Lucian’s next match had to be changed. The previous winner chose to wait until a later time to fight, but Lucian wanted it right away.

“Just two more. Two more and you’re in, lord!” Mortis said excitedly to Lucian.

“I am aware,” Lucian replied. “Any updates on who the opponent is?”

Mortis shook his head. “Nothing yet.”

A judge, small and short, bald-headed, informed them that the opponent was ready and awaited them in the arena. Aric was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Haymond. Only Mortis and Lucian rode to the arena.

“Where are they, Mortis?” Lucian asked.

Mortis shrugged.

They arrived at the arena, and just as they were about to enter, Haymond came riding in at a gallop, his face stern and serious. He dismounted swiftly and walked up to Lucian.

“Be careful, Lucian,” Haymond said, his voice low but urgent. “Your opponent is a hired fighter named Kael. Nothing much is known about him, but he represents Duke Emmett, a close friend of the King. Just stay alert. These people, especially high-ranked ones, don’t just employ for no reason.”

Lucian nodded, absorbing the information. “Understood, lord Haymond. I’ll be cautious.”

Haymond grunted. “Don’t just be cautious. Be smart. This one’s dangerous.”

There were none to watch Kael.

Did his people feel confident in him winning so they did not even show up?

Lucian took a deep breath and stepped into the arena. The judges were in place, and across the sandy battlefield stood his opponent. Kael was a tall, imposing figure clad in dark black armor, with a helmet that obscured his features entirely. His presence radiated menace.

The judges signaled the start of the match, and Lucian and Kael began to circle each other. The hired fighter moved very slowly. Lucian mirrored his movements, trying to gauge his opponent’s strengths and weaknesses.

The first exchange was a blur of steel and sparks. Lucian’s longblade clashed with Kael’s heavy broadsword. The impact sent vibrations up Lucian’s arm, but he held firm, deflecting a follow-up strike with precision. Kael was powerful, each swing carrying enough force to shatter bones. Lucian knew he couldn’t match him in strength; he had to rely on his speed and agility.

It turned out to be a bad idea.

Kael unleashed a speed blitz, moving with a deadly swiftness that reminded Lucian of Aric’s blitz against the hobgoblins. Kael’s strikes came in rapid succession, faster than Lucian could react. The first cut sliced across his arm, followed by another across his thigh. Lucian’s mind raced as he tried to adjust, but Kael’s speed was overwhelming.

Blood dripped from Lucian’s wounds, but they healed almost instantly. Kael didn’t seem to notice, or perhaps he didn’t care. He pressed the attack, his blade a whirlwind of lethal precision. Lucian struggled to keep up, his defenses barely holding. Every time he tried to counter, Kael was already moving, landing another cut.

Minutes felt like hours as Lucian tried to find a way to counter Kael’s incredible speed. He realized he needed a new strategy—one that could disrupt Kael’s rhythm and give him a chance to strike back.

Lucian focused inward, drawing on his unique ability to heal. He deliberately took a defensive stance, allowing Kael to land more superficial cuts while conserving his energy. His plan was risky, but he needed to lure Kael into a false sense of dominance.

Kael, emboldened by Lucian’s seemingly weakened state, pressed harder. His attacks grew more aggressive, more reckless. Lucian waited for the right moment, his mind calculating each of Kael’s movements. He noticed a pattern—Kael always aimed for the same sequence: high, low, then a lateral slash.

Lucian’s eyes narrowed as he anticipated the next high strike. When it came, he dodged, but instead of countering immediately, he feigned a stumble. Kael, sensing an easy win, lunged forward with a low strike. This was Lucian’s chance.

Using the momentum of his stumble, Lucian rolled to the side and sprang up, his longblade aimed for Kael’s exposed flank. Kael realized the trap too late. Lucian’s blade struck true, slicing through a weak point in Kael’s armor.

Kael gasped, staggering from the unexpected blow. Lucian didn’t let up. He pressed the advantage, using Kael’s momentary disorientation to land another precise strike. Kael’s speed was his greatest weapon, but now it worked against him. His quick movements made it difficult for him to recover from the injury, and Lucian’s relentless assault left no room for him to regain his balance.

With a final, decisive strike, Lucian knocked Kael’s broadsword from his grasp and sent him sprawling to the ground. He, once again, aimed his longblade at his neck and gripped the man’s armored hands tightly to the ground.

The judges stepped forward, declaring Lucian the winner.

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One more fight. Just one more win.

He took way too much damage in that fight, but his healing ability made him look like he came unscathed.

The judges were powerful according to Haymond, and they were once winners or great warriors. They must have seen him heal.

Maybe it’s not against the rules?

“Lord Haymond, have you seen Aric?” Lucian asked.

Haymond flinched, and replied, “No? Why should I know where he is?”

It was strange. Aric had been there for the first three fights, and now he disappeared?

“Lucian Auric!” a voice shouted. It was a judge. “Your final fight is scheduled for now. Proceed to the main arena.”

