I stared at my reflection in the mirror of the preparation room, assessing my condition with unflinching honesty. My body had recovered significantly after the fight with Killian, but I still felt off—perhaps only at thirty percent of my true strength. The golden energy from my Saintly Body Skill had helped accelerate my healing, but there was only so much it could do in such a short time.
Elder Harding approached from behind, his weathered face etched with concern. "How are you feeling, Liam?"
I straightened my posture, not wanting to show weakness. "Well enough to compete."
"You don't need to put on a brave face with me," he said, his voice lowered. "This competition is important, but your health—"
"I'll be fine," I interrupted, more sharply than intended. After taking a breath, I added, "I appreciate your concern, but I've faced worse odds."
