Temple of the Demon Lord of Wishes-Chapter 71: Underdog’s Triumph

Ivaim stood at the edge of the group, surrounded by warriors dressed in polished armor and carrying weapons that gleamed under the midday sun.

Swords, axes, and bows hung at their sides, their owners shifting restlessly as they waited. Some adjusted their straps or checked their gear, but most exchanged knowing glances.

"Bet it’s gonna be the underdog," someone muttered, not bothering to lower their voice.

"Of course it is," another replied with a scoff. "Nine wins in a row. Who else has a chance?"

Ivaim tried to ignore the whispers, keeping his gaze fixed on the stone platform at the center of the square.

His arms crossed loosely over his chest, he leaned back slightly, exuding a calm confidence that only irritated his competitors more.

The crowd gathered around the warriors was just as animated. Townsfolk whispered among themselves, glancing frequently at Ivaim.

"I heard he doesn’t even break a sweat in the trials," a woman said, craning her neck to get a better view of him.

"Amazing, isn’t it?" her companion replied, her tone carrying equal parts admiration and envy.

"He makes the rest look like amateurs even though he looks like the amateur in terms of physical appearance..."

Ivaim’s lips twitched as he heard that.

’Was that a compliment or an insult...’

The murmurs grew louder, rippling through the square like a restless tide. Every glance, every whispered word seemed to circle back to one person—Ivaim.

"Ivaim!" a deep voice boomed, cutting through the chatter. A burly warrior with a jagged scar across his cheek pushed forward, his broad shoulders parting the group like a wave.

He smirked, his tone dripping with playful sarcasm.

"If they pick you as the Regional Representative, make sure to let those high-and-mighty fools know how annoying your mouth is. Maybe they’ll surrender out of frustration."

Laughter erupted from the group, a mix of genuine amusement and tension-breaking relief.

Ivaim raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a faint smirk.

"Oh, don’t worry," he said evenly.

"If I go, I’ll make sure they know exactly how much they don’t want to see me again. Maybe I’ll talk so much their ears bleed."

The chuckles grew louder, some of the warriors shaking their heads while others muttered, "That sounds like him."

Another voice joined in, a slender man with a bow slung over his shoulder.

"You’re already the favorite. Must be nice knowing the rest of us don’t stand a chance." His tone wasn’t bitter, just resigned.

Ivaim shrugged casually, but there was a flicker of humility in his eyes.

"They’ll pick whoever they think can win," he said.

"If that’s me, I’ll do my part. If it’s not, I’ll still be rooting for us."

"Rooting for us?" The scarred warrior let out a sharp snort, crossing his thick arms over his chest.

"Ivaim, when have you ever rooted for anyone but yourself? You’re more likely to laugh at us from the sidelines."

Ivaim’s lips twitched into a faint grin, his relaxed demeanor unshaken.

"Maybe this time I’ll surprise you," he said, his voice light but carrying just enough edge to spark more chuckles around the group.

The laughter blended with the murmurs of the gathered crowd, creating a lively hum that filled the square.

Conversations ebbed and flowed, but one thing everyone agreed on—if you ever found yourself up against Ivaim, the so-called Underdog, you weren’t worrying about physical injuries.

No, it was your pride and nerves that would take the real beating.

"He doesn’t even need a weapon," one of the younger warriors muttered to his friend, casting a side glance at Ivaim. Experience new stories on novelbuddy

"Just his mouth will do the job."

The friend snickered.

"You mean his mouth and that ridiculous luck of his. Honestly, does he even try?"

Ivaim didn’t react, though the slight arch of his brow betrayed that he’d caught every word. Keeping his expression calm, he fixed his gaze on the platform ahead.

The town mayor, Halvin, stepped onto the raised stage, his appearance immediately drawing the crowd’s attention.

He was dressed in a fitted waistcoat adorned with intricate brass gears and silver piping.

A chain looped from his pocket to a curious device clipped to his belt—a mix of a stopwatch and a miniature compass, its mechanisms whirring faintly.

His high-collared coat flared slightly at the hem, and a matching pair of polished goggles rested atop his head, giving him the distinct air of a steampunk engineer turned statesman.

Halvin paused, adjusting his goggles as he raised a hand in greeting.

"Good citizens of Fendral, and brave contenders," he began, his voice resonating through the square, amplified by the faintly glowing stone embedded in the brass orb he held.

The device shimmered softly, turning his words into a clear, booming address that reached every corner of the gathering.

"Today, we stand on the threshold of possibility," Halvin continued, his tone steady but laced with fervor.

