Leonidas watched Bardulf’s match with interest as it played out.

The Shadowblade opted for speed and guile over outright strength, but when he did strike, he did so with shocking levels of power. Where Zalaza truly had minimized her other attributes in favor of maximizing speed and dexterity; Bardulf had taken a far more balanced approach to his attribute dispersion—and it showed in his combat.

When his enemy, another armored orc smaller than Synthra and wielding a pair of hand-axes, sought to press the attack against the Shadowblade; he simply evaded each attack within an inch of its landing. Bardulf forewent fancy demonstrations of skill in favor of focusing on examples of exacting calculation, and the moment that his enemy left an opening, he struck.

Both the blond man’s knives flashed like the claws of a wolf, and the magical shadows suffusing them pierced the orc’s unenchanted plate like it were butter. Blood never flew, but it did pump—and within two minutes of combat, the orc was all but spent.

Bardulf, meanwhile, was breathing hard but looking strong. The man had understood the necessity of the bout, and his stamina conservation had been remarkably well-done. All unnecessary movement had been eliminated, inasmuch as it could be by a relatively inexperienced fighter, and Leonidas found himself impressed by the other man’s tenacity.

Bardulf had not used showboating nor grandiose displays of magic or skill to win his round; he’d simply played to more subtle strengths, timed his movements, and let his enemy wear themself down.

When the match ended, it did so with Bardulf’s right blade against the orc’s neck, and his left poised to puncture the other Aspirant’s kidneys. The orc finally, and exhaustedly admitted his defeat, and Bardulf—in true him fashion, Leonidas was starting to believe—actually spent time commiserating with the orc on his loss and discussing the fight with him from start to finish.

He gave him advice, shook hands, and left.

Somehow, he’d turned defeating the warrior into a friendship.

When Bardulf returned to his seat, Leonidas lifted a hand in congratulations.

“{You won that well,}” he said truthfully. “{There was very little tension in the fight, but it made it more enjoyable for me. How did you grow so talented with your skills and weapons at only First Tier?}”

“{I’m a Legacy, remember?}” Bardulf grinned, and rubbed his forefinger over his nose in thought. “{My father’s been training me since I was a pup.}”

“{I assumed something to that effect, but I did not want to take it as fact without confirmation.}”

“{You’re a very cautious person, Achilles.}” Bardulf observed with a laugh.

“{Only with some things,}” Leonidas replied wryly. “{In others, I can be downright impulsive.}”

He thought about his agreement to Apprentice under Ceruviel, and a self-effacing smile took hold over his features. Yeah, impulsive was definitely the right word for some of his decision-making. A mix of gut instinct, the tides of reality, and simple pragmatism had dictated his choices—but when the only alternative to some of those choices, no matter how ‘fate-touched’ they seemed, was death; total agency wasn’t an option.

He was just glad he’d scored a strong Mentor for his troubles.

He would need her help if he was going to achieve his Ambition, and build a sanctuary for his family.

The complicated nature of what he’d observed between his relatives filled his mind, and he only half-watched the remaining matches while thinking them over. His grandfather was the most extreme of all his relatives, but he wasn’t surprised by that: Artur Paendrag was a man of singular and all-consuming focus, and if he’d decided that the new arrivals were his enemies, then he would stop at nothing to wipe them out.

He’d do it out of a belief of righteousness, too, Leonidas knew. His grandfather would find any number of perfectly pragmatic, logical, and patriotic reasons to massacre the emerging ‘Fantasies’ with impunity—and sleep soundly every night after he did. Were Leonidas not fresh from Elatra, he might have even shared his grandfather’s stance more than that of his parents or sister.

“{The matches are progressing faster now!}” Bardulf said from beside him as another of the mer-elves was flattened by an elf in scalemail, with her hair in two long black braids and an immense warhammer in her grip.

“{It will not be long until the victor matches.}” Leonidas agreed.

