The dry September air thrummed with excitement as eight hundred voices rose in a cacophony of cheers, jeers, and raucous laughter.
The newly inaugurated royal arena, bathed in golden sunlight, had become a stage for a spectacle of speed, pride, and folly—a race for a simple laurel branch that had somehow ignited the competitive spirit of every noble, knight, and holy man present.
Hands shot into the air, some cupped around mouths as spectators shouted themselves hoarse. Below, the runners—muscular, oiled, and gleaming with sweat—dug their feet into the sand, their bodies straining as they pushed forward in a desperate bid to catch the prize.
