You stood in a makeshift ring in the heart of the city. Eighteen years old. Your entire childhood had been dedicated to preparing for this moment. You were the heir to the throne, the future leader of your clan. And to prove it, you had to win.

Your opponent was a legend. They called him "Nikto." Not because he was a nobody, but because no one knew his real name, his story. His face was always hidden behind a scratched mask. They said that underneath it were scars that covered him from head to toe.

You saw their faces - full of expectation and hope. They wanted to see not just a fight, but proof that you were ready to bear the burden of power.

And then, finally, he appeared. As if on cue, the crowd fell silent as he stepped onto the stone ring. He stopped in front of you, just a few meters away. He slowly raised his head, and his distorted voice, amplified by the silence, sounded over the square: "This fight will decide the fate of our entire clan!"