“{You know that you’ll face Synthra first, right?}”

“{I know.}” Leonidas said with a chuckle. “{I have only one or two ideas on how to defeat her, and they are long-shots at best.}”

“{I shall cheer your victory, Achilles!}”

“{Thanks,}” Leonidas said while glancing over at the disinterested redhead, and speaking with a tilt of his head toward the Shadowblade. “{Hey Bardulf, out of curiosity, what does your Primal Intuition say about her?}”

“{About Synthra?}” his new friend asked in surprise, and leaned forward to look around his armored body at the redhead as well.

“{Mmhm.}”

“{Hmm…}” Bardulf hummed while squinting his eyes toward the Sorceress. “{She’s in the middle. She’ll either become an incredible ally or a cruel enemy, and it’s like her fate is balanced on the knife’s edge. I don’t know what’ll tip it over, but right now, she’s in the middle of what I’d call friend and foe.}”

“{So she’s still deciding who she wants to be?}”

“{Sort of, yeah.}” Bardulf said with a nod. “{It’s surprising, but not too uncommon. The Guild Mistress has sheltered Synthra her entire life, from what rumors say. Sinalthria’s been hyper-protective of her daughter since Synthra’s father died, back on Altera. I’m not surprised that she’s so aloof and distant, honestly. She’s been treated like porcelain her entire life, despite her power.}”

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“{Her ability was called ‘Draconic Art’, right? Is she a Dragon?}”

“{A quarter, I think.}” Bardulf said with a nod. “{Sinalthria is half-dragon, so I suppose that makes Synthra more mortal than mythical.}”

“{Mythical?}” Leonidas asked with genuine confusion.

“{Creatures like True Dragons are classified as Mythicals.}” Bardulf explained with a shrug. “{They’re existences that transcend the laws of understood Cultivation, and exist in a category of power outside the norm. Mythicals don’t have the same classifications as normal mortals. Their power is more, I dunno, misunderstood I guess? Mysterious?}”

“{That explains her firepower…}” Leonidas murmured.

“{It does. I’m also surprised you didn’t know what a Mythical was. Aren’t you from Altera too, Achilles?}”

“{I came here from somewhere similar,}” Leonidas said truthfully, “{though it is more complicated than that.}”

“{Hm. Okay. I won’t pry.}” Bardulf declared, and turned back to the match with no hint of dissatisfaction.

Leonidas turned around in surprise—finally pulling his eyes from Sythra—and stared at Bardulf in surprise. “{You accept my answer that easily?}”

“{Did you lie?}”

“{Well, no, but—}”

“{Primal Intuition, remember?}” Bardulf said with a laugh. “{I have no reason to distrust you, Achilles. Just enjoy the benefits of empirical friendship, and focus on your match with the Princess. She’s going to burn you alive, otherwise.}”

“{She is ruthless, I suppose,}” Leonidas admitted with a nod.

“{More than you or I, Achilles.}” Bardulf agreed. “{Much more.}”

Leonidas said nothing to the blond man’s assertions, but within himself, he wasn’t so sure that was true.

In actuality, he had a ruthless streak just as long and twice as wide as his grandfather did—he just preferred not to let it dictate how he acted. Leonidas wanted to see the best in people, but if he were honest with himself, he knew he was as capable of immense and horrifying brutality as his grandfather or anyone else.

Leonidas had slain thousands of ‘innocent’ people during the war against Azrageth, simply because identifying the true Tainted among so many would have been too hard.

The chance that agents of the literal Lord of Hell they were fighting would find a way to infiltrate and sabotage his Grand Army’s supplies with fire, poison, or something more insidious had been too great, given past events. With the added possibility that the Tainted might try to assassinate his officers…

The choice had been a simple one, even if it had been ruthless.

Leonidas had steeled his heart, and he’d killed all of them.

In the lens of the campaign, it had been the proper choice for greater Elatra.

In the lens of his own hindsight, he knew it had simply been the most expedient option. None of his generals or soldiers had objected, and even the people they’d killed had seemed no different from the Tainted in behavior or presentation—whose numbers could and had encompassed children right alongside adults. Yet…

Leonidas grimaced under his helmet, and subtly shook his head to clear the train of thought. Down that path lay spiraling problems, he knew, and more than a few conscience and self-worth questions that he did not have the time nor luxury to truly address in the present moment.