Nightfall was upon them. The day had gone quickly, and it was almost midnight.

“Who is my final opponent?” he asked the judge.

“Naeve Eon, of house Eon.”

Haymond, who sat with Lucian gasped. The judge left, and only Lucian, Mortis, and Haymond remained. “Eon … Naeve Eon,” Haymond said, softly.

“Do you know him?” Lucian and Mortis asked.

“Her.”

Mortis let out the same shocked gasp. “It can’t be …”

Lucian was confused. Who was she?

“What? What’s going on?” he questioned.

Mortis looked down, and then at Haymond. “She’s Aric’s sister. His younger sister.”

What!?

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She stood across from him, no helmet, no armor—just a simple, light fabric shaped like a gown. In her hands, she wielded a thick staff with a leaf on top. Her hair was dark brown, and her face was sharp and focused.

The people watching were the most it had been the whole day. On Lucian’s side, Haymond and Mortis stood. Aric arrived late, after Lucian had already stepped into the arena. He stood near Mortis, his confident, arrogant look replaced by a timid expression. On the other side, a horde of people in exquisite garments and shoes sat. The lanterns around the arena illuminated the night, casting eerie shadows on the sand.

The judges signaled the start of the match, and Naeve moved first.

With a flick of her staff, roots burst from the ground, writhing like serpents.

What the hell is that? Lucian glanced at Haymond, Mortis, and Aric who were tense. I’m so stupid. Of course. If damn vampires and goblins exist, why shouldn’t magic?

Lucian leaped back, narrowly avoiding the grasping tendrils. He swung his longblade, slicing through the roots, but more erupted, forcing him to stay on the defensive.

Naeve’s eyes glinted with determination as she advanced. She thrust her staff into the ground, and a thick vine shot up, wrapping around Lucian’s ankle. He slashed at it, but another vine snared his wrist, yanking his longblade from his grasp. The weapon clattered to the ground, out of reach.

Lucian’s heart raced as he drew his dagger, ready to confront her up close. He charged, dodging the roots and vines that tried to entangle him. He closed the distance, his dagger flashing in the torchlight. Just as he was about to strike, Naeve raised her staff and a barrier of roots sprang up, blocking his attack.

She chanted softly, and the roots pulsed with a green light. Lucian pushed through the barrier, slashing at the roots with his dagger. He broke through, but Naeve was ready. She swung her staff, knocking him back. Lucian did manage to land a deep cut on her. He stumbled, and she took the opportunity to heal herself, the staff glowing as her wounds closed.

Great, she can heal too!

Lucian gritted his teeth. He couldn’t let her keep healing. He lunged again, this time aiming to disarm her. Naeve was quick, deflecting his strikes with her staff. The roots continued to lash out, forcing him to constantly move. He ducked, rolled, and spun, trying to find an opening.

She sent a very thin root at his arms, finding the perfect timing to disarm him. Lucian’s dagger clattered to the ground, but his eyes were locked on his longblade lying a few feet away. Naeve, sensing his intention, sent another wave of roots to ensnare him. With a swift roll to the side, Lucian dodged the roots and lunged for his blade. His fingers wrapped around the hilt just as Naeve’s staff glowed ominously.

He rose, swinging the longblade in a wide arc to clear the encroaching vines. Naeve retreated slightly, her staff pulsing with green energy as she prepared another attack. Lucian needed a plan—something to turn the tide in his favor. He noticed the pattern of her roots, how they responded to the rhythm of her staff.

As Naeve thrust her staff into the ground, Lucian made a bold move. He faked a direct charge, causing her to focus her roots in a concentrated area. At the last moment, he veered sharply to the right, slicing through the roots with precise, powerful strikes. The sudden shift caught her off guard, and Lucian closed the distance.

With a deft maneuver, Lucian feinted high, then brought his blade low, slashing at her legs. Naeve cried out in pain as the cut bled freely. She stumbled back, eyes wide with shock. Desperately, she raised her staff, chanting to heal herself, but nothing happened. The wound remained open.

Lucian remember that the nosferatu did not heal from the longblade’s cut as well. It would help against someone who could heal.

Naeve’s face contorted with frustration and fear. She backed away, her staff raised defensively as she continued to chant. Lucian pressed his advantage, his strikes relentless and unyielding. Each time she tried to heal, it failed, leaving her more vulnerable.

She moved further back, her chants growing more frantic. “Why isn’t it working?” she muttered, her eyes darting around as if seeking an answer. Lucian advanced, his confidence growing as he realized her healing ability was somehow neutralized.

“You’re cheating!” Naeve screamed, her voice filled with desperation. “He’s cheating! Judges, I demand an evaluation!”

The crowd erupted into chaos. People on Naeve’s side, dressed in their exquisite garments, stood and shouted in agreement. “Evaluate the match!” “He must be using something!” “This is unfair!”

