Chapter 676: Always so simple…
Strax left Valen’s unconscious body lying on the arena floor. The sealing runes had already stabilized the field, ensuring that the defeated man would not die there. The crowd roared, many unable to comprehend the gravity of what they had just witnessed. To them, it was just another crushing victory for the golden warrior.
But the watchful eyes, those of the strong, those of the hidden… these were different. Whispers rippled through the stands, the scribes exchanged worried glances, and the waiting warriors, who until then had seen Strax as just another opponent, now felt something different. Fear.
Strax, however, was uninterested in them. His gaze roamed the perimeter, his golden pupils pulsing as he released mana in discreet waves. Each pulse revealed specks—dark spots scattered like seeds in fertile soil. He had counted them before. Now, he confirmed it.
More than a dozen. Maybe two. The entire tournament was a nest.
Samira’s voice rang in his mind, like a whisper shrouded in biting winds:
“I already imagined… but hearing it from you confirms it.” His breathing sounded heavy. “They’re growing. Not just accepting demonic energy, but creating something of their own. Negative energy… it’s refined corruption.”
Strax walked toward the arena exit, ignoring the applause. His mental voice was deep, thick with irony.
“‘Refined’? Hah. It’s more like poison diluted in cheap wine. They drink it and think they’re getting stronger… but they’re only rotting inside.”
“Rotting or not,” Samira replied seriously, “they still become weapons. And weapons can kill.”
He didn’t retort. There was no need. They both knew the weight of those words.
As he stepped out of the circle, Strax felt the atmosphere shift. The scribes watched him furtively, recording his every move, as if they wanted to memorize more than just his techniques: they wanted to understand his nature. Among the competitors, some looked away, others stared back, but not with hostility—with cold calculation.
Strax recognized that look. It was the look of hunters deciding whether their prey was worth the risk.
As he walked, he heard Samira again:
“I’ll try to infiltrate the scribes. Someone here is feeding these men forbidden techniques. If it’s just demonic contact, I can track it. But if it’s something bigger…”
Strax interrupted firmly:
“If it’s something bigger, I’ll crush it.”
Silence followed for a moment, before Samira let out an almost amused sigh.
“Always so simple…”
He didn’t answer.
Strax strode back to the competitors’ section. The sound of the arena continued to echo behind him, but his mind was elsewhere. Every fiber of his body still vibrated with the memory of the negative energy. This wasn’t just some trick. It was a symptom.
“If even humans are drinking this poison… then the world is closer to rot than I thought.”
Strax closed his eyes for a moment, suppressing the rage that throbbed like a drum. When he opened them again, his golden eyes burned.
The moment had come. The tournament wasn’t just a distraction. It was a hunting ground.
He had to decide. Would he hunt one by one, like a silent predator, tearing the truth about their masters from the flesh of each enemy?
Or would he allow them all to reveal themselves, like worms emerging from the earth in the sunlight, to crush them all at once?
Before his mind could weigh the two options, a familiar presence approached.
“Impressive as always.” The husky, deep voice came from a tall, scarred man who had watched the fight intently. He was one of the older competitors, and rumors had it he was a retired gladiator, brought back just for show. His eyes, however, were narrow, assessing. “But tell me, boy… where does that golden glow come from?”
Strax didn’t answer immediately. He just turned slowly, facing him.
“From hunger,” he said dryly. “And the desire to devour everything that stinks of rot.”
The man smiled, but it wasn’t a friendly smile.
“Then you’ll have quite a feast ahead of you.”
He walked away without further explanation, leaving only the nagging feeling that he’d understood more than he should have.
Strax took a deep breath, adjusting his cloak on his shoulders.
Samira spoke in his mind one last time, her voice urgent:
“Strax… one of the scribes is leaving through the service corridors. I sense the negative energy in him. If he escapes, he’ll alert the rest.”
The ferocious smile returned to Strax’s face.
“Leave it… this is very still, let’s let them get their bearings and see what happens. They probably wanted to completely dominate the tournament. We’ll find out what they want with this… from your side, okay?”
Strax’s deep chuckle echoed softly in the stuffy underground corridors, contrasting with the distant clamor of the arena above. He ran his hand over his chin, as if savoring the situation.
