Chapter 673: Let the tournament begin
Its aura spread like an invisible serpent slithering through the shadows of the arena, slow, patient, venomous. It slithered through every crack, passing between the columns, slithering between the feet of the warriors. The weak noticed nothing; they were like prey that didn’t feel the beast’s gaze until it was too late. But the strong… the strong felt it. And that was the real fun.
A young man in light armor, with disheveled hair and labored breathing, shivered at the touch of that presence. Immediately, he lowered his gaze, trying to hide the fire burning in his mana. Another, a huge man with scars crisscrossing his neck, looked up and took a deep breath, as if he had just borne the weight of an invisible chain. A third, thinner, almost frail, bit his lip and frowned, his mana vibrating in complex patterns, too refined for his frail appearance.
Strax smiled discreetly. One, two, three… each reactive presence was marked in his mind, like targets painted red. In total, he found twelve. Twelve flashes that stood out like stars in the darkness. Twelve that could be called prodigies. But something caught his attention even more: only four were there, among the Dragons. The other eight… were beyond, on the path of the Phoenixes. And among them, an unmistakable glow.
Strax didn’t need to open his eyes to recognize her. That woman with oriental features, whom he had seen in the inscription hall, radiated a crystalline aura, cold as snow and deep as an endless lake. Unlike the others, she made no attempt to hide her strength. She simply contained it, like someone holding a sheathed blade—silent, yet lethal.
Her predatory smile widened. Even separated by walls and corridors, she seemed to have felt the touch of his aura. Suddenly, as if inevitable, her eyes opened and searched for a point in the void, beyond visible space. And in that instant, Strax was certain: she, too, had looked back. Predators always recognized each other.
He slowly withdrew his aura, leaving only echoes, like footprints in the snow. Enough to arouse curiosity, but not enough to reveal everything. From that moment on, the tension in the forts became palpable. The other competitors breathed harder, some suspicious, others trying to ignore what they had sensed. But it was useless. Instinct had already warned them: there was something monstrous among them.
The call of the scribes broke the silence. Names began to be announced, echoing throughout the space, like sentences defining destinies. Pairs were called to the center of the arena, where the runes lit up in combat circles, delimiting the sacred spaces of battle.
Blood was spilled early.
The first fight was quick. Two arrogant men faced each other. The shorter one tried to use speed, but was brutally intercepted; a single, heavy blow left him spitting blood onto the ground. The crowd, already beginning to gather in the stands, roared in approval. The runes on the ground glowed, confirming defeat and protecting the life of the fallen man, who was dragged out.
More names were called, more fights followed. Some battles lasted minutes, others less than a blink of an eye. The metallic clang of weapons, the impact of magic, the screams, and the smell of sweat and mana saturated the air. Each victory was greeted with deafening applause, each defeat with a heavy, almost funereal silence.
Strax watched it all in silence. His arms crossed over his chest, his golden eyes half-closed, like those of a bored animal waiting for something worthy of its attention. He wasn’t there to watch amateurs bleed. He was waiting for his turn.
Finally, the scribe raised his voice:
“First round: Victor versus Davion Karr!”
The sound of the name reverberated through the arena. Many competitors turned their eyes to him, curious, restless. That presence that loomed heavily between them would finally have to reveal itself.
Strax stood unhurriedly, the simple movement drawing glances. Davion was already on the other side, waiting. He was a tall man, military-built, with brown hair cut close to his skull, eyes hardened by the weight of discipline. His posture was erect, his fists clenched. There was confidence in his stride as he entered the arena, but also a stiffness that betrayed tension.
Strax walked to the fighting circle, each step resounding like a drum in the heads of the others. As he crossed the boundary of the runes, he felt magic activate around him. The field imprisoned the two combatants like beasts in a cage, isolated from the outside world.
The scribe raised his voice again:
“Begin!”
Davion didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward immediately, his body radiating mana. His right fist was coated in a blue light, condensed like steel, and he threw a powerful right hand, aiming for Strax’s chin. The audience held their breath, waiting for the impact.
But what happened was almost humiliating.
Strax didn’t move his feet. He simply raised his hand and intercepted the blow in midair, catching Davion’s fist as if it were a child’s. The impact reverberated through the circle, a wave of energy shaking the runes, but Strax’s body remained motionless, like a wall.
Davion’s eyes widened, and he held his breath for a second. Before he could retreat, Strax twisted his fist slightly and threw him back with a movement as simple as it was brutal. Davion’s body flew as if struck by an invisible wall, crashing through the circle and crashing into the protective runes. The boom echoed throughout the arena, eliciting a chorus of exclamations from the audience.
Davion tried to stand, but his body trembled. His knees gave way before he could even stand completely. The magic of the runes glowed red, sealing his defeat.
The silence that followed was almost suffocating. Then, a round of applause erupted from the stands. Strax’s name echoed among the shouts, as if a beast had just bared its fangs for the first time.
He, however, simply turned calmly and walked out of the circle, his golden eyes glowing. There was no trace of emotion on his face, only that predatory coldness that made others look away.
Across the arena, the prodigies watched. The young man in light armor frowned, the scarred man narrowed his eyes, the thin man with refined mana bit his lip until it bled. Each of them knew what they had just seen: someone who wasn’t just above average. They were on another level.
And somewhere beyond, beside the Phoenix, that woman with oriental eyes smiled discreetly, as if confirming something she already knew.
Strax resumed his place, sitting down again, while the blood still boiled in the arena corridors. The first round continued, but it no longer mattered. For those paying attention, the tournament had just changed.
His presence was now a turning point. Every glance cast in his direction carried fear, respect, or the desire to stare at him. The golden beast had bared its fangs, and the feast was just beginning.
He rested his chin on his hand, relaxed, as if waiting. His smile was almost imperceptible, but it was there, hidden, dangerous.
And inside, Strax repeated the count. Twelve prodigies. Eight women. And one, in particular, who shone brighter than all.
“This is going to be fun…” he muttered softly to himself as the roar of the approaching fights filled the arena.
The roar of the arena spread like wildfire. Each subsequent fight seemed to fade before Strax’s display, but the battles continued, because that was what the tournament demanded: blood, sweat, glory, and ruin.
Names were called, warriors entered, warriors fell. Some shone for an instant, displaying refined techniques, explosions of mana, blows that seemed to have been delivered by monsters in human form. Others barely had time to raise their guard before being swept away like dust. The circle of runes did not lie, did not hesitate, showed no mercy.
Strax, seated in the stands reserved for the competitors, watched like one watching a river. Calm, patient, her golden eyes absorbed everything. She sought not entertainment, but patterns. Strength, hesitation, strategy, arrogance. Every little detail was etched in her mind, like a hunter studying the movements of her prey before entering the forest.
On the other side, on the Phoenix’s path, the women’s arena had also been opened. Though separated by stone corridors and protective enchantments, the energy of the women’s battles reverberated even there. And Strax could feel it. With each impact, with each release of mana, subtle echoes pierced the ground, like distant thunder.
And among them all, there was one that shone brightest.
Violet… Or rather, Samira’s new name.
Every time her name was announced, the hearts of some of the male competitors raced, even without seeing her. It was as if her fame, or her very presence, overflowed the boundaries of space.
Strax, with the corner of his mouth slightly raised, didn’t need direct vision to understand: she was enjoying herself at the same time… he was dying to kill everyone who set his sights on that woman. After all… She was his alone…
‘Ah… I need to learn to control myself…’ Strax thought, observing the surroundings… caution was necessary, for some reason… he was restless.