The judges, stern and composed, stepped forward to address the commotion. One of them, a tall woman with a scar running down her lip, raised her hand for silence. “Order!” she commanded. The arena quieted.

The lead judge approached Lucian and Naeve, her eyes scanning them both critically. “Explain yourself,” she said to Naeve, her tone neutral but firm.

Naeve pointed a trembling finger at Lucian. “He’s using some sort of illegal poison to block my healing! My staff isn’t working!”

The judge turned to Lucian, who stood tall and resolute. “Is this true? Are you using any form of poison to disrupt her abilities?”

Lucian shook his head. “No.”

“Lies!” Naeve shouted.

A giant man, with broad shoulders and a colorful and intricate dress walked towards them. No judge attempted to stop him.

“Marquess Eon …” the woman judge said.

He put his hands to his lips, signaling for her to be silent.

“I do not know if there is foul play or not, but let us put a pause to this match while we investigate,” he said.

“No need!” Haymond said also approaching the judge.

The marquess’s face was angry, and just as he was about to speak, Haymond continued. “If it truly is poisoned, then would that be against the rules? Is every form of weapon not allowed except familiars?”

“Yes,” the judge answered. “But the participant did not inform of such a poison if he did wish to use it before he started. This is also a part of the rules, hence he will be disqualified.”

Haymond approached Lucian now, and whispered in his ears, “Tell me honestly now boy, did you use anything? Anything at all on this?”

“No,” Lucian said,

Haymond walked back to the judge, pointing to his arms. “If what the lady Naeve says is true, disqualify him. But let me prove it is not.”

“Cut me,” he said to Lucian.

“What?”

"Here, give me a cut.”

Lucian was hesitant. He knew the wounds would not heal.

“I’ll do it!” Aric was also here now. He gave Lucian a knowing look and took the weapon from his hands. “If it is poison, then it should work no matter who it is, right?”

With that, he cut Haymond’s hand with a small slice.

“Heal it,” Aric said to Naeve.

“How dare you? You drunk, you worthless embarassme–” she retorted, but was hushed by the marquess.

“Do it,” he commanded.

Begrudgingly, she took her staff and chanted. Haymond’s cut began to slowly close, and the blood disappeared.

“See!” Haymond excitedly yelled. “It cannot be poison!”

“Wha–” Naeve was in complete disarray. “Father, he’s cheating. They’ve hidden it somehow!”

The judge informed the marquess that the match would continue. Naeve’s face was a mask of disbelief and frustration. Lucian, now more confident, prepared himself for the next phase of the battle.

Naeve tightened her grip on her staff, the leaf on top trembling with energy. She thrust it into the ground again, summoning another wave of roots. This time, the roots were thicker and more aggressive, twisting and lashing out with greater speed and force.

Lucian dodged and parried, taking some cuts, but healing instantly. He stayed light on his feet, weaving between the roots and slashing through them when necessary. He knew he couldn’t afford to be ensnared again.

Naeve, however, wasn’t just relying on her roots. She started chanting, the words ancient and powerful. The ground beneath Lucian began to rumble. He felt a sudden shift and jumped just in time to avoid a large root that burst from the earth where he had been standing.

As he landed, he saw an opportunity. The roots were concentrated on the ground, but Naeve herself was vulnerable. He charged, feinting to the left before swinging his blade from the right. Naeve blocked with her staff, but the force of the blow knocked her off balance.

Lucian pressed his advantage, driving her back with a series of quick, precise strikes. Naeve tried to summon more roots, but Lucian anticipated her moves, dodging and countering with a speed that kept her on the defensive.

Desperate, Naeve chanted a healing spell, trying to mend the wound on her leg. But again, the magic failed. Panic flashed in her eyes as she realized her healing ability was still neutralized. Lucian’s blade was too swift, too precise, and the wounds he inflicted did not close.

Naeve’s movements became more frantic. She swung her staff wildly, but Lucian was relentless. He slashed at her arms and legs, careful to avoid killing strikes but ensuring that each cut was deep enough to cause significant pain and blood loss.

“Cheat!” voices from the audience cried.

Haymond, not to be outdone, stepped forward with yelled back. “We’ve already proven there’s no poison or enchantment on Lucian’s blade. What more do you need?”

Naeve raised her staff, but her movements were slower now, weakened by blood loss and exhaustion. Lucian moved in, his strikes needing less force behind them. He disarmed her with a swift blow, sending her staff flying across the arena.

Naeve fell to her knees, her strength failing. Lucian stood over her, his blade at the ready. The crowd fell silent.

“I yield,” Naeve hurriedly said. “I yield.”

Haymond and Mortis both sprinted to Lucian. Aric lagged behind, but he was smiling now.

“You’ve done it, lord, you’ve done it!” Mortis elatedly said.

Lucian peered over to where the marquess and his party sat. They were trying to get the wounds on her covered, and healed. He had a feeling that this would not be the last he had seen of them. Still, he made it. The job was not done yet. It had only started.