“Let them get their bearings…” he repeated softly. “Worms, when they stir, show where they want to crawl. If they truly intend to dominate the tournament, they will expose themselves.”
Samira’s voice came through the mind link, calm, but with the firmness of someone who saw far beyond appearances:
“Okay. But it’s a dangerous game, Strax. I can feel the mana currents moving. The tournament’s “brackets” are dwindling. We’ll reach the quarterfinals soon.” Strax stopped in a darker part of the corridor and leaned his back against the cold wall, his arms crossed. His golden gaze seemed to pierce the ceiling above.
“Quarterfinals, hm?” he murmured. “The fewer pieces on the board, the easier it will be for them to manipulate. And if that’s their goal… something big will happen at that point.”
Samira didn’t answer immediately. He sensed her hesitation on the other end of the connection. Then she heard him say seriously:
“Samira… remove the power seals.”
A heavy silence followed.
“…Are you sure?” she asked softly. “These seals are here to keep my power contained. If I unleash it all, I’ll have no place to hide.”
“Exactly.” Strax’s voice was like a blade piercing steel. “If I’m absent when they decide to act, someone will need to step up without hesitation. And that someone is you. I want you to be ready to use everything you have.” If necessary, burn them all.
Samira’s breath trembled on the other side, but not from fear. It was determination that grew like fire.
“I understand. I’ll prepare myself. But…” she sighed, her voice softening, “perhaps it would be better to prolong this a little. Give them space to believe they’re still in control. Only then can we find out who’s really pulling the strings.”
Strax laughed, a low, husky sound.
“You learned quickly… letting the enemy drown in their own venom is the sweetest method of hunting.”
“Good.” She seemed satisfied with the answer. “Then we’ll do it this way. What about you?”
“I…” Strax uncrossed his arms, tilting his head slightly. “I have a bad feeling. I can’t be trapped when this starts. I need freedom of movement.”
There was a moment of comfortable silence. The kind of silence of two hunters who already understand the risks.
Then Samira let out a soft chuckle.
“Funny… even in the midst of this, you seem to be having fun.”
“Heh. I always have fun when the smell of rot is strong,” Strax muttered, her voice slurred. “But don’t think I relax. I just wait.”
“Well, at least I’m not alone.” Her voice changed, taking on a slightly amused tone. “There are some very interesting girls here next to me. One is an archer, with incredible reflexes. The other… well, the other has strange blood. I don’t know where it comes from yet, but her power is curious.”
“Interesting girls, hm?” Strax laughed again, this time more openly, a deep sound that echoed through the empty hallway. “I don’t have any by my side.”
“Oh, no?” Samira teased, with a hint of irony. “I thought you were the type who always ends up surrounded by admirers.”
Strax narrowed his eyes, scanning the darkness ahead, and let his laughter slowly die.
“Maybe you’re not wrong,” he said quietly. “There’s a woman who’s been watching me for some time.”
Samira’s silence was immediate, charged with interest.
“Who?”
Strax tilted his head, remembering the times he’d felt that gaze on him during the tournament, always in the higher stands, always distant, but never absent.
“A tall woman,” he began, his voice almost too deep, as if describing an enemy. “Her eyes are piercing, slanted… like narrow blades of obsidian. They’re not eyes that look away. They’re not eyes that forgive.”
“Slanted eyes…” Samira repeated thoughtfully. “Hm. And what else?”
Strax frowned, remembering the silhouette.
“She’s wearing a dress. Long. It’s not combat attire, nor a courtesan’s. It’s… something in between. Too elegant for a crowd, but enough freedom of movement for someone who can act at any moment.”
“You’re describing a predator,” Samira remarked seriously. “Are you trying to die by making me jealous?”
“I don’t know.” He smiled, baring his teeth like a beast in the dark. “But I like her gaze. It’s not like the others. It doesn’t measure my worth. It measures my danger.”
Samira was silent for a few seconds. When he spoke, there was a hint of anger in his tone:
“So, you want to die?”
“Relax, I love you.”
“I’ll pretend to believe you.”
“You want to go without a reward, Violet?”
“Lord Victor, I’m so sorry.”