With the speech concluded, the important step of the ceremony arrived. Anticipation filled the air as everyone turned their attention to the stage, their eyes glittering with curiosity and excitement.

  "Lad, best of luck." Izark whispered into Zain's ear, giving him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. The touch was firm and supportive, a silent transmission of faith and confidence.

  "Now, I invite the young members from the families present to join in a friendly battle with their junior, Zain, exchanging knowledge through teaching." Izark announced, his voice resonating across the grand hall. The echoes of his words lingered, weaving through the ornate columns and majestic arches that adorned the space.

  Soon, many youths stepped forward from different noble families, their faces a mix of eagerness and apprehension. Even the Dukes and the Royal family sent challengers, their young members standing with poise and determination. The tension in the hall grew as everyone waited to see whom Zain would choose as his opponent. The air was thick with expectation, the murmur of the crowd a constant hum.

  Zain walked down from the stage, his steps measured and deliberate, making his way to the place where the youths were gathered. He scanned the faces, his expression thoughtful and contemplative, as if weighing each potential opponent in his mind.

  "I invite Ben Marker for the friendly battle." Zain declared, his voice steady and clear, cutting through the ambient noise like a blade.

  Ben Marker, son of Duke Martin, was a Grade Three warrior according to the information provided by Raina to Zain. The choice caused a murmur of disappointment among the crowd. Ben, though not the weakest, was certainly not among the strongest present. Zain's choice seemed to many like a safe play, a move that did not live up to the grandeur of the occasion.

  Even Izark and Raina were let down. They had seen Zain's growth and hoped he would challenge a stronger opponent. They wanted him to win but also to demonstrate his true potential. Their faces showed a mix of concern and mild disappointment, a silent dialogue about their expectations.

  The other opponents returned to their seats, their expressions mixed. Some were disappointed at not being chosen, missing a rare chance to fight before such a grand audience. Others were relieved they didn’t have to fight, their faces showing subtle hints of relief and satisfaction.

  A space in the hall had been cleared for the impending battle. The polished marble floor gleamed under the light, creating a stark contrast with the rich, dark wood paneling that lined the walls. Zain and Ben approached the area, positioning themselves directly opposite each other. The tension between them was palpable as they prepared to face off, their bodies taut with anticipation.

  "I am Ben Marker." Ben introduced himself, his voice firm and confident. His eyes were hard, his posture rigid and disciplined.

  "I am Zain Gremory." Zain responded, his gaze unwavering. There was a quiet intensity in his eyes, a calm determination that belied his youth.

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  On the stage, the tension was just as high.

  "Hey, Izark, how about a bet?" Duke Martin asked, his excitement evident as he saw Zain choose his son for the fight. There was a gleam in his eye, a spark of mischief and calculation.

  Izark looked at him for a second before resuming watching Zain. "What bet?" he questioned, his voice a blend of curiosity and skepticism.

  "It's simple. If Ben wins, give me the territory of Marquise Renis that you invaded." Duke Martin proposed, a sly smile on his face. His tone was casual, but the stakes were high.

  "What's in it for me?" Izark asked, his eyes still fixed on Zain. There was a hint of wariness in his voice, a recognition of the seriousness of the offer.

  "If your son wins, I will give you the land of Viscount Donby." Martin offered, causing a ripple of surprise among the other Dukes. The offer hung in the air, heavy with potential consequences.

  The territory of Viscount Donby was a mountainous region rich in different types of ore and minerals. Although the territory of Marquise Renis was ten times larger, in terms of value, it wasn't even ten percent of Donby County. Martin's offer was surprising to everyone, a calculated gamble that could change the balance of power.

  Izark was momentarily taken aback by this proposal. Before he could respond, Morris spoke to him through hidden means.

  "Master, it's like this..." Morris began to explain, his voice a low murmur in Izark's ear.

  As Izark listened, his expression shifted from surprise to understanding. He realized the strategic reasoning behind Martin's offer. Duke Martin's territory was facing a food shortage. His dukedom, rich in ores and minerals, had recently suffered continuous bad harvests, causing widespread hunger. While the resources of Donby County were valuable to most, they didn’t hold much appeal to Martin due to the similar resources in his territory.

  "Hey Martin, don't act all generous. Tell me exactly what you want." Izark demanded, his tone revealing his skepticism. There was a sharpness in his eyes, a probing intensity.

  "You know me well, Izark. If you agree to this bet, I will be getting half of the Marquise of Renis in any case. Do you agree?" Martin asked, his tone confident. There was a glint of triumph in his eyes, a certainty that he would get what he wanted.

  Izark started thinking about the offer. Although it seemed he would be losing a large part of his territory, acquiring the resource-rich land of Donby County was tempting. The wheels of strategy turned in his mind, weighing the risks and rewards.

  "Fine!" Izark agreed, a note of determination in his voice. His expression was resolute, a firm acceptance of the challenge.

  Although it seemed like Izark got a bad deal, he was secretly pleased. If Zain won, they would gain land with great potential. Izark had faith in Zain's abilities. He believed in his son's strength and skill.

  'Come on, kid, you have to win this. Your old man is betting a lot on you.' Izark sent a mental message to Zain, his thoughts laced with urgency and hope.

  Zain glanced at the stage, noticing Izark's intense gaze.

  'This old bastard, what does his bet have to do with me? I didn't agree to it. Making my life more difficult.' Zain thought, feeling the weight of the expectation. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the battle ahead.

  "Hey, Zain, you got the message as well. Come, let me quickly defeat you and take over a new territory at the same time." Ben taunted, his body radiating a frosty inner force as the surrounding temperature dropped. There was a chill in the air, a manifestation of his power.

  "Are you ready?" the referee asked, stepping between them to start the match. His voice was calm, but the tension in the room was palpable.

  Izark was fuming on the stage. He realized he had fallen into a trap. While he had confidence in Zain, he hadn’t anticipated Ben's level of power. From the inner force gathered around Ben, it was clear he had reached at least Grade Five, two grades higher than Zain. This was a significant difference, making the battle much tougher.

  Zain smiled when he saw his opponent burst out with inner force. "You might be powerful, but not more than me." he declared, his body bursting out with a deathly inner force in response. The air around him seemed to darken, a shroud of energy emanating from his core.

  The spectators gasped, the tension in the room reaching a fever pitch. The clash of their inner forces sent shockwaves through the hall, a testament to the power both young warriors wielded. The floor beneath their feet trembled, the air crackling with energy.

  As they squared off, the room fell silent, the only sound the steady breathing of the two combatants. The audience watched with bated breath, every eye fixed on the impending clash.

  Zain and Ben stood poised, their gazes locked, their bodies coiled with energy. This was more than a battle of strength; it was a test of will, of resolve.