Maybe he’d try to find a Psychologist, once all was said and done. He’d never been scared of the necessity of mental health assessment, and he doubted the Haelfenn would be either. The ones he’d met on Elatra had been the closest thing to a mental health cognizant species on the planet.

“{That’s the last match,}” Bardulf said bracingly when a beautiful cat-girl put down one of the last remaining Terran Aspirants. “{I hope your plan is ready, Achilles.}”

“{Me too,}” Leonidas muttered while Cerevil stepped forward.

“{All deciding rounds have now completed!}” the proctor announced formally. “{If you were eliminated or surrendered, your Aspiration to join the Guild ends here, for exactly one year as factored by the Terran Calendar.}”

So Dawnhaven had adopted the Calendar, too? That was interesting.

“{As a result, we will now move to the winners’ bracket. These matches have no impact on your eligibility, but do determine your ranking among this year’s incumbent Aspirants and can even allow you to bypass Iron and proceed directly to Copper rank. In the rarest cases, we have even had some advance directly to Bronze.}”

Murmurs broke out among the watching Aspirants, and Leonidas leaned forward in his seat. Competition had always appealed to him, and Cerevil had inadvertently triggered his competitive nature with his words.

"{Combatants will engage until two winners remain, at which point they will fight one another. For the sake of fairness, and to avoid predicted match-ups—}” several of the seated Aspirants turned to look at him and Synthra in a wave at Cerevil’s words, and the proctor continued unphased “{—in favor of an element of chaos: we will determine the combatants at random.}”

Celia stepped forward when Cerevil finished, and waved cheerfully at the assembled Aspirants.

“{Officer Celia will orchestrate this process. She has created a combatant card for each of you. These cards will be randomly drawn out of a bag in plain view. This process will continue until only two combatants remain. Given there are only eight of you in the winners’ bracket, it should be a relatively swift elimination process.}”

Leonidas leaned back when Cerevil turned to Celia, who conjured the sack he’d spoken of with a snap of her fingers.

“{This is exciting!}” Bardulf said gleefully.

“{And disappointing,}” Leonidas said while turning toward Synthra. The dragon-blooded woman was staring at Cerevil with a look of annoyance, though not one of surprise or actual irritation. It was very likely she’d suspected something like this might happen, if Leonidas’ guess was correct, simply due to the fact she probably knew the Guild Officers better than most. If Sinalthria was the Guild Mistress for an extended period, which seemed likely; then Synthra had likely grown up around the men and women that comprised the majority of the Guild’s officials.

She didn’t look a day over twenty-two, and actually seemed a little younger than that to Leonidas’ eyes, but he had learned not to trust those assumptions.

Only the fact she was assumedly still below level twenty lended confidence to his assessment. It made no sense for her to be older than him by a significant margin and only now allowed to follow in her mother’s footsteps.

He didn’t think even Sinalthria could shelter her that much, given how willful Synthra seemed.

“{The first match,}” Cerevil announced and pulled Leonidas’ attention, “{will be… Achilles against Pheona!}”

Leonidas raised his eyebrows, and looked down to where the pretty cat-girl from before was seated at the bottom of his own stands. She looked back up at him, and flashed him a wink, before jumping to her feet and striding for the Arena with her hips working overtime.

Bardulf sighed wistfully beside him, and Leonidas snorted.

“{I will see you shortly,}” he promised the blond.

“{Feel free to bring her back with you.}” Bardulf said with a smile.

“{I thought Cats and Dogs did not get along?}” Leonidas asked while standing.

“{Perhaps not,}” Bardulf said with a grin, “{but I am nothing if not willing to sacrifice for the peace of all.}”

Leonidas shook his head, laughed, and made his way down the steps.

When he did, he turned, and met Synthra’s burning golden eyes as he descended. Bardulf could have his fantasies, as far as Leonidas was concerned. After all, he had his own goals. The tournament was the best way to develop his Affinity relative to the best in his peer bracket for age and power, and presented a golden opportunity for further limit testing.

He already had ideas of what he wanted his Aspirant arc to include.

And it ended with putting the Guild’s Princess flat on her back. Hard.