Chapter 668: First Phase (Part II)
Time seemed to drag inside house 24. Ten, maybe fifteen minutes passed, and the silence became almost palpable. The contestants remained scattered, exchanging suspicious glances and adjusting their weapons, but no one dared break the order established by the man who had just left.
Samira, sitting cross-legged, watched the others and, occasionally, glanced at Strax. The uneasiness in her amber eyes was clear, but she restrained herself, knowing that following his rhythm was better than acting on impulse. She let out a soft sigh, crossing her arms.
“Ten minutes have passed…” she murmured, almost to herself. “And nothing happens.” A small, almost ironic smile formed on her lips. “But you’re right, let’s wait.”
Strax, leaning against the opposite wall, remained motionless, scanning the room with his golden eyes, his expression seemingly relaxed. But within that predatory calm, something was already forming in his mind. He had noticed patterns, small inconsistencies that most would never notice.
Then, after a few more seconds, Strax smiled. A subtle, almost arrogant smile that made Samira frown, noticing the shift in his energy. Without warning, he rose with a smooth movement and began walking toward the painting hanging on the side wall of the room.
Samira raised an eyebrow and stood, leaning forward. “Where are you going?” she asked, curiosity mixed with a touch of concern. “We can’t touch anything, Strax…”
He turned his head slightly toward her, maintaining his smile. “I know,” he murmured, and his gaze returned to the painting. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t find out what it really is.”
As he approached the wall, Strax drew his sword with a quick, clean movement that made some of the competitors immediately straighten up, surprised by his boldness. The metallic clang echoed through the room, and curious and fearful eyes turned to him. But Strax showed no hesitation.
Samira stepped forward, alarmed but restrained. “Strax… this is madness! They’ve forbidden us from touching anything!” she whispered, her voice tense.
He looked away for a moment, just long enough to reply, his tone low and firm: “Who said touching is the only way to act?”
And then, in one precise movement, Strax attacked the painting. The blade sliced through the canvas perfectly, tracing an exact square, without tearing or damaging the rest of the work. The sound of the cut was almost imperceptible, but Samira’s watchful eyes followed every movement carefully.
The entire room fell into absolute silence. Some of the competitors held their breath, surprised by his audacity. No one dared intervene.
Strax, without hesitation, removed the cut section of the wall using only the blade. He spun the piece in the air, holding it delicately, his hands touching nothing. The movement was so fluid it seemed rehearsed, almost artistic.
Samira stepped closer, her amber eyes fixed on what he was doing. “What… are you doing?” she asked, disbelief in her voice.
He didn’t answer right away. He spun the small section of the painting again, and then the back became visible. Delicately engraved characters revealed something that immediately caught Samira’s attention.
“Hall of the Dragon and Phoenix,” she read softly, surprise dawning in her eyes.
Strax just smiled, his smile widening, almost amused. “See?” he murmured, keeping his eyes fixed on the inscription. “This isn’t just a painting… it’s the pass. Access to the next level of the tournament.”
Samira looked at him, a mixture of astonishment and admiration. “A pass?” she repeated, blinking several times. “So all this… all the waiting, all the observing… were you saving this?”
Strax chuckled, the deep sound echoing lightly through the room. “Exactly. The room, the painting, the order not to touch anything… it was all a test of perception. Anyone who didn’t notice the details would never have made it this far.” He carefully put the cut piece away. “And now that we understand, it’s time to move on.”
Without waiting any longer, he began walking toward the exit of the barracks. The clang of the sword strapped to his waist echoed with firm footsteps, and the silence in the room grew heavy again. Samira stood quickly, following him, her heart racing.
“You always do things the riskiest way,” she murmured, with a nervous but determined smile. “I still don’t know whether to admire you or strike you for it.”
Strax merely glanced over his shoulder, his golden eyes shining with that predatory calm that always kept her alert. “Oh come on, I’m not that reckless,” he said with a playful tone, but without losing his seriousness. “Well, after what happened on that island, I’m having second thoughts about how to proceed. So for now, let’s do it my way.”
Samira took a deep breath, adjusting her cloak and sword, and followed him out of the room.
Just as Strax and Samira began walking out of the barracks, a shrill voice cut through the heavy silence of the corridor.
“Wait!” shouted a young man, his face red with anger and his fists clenched. “Are you deaf? They told you not to touch anything! We cannot tolerate this behavior!”
Strax glanced at the young man, arching an eyebrow and letting out a low, almost sarcastic chuckle. The young man’s expression turned into a mixture of disbelief and indignation, but Strax seemed completely unthreatening.
“Don’t you think your behavior might end up hurting anyone?” the young man shouted, his voice full of dramatic exaggeration.
Strax looked away at Samira, who merely laughed, leaning lightly against the corridor wall. The irony and contempt in her eyes were clear: this boy truly had no idea who he was dealing with.
The young man, red with rage, took a step forward, his hand open as if to draw an imaginary weapon. “Put it back!” he shouted, almost choking on his own pride.
Strax let out a low laugh and leaned forward, his sword resting lightly in his hand. “You won’t even make it past the first stage,” he said, his voice calm but laced with contempt. “Go find a job, kid.”
The boy couldn’t contain himself. With an irrational cry, he lunged at Strax’s back, believing the surprise would give him the upper hand. But Strax was fast—too fast for him.
With one clean motion, Strax swung the sword, gripping it tightly. The next instant, he released a controlled burst of concentrated mana from the blade. An intense blue glow coursed through the metal, and the energy caused small fragments to break off, striking the young man’s body and face with surgical precision. The impact wasn’t lethal, but it left the young man staggering, covered in superficial energy burns and minor bruises, unable to continue his charge.
“Sorry,” Strax said, his voice cold, almost amused by the contrast between the threat and reality. “I don’t feel like dealing with children. Leave the tournament and go find a job, how about that?”