"Though we are a small town, I have not lost hope that from among us will rise a fighter—a champion worthy of the Coliseum of Chosens. A warrior who might one day claim a seat among the Council of Champions, bringing honor not only to themselves but to all of Fendral."

The crowd murmured appreciatively, some nodding in agreement. The mention of the Council of Champions stirred a mixture of excitement and apprehension among the warriors.

Halvin’s sharp gaze swept over the assembled fighters, his voice steady but laced with formality.

"After thorough deliberation with the town officials and competition judges, combined with the results of the town’s vote, we have reached a decision on who will represent Fendral in the regionals."

The crowd leaned in, anticipation thick in the air. Halvin let the moment linger before continuing, his tone lightening.

"Of course, we would not let the efforts of our competitors go unnoticed. The top five will be rewarded generously for their hard work and dedication. Each will receive custom-forged weaponry or armor of their choice from our finest blacksmiths, along with a gold purse to honor their achievements."

The warriors exchanged glances, some with quiet excitement, others with thinly veiled disappointment. Halvin’s smile grew as he addressed the rest.

"And to all who participated, your bravery and commitment to our town will not go unrewarded. Each of you will receive tokens of appreciation, because here in Fendral, every effort counts."

The crowd applauded, and a few warriors straightened with pride.

Halvin raised his hand for silence as he prepared to announce the winners.

"In fifth place…" he began, his voice amplified by the glowing stone in his device, "we have Orrik Veldrin!"

A tall man with a broadsword strapped to his back stepped forward, nodding in acknowledgment as scattered cheers erupted from the crowd.

"Fourth place," Halvin continued, "goes to Darra Fells!"

A woman with a fierce gaze and twin daggers at her hips strode forward, her expression steady despite the polite applause.

"Third place," Halvin announced, "is Bryn Galthorne!"

A rugged man with an axe across his back grinned as he stepped into the spotlight, raising a hand in thanks.

"Second place," Halvin declared, his voice carrying an edge of excitement, "belongs to none other than Kael Ironshield!"

A broad-shouldered warrior with a hammer in hand grunted his approval, his name greeted with thunderous applause.

Halvin’s gaze shifted to the last figure standing calm and composed amidst the tension. The crowd grew restless, whispers surging like a wave.

"And finally," Halvin said, pausing for dramatic effect.

"The town’s number one choice, our undefeated champion, The Underdog, Ivaim!"

The square erupted into cheers, the sound swelling like a tide through the gathered crowd.

Ivaim stepped forward, his faint smile steady as he climbed onto the platform with practiced ease. The noise gradually quieted, leaving an expectant hush as all eyes turned to him.

He paused, letting the silence linger, scanning the faces below as he considered what to say. His gaze shifted and caught on a figure near the back of the crowd—a man in scuffed leather armor.

The stranger’s droopy eyes, shadowed by a heavy brow, gave him a tired, almost disinterested look.

’Isn’t that Neli’s son?’ Ivaim wondered, his brow twitching slightly.

He hadn’t seen the man in Fendral’s arenas all week.

’He’s been competing in other towns, hasn’t he? So why is he here now?’

The thought nagged at him for a moment, but he pushed it aside as the crowd grew silent, their anticipation palpable.

He straightened and gave them a roguish grin, leaning slightly on the edge of the platform.

"Well," he began, his tone light but carrying just enough bite to draw a few smirks from the warriors below, "it seems like I’m getting pretty good at this whole ’winning’ thing."

Scattered laughter rippled through the crowd, loosening some of the tension. Ivaim gestured toward the gathered warriors.

"Don’t get me wrong, though—some of you gave me a real run for my money this time. I’m almost worried I might have to start trying harder next year."

The chuckles grew louder, and even a few of the warriors couldn’t help but smirk at his teasing. Ivaim let the noise settle before continuing, his tone softening slightly.

"But jokes aside," Ivaim said, his voice growing more serious.

"Fendral’s got fighters to be proud of. Every single one of you standing here today fought like hell to get where you are. And now, it’s my turn to make sure our town’s name isn’t just a whisper in the regionals—it’s something they’ll remember."

He paused for effect, meeting the eyes of the warriors below, his tone unwavering.

"That, I can promise."

A murmur of approval swept through the crowd, some clapping while others nodded in agreement. Ivaim stepped back slightly, his grin still in place as he tilted his head toward the town mayor.

"That good enough? Or should I keep going?"

Halvin chuckled and waved him off. "That’ll do, Ivaim. That’ll do."

Ivaim hopped down from the platform, his gaze flicking once more toward Neli’s son, who remained rooted in place, his expression unreadable. The cheers reignited as Halvin began to speak again.

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