The Supreme Commander of the Immortal Guard

Chapter 3

The Harlow Cross Grand Arena was crowded. Banners representing the city's prominent martial arts dojos hung above, thousands of cheering spectators, local media crews, and wealthy corporate sponsors.

In the VIP boxes, city council members and influential gym masters sipped wine, laughing and chatting as they anticipated the opening events of the Annual Martial Tournament.

Behind the curtain by the fighters' entrance, Clara straightened the collar of Logan's plain white uniform. Her hands were shaking, and she kept her eyes on his collar, avoiding his gaze.

"You don't have to stay out there for long," Clara whispered, her voice dripping with panic. "The moment the match starts, drop your weapon and step off the ring. Let them laugh. Just don't let him hurt you."

Logan reached out. "I will be fine, Clara. Keep Master Seth company in the family box. Do not worry about me."

Clara pulled her hand away, biting her lip hard. Without a word, she walked to the family seats, feeling afraid.

A voice echoed over the arena’s loudspeaker system, drowning out the roar of the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen! To commence this year's Annual Martial Tournament, we present a special demonstration match! Representing the prestigious Northern Wind Dojo, give a warm welcome to our Regional Champion, Senior Brother Elliot!"

The stadium erupted in thunderous applause.

Elliot walked onto the stage in a blue uniform. He raised his hands to the cheering crowd, then bowed proudly toward the VIP boxes, where Master Seth smiled with pride.

"And his sparring partner." the announcer continued, his tone dropping in enthusiasm, "the caretaker of the Northern Wind Dojo, Logan!"

The crowd went quiet, then began to whisper.

"He should bow and leave. He won't last a few seconds!"

"Has Elliot already won?"

"Does he want to die? Why challenge Elliot?"

"This will be an easy win. This guy is already a loser."

Logan walked out from behind the curtain, carried only a wooden practice sword. He stepped onto the ring, his face unreadable.

In the center of the ring, the referee held up two wooden practice swords for inspection.

When Elliot picked his weapon, a loud clack rang out nearby.

Elliot had not chosen a normal pine sword. His blade was made of heavy ironwood with lead inside, and it was strong enough to break bones.

"A demonstration match is meant to show technique, Senior Brother Elliot," the referee murmured softly, frowning at the weapon. "Is this necessary?"

"The caretaker needs a proper lesson in handling real weight," Elliot replied with a grin, resting the weapon against his shoulder. "Don't worry, referee. I'll make sure the audience gets a show they'll never forget."

The referee sighed, stepping back and raised his hand.

"The Opening Demonstration Begins!"

Before the referee's hand had fully dropped, Elliot charged. With an ugly sneer, he swung his blade hard at Logan's ribs, clearly trying to break bone.

Logan saw the attack coming in slow motion.

To a former Supreme Commander of the Immortal Guard, Elliot's footwork was full of serious mistakes, and he could barely keep his balance.

Logan could have shattered Elliot's wrist with a flick of his finger. He could have channeled a single thread of internal energy to blow Elliot off the stage.

But if he released his inner energy, the blast would shatter the glass dome overhead and burst the eardrums of half the front row.

Worse, the energy signature would announce his location to the dark assassins.

So, Logan chose to take the blow.

THWACK!

The iron-wood blade slammed against Logan’s side. The impact echoed through the microphone systems, making several audience members in the front row wince.

“That was insane!”

Logan's body took the hit. His organs, made strong by decades of training, barely felt it. But he stumbled back three steps on purpose, acting as if he had almost lost his breath.

"Look at him, he can't even stand!" Elliot taunted, stepping closer as the crowd began to roar with laughter.

"Is this the best the caretaker can do? Hold your sword up, coward!"

Elliot raised the weapon high above his head, bringing it down in a overhead strike aimed straight for Logan's shoulder.

BANG!

The second blow hit Logan's collarbone hard. His feet slid back, leaving small scuff marks. His jaw tightened, but his breathing stayed calm as he dropped his head, pretending to be exhausted.

In the family box, Clara stood up from her seat, her face etched with concern and worry.

"Stop it, Elliot. that's enough!" she screamed, but her voice was swallowed by the roaring arena.

Master Seth grabbed her arm, pulling her back down into her chair with a cold scold.

On the ring, Elliot leaned in close to Logan, his eyes burning with cruelty.

"Give up, trash." Elliot hissed quietly, lifting his sword for a final strike at Logan's head. "You don't belong with Clara. You don't belong in Harlow Cross. Kneel in front of me and beg!"

Logan smiled. "Don't get too excited over just a few hits."

The sword whistled toward Logan's head.

Logan lifted his thin wooden sword just enough to turn the blow away from his head, so the strike landed on his left shoulder instead.

CRACK!

Logan's practice sword snapped in two, and the broken piece clattered onto the stage.

Logan took a deep breath. He had taken three hits. He had given Elliot his show, and he had kept the crowd safe from his power. He had kept his promise.

He let the rest of his wooden sword fall from his hand. He bowed his head slightly to Elliot and spoke in a flat voice that the nearest microphones picked up.

"I lack the skill," Logan said softly. "I yield."

A brief pause gripped the stadium, followed immediately by a wave of mocking laughter from thousands of spectators.

"He yielded after three hits!" a man in the front row shouted, laughing uncontrollably.

"What a joke. He couldn't even swing his sword once!" another spectator yelled.

Elliot grinned, drunk on the crowd's loud cheers. But a simple surrender was not enough for his pride. As Logan turned to leave, Elliot stepped forward and pressed the tip of his ironwood sword hard onto Logan's right shoulder.

"Where do you think you're going?" Elliot sneered, leaning his body weight onto the weapon, forcing Logan down. "When you yield to a champion, you bow properly on your knees!"

The weight pressed down on Logan's shoulder.

Logan paused.

He could easily have stood firm and made the sword feel like it was pressing on solid steel. But he chose not to fight back. He slowly let his right knee sink down, taking the shame in silence.

The crowd cheered wildly as they watched the helpless caretaker forced onto one knee in front of the champion.

Elliot raised his arms in victory and stepped over Logan's broken sword as the referee declared him the winner.

Logan stood up slowly. He brushed a little dust off his knee, keeping his face calm. He did not look at Elliot. He did not look at the cheering crowd.

He walked off the stage with his head held steady and disappeared down the exit tunnel.

High above the arena, inside the glass walls of private VIP Box 1, a man in a navy blue suit stood looking down through a pair of strong binoculars.

On his lapel was a small gold pin shaped like a snake coiled around a broken sword.

He watched Logan walk down the tunnel in silence. He noticed that the former commander had not used even a drop of inner energy, and had let an ordinary martial artist hit him and force him to his knees.

The man lowered his binoculars, reaching into his suit pocket to pull out a phone. He pressed a single button, bringing the phone to his ear.

"Report," a deep, distorted voice answered from the phone.

"I have watched him myself," the man in the suit said coldly, looking at Logan's shadow as it disappeared into the dark. "He took three hard hits from a local amateur and never hit back. He let himself be forced onto one knee in front of thousands. His fighting skill is dead, and his spirit is completely broken."

A cold laugh came through the phone. "Then the former Commander of the Immortal Guard is just an empty shell. Go ahead as planned."

"Understood," the man in the VIP box said quietly, a smile spreading across his face. "The Sword God is truly broken. Start taking over Harlow Cross.”