his opponents were sent flying like leaves in a storm. The crowd would hold their breath every time he stepped into the arena, knowing they were about to witness something extraordinary.

Then there was Kasim, Draemir's own shadow warrior. If Jin was a raging tempest, Kasim was the silent death that lurked in the darkness. His twin daggers flashed under the sunlight as he moved, quick as lightning, leaving his opponents standing in confusion before they could realize they had already lost.

Some swore they never even saw him move—one moment their guard was up, and the next they were on their knees, defeated.

But it was the third person who truly caught Renard's attention.

Askeladd Valor.

Read latest chapters at freёweɓnovel.com Only.

A warrior from the House of Valor.

There was something mesmerizing about the way he fought. His rapier looked almost comically thin compared to his opponent's heavy weapons, yet he turned each fight into a deadly dance.

His needle-like blade would flash, and suddenly, the savage attacks would be deflected with an elegance that seemed to defy logic itself. Word was that he was traveling between noble houses, challenging their strongest warriors, though no one knew his true purpose.

The tournament brackets had been drawn, and fate had decided—Askeladd would face Jin in the next round.

Despite Jin's monstrous strength, Renard had a feeling that Wandering Warrior would meet his match in Askeladd. Still, the thought of watching these two fight made his heart race.

Having missed Jin's earlier display in the forest after passing out, Renard was especially eager to see what the warrior could do when he was truly pushed to his limits.

And then there was Zain. Renard couldn't help but smile as he watched his scowling face.

Zain had somehow stumbled his way into the semifinals, more through fortunate pairings than anything else.

So far, Zain had managed to avoid facing any of the three monsters until now, but his luck had finally run dry.

Across the arena stood Kasim, his daggers gleaming with deadly promise.

Renard almost felt guilty. After all, he was the one who had convinced Zain to enter, promising it would be "good practice."

一一✽✽✽一一