Basrin is a region bordering the eastern frontier of Lanc with Aragon, plagued by conflict for centuries. Whether due to civil wars, territorial disputes, or clashes with neighboring kingdoms, it has remained a battleground where sovereignty shifts frequently. Its allegiance has changed over time, sometimes aligning with foreign rulers, but historically, Basrin has always been considered a part of Lanc. Its geography—comprising vast plains, rugged mountains, and strategic trade routes—has made it a region of great interest to both allies and adversaries. Control over Basrin often determines access to crucial resources and military advantages, further fueling its unstable history.
For the past 80 years, however, the Kopenhav family has ruled the region with an iron grip. Unlike previous rulers who faltered due to political instability, the Kopenhavs have maintained their dominance through an uncompromising balance of fear and calculated diplomacy. To retain control, they must be strong enough to deter external threats while swiftly eliminating any internal opposition before it can take root. Their rule is characterized by strict military discipline, economic oversight, and an intricate bureaucratic system that ensures loyalty from key officials. Those who defy them rarely get a second chance.
Unlike the long-established noble houses of Lanc, the Kopenhav family is a political anomaly. Their rise to power is not built on ancient lineage but on cunning strategy and ruthless adaptability. They emerged from a history of warfare and tactical genius, positioning themselves as indispensable protectors of Basrin. To uphold their dominance, they have mastered the precise manipulation of aura, a skill that sets them apart from their rivals. This mastery grants them a formidable presence on the battlefield, making them more than just political figures—they are feared warriors in their own right.
Yet, their greatest weapon is not raw power but intelligence—an intricate network of spies and informants spanning multiple nations. By gathering and exploiting critical information, they remain one step ahead of both foreign adversaries and internal challengers, ensuring their unchallenged rule over Basrin. Their espionage efforts extend beyond mere surveillance; they employ psychological warfare, blackmail, and subterfuge to dismantle threats before they materialize. Every decision they make is calculated, every move a step toward solidifying their legacy.
Despite their success, their rule remains fragile. The weight of maintaining absolute control is immense, and any sign of weakness could invite rebellion or external invasion. As much as the Kopenhavs have shaped Basrin, Basrin, in turn, continues to shape them—forcing them to evolve, to adapt, and to remain ever vigilant in a region where peace is nothing more than a fleeting illusion.
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Then came Ivaar's first opponent. He appeared to have a natural talent for corporealism, allowing him to enhance the size and strength of his arm muscles at will. Like Mickael's previous adversary, this fighter had already completed a match, adding to his experience and endurance.
It feels like we have the same amount of aura, Ivaar thought. Even though I have the advantage in martial arts, that alone won't guarantee victory. I saw how Mickael was completely drained after his fight—if I want to win, I need to end this quickly. I've analyzed enough. Now, I must act.
His opponent wasted no time, lunging forward with a powerful left hook. Ivaar dodged swiftly, feeling the gust of wind from the sheer force of the blow. He countered with a sharp elbow strike aimed at his opponent's ribs, but the man twisted his body, blocking the hit with his forearm before retaliating with a crushing knee strike. Ivaar barely managed to parry with his own knee, the impact reverberating through his leg.
The crowd roared as the fighters exchanged rapid blows, their strikes colliding with bursts of aura. Ivaar weaved through a barrage of punches, slipping past his opponent's defenses to land a clean jab to the jaw. His adversary staggered but quickly recovered, responding with an uppercut that Ivaar narrowly avoided by ducking at the last second.
Time. I need time to concentrate my aura for a decisive strike. But how can I create an opening? He won't simply let me charge up if I stand idle.
Without hesitation, Ivaar launched a punch reinforced with aura, striking the ground with enough force to create a thick cloud of dust. His opponent froze, momentarily unsure of his next move. That hesitation was all Ivaar needed. In the cover of the smokescreen, he funneled all his strength and aura into his right arm, preparing for a single, decisive blow.
Moving carefully through the dissipating dust, Ivaar advanced toward his opponent's last known position. He remained cautious, listening for any sign of movement. If his adversary had stayed put, this fight would be over in seconds.
"This is it," Ivaar whispered to himself. With a burst of speed, he leaped forward, putting every ounce of his strength into his right arm.
His opponent barely had time to react. The attack landed cleanly—his defenses were insufficient to absorb the impact, and even if he had reacted in time, there was no escaping the sheer force behind Ivaar's punch without sustaining serious injury. The blow sent shockwaves through the arena, leaving no doubt about the outcome of the fight.