Pag sat hunched over a thick tome, its leather-bound cover worn from years of handling. The candlelight flickered against the library’s stone walls, casting dancing shadows as he flipped through another page. His fingers traced the elegant, looping script detailing past winners of the tournament. Some names were etched in legend, others forgotten, their victories swallowed by time.

Eryk and Darleyn sat across from him, each engrossed in their own research. The room smelled of aged parchment and melted wax, the air heavy with the weight of history.

“We need to focus on patterns,” Pag muttered, breaking the silence. “How past winners succeeded, which noble houses backed them, and if there’s a connection between them.”

Eryk looked up from a scroll detailing past tournament rules. “There’s something else we need to consider,” he said. “Lord Adrien isn’t just backing us. He’s got multiple competitors under his patronage.”

Pag frowned. That wasn’t unusual—noble houses often funded multiple participants to increase their odds of favor—but it felt deliberate. “How many?” he asked.

“At least three others,” Darleyn said, setting down a book of noble registers. “All relatively unknown fighters. Talented, but not famous.”

Pag’s fingers drummed against the wooden table. “Then what’s his game? If he’s sponsoring multiple people, it’s not about securing a single winner. It’s about control. Influence.”

“Maybe he wants leverage over whoever wins,” Eryk suggested. “If one of his fighters takes the top spot, he has a direct tie to them. If they place in the top eight, he still benefits.”

“Which means we’re not special,” Darleyn added. “We’re just pieces in his larger scheme.”

Pag exhaled sharply. He hated being manipulated. He turned his attention back to the tournament structure, hoping to find something they could use to their advantage.

The first round was composed of team trials and tasks. Three trials, two tasks. Points were gained through completion and by impressing the judges. The second round shifted to individual trials—two trials, one task, same scoring system. The final round was a round-robin battle format, where two losses meant elimination.

Pag tapped the book. “The real prizes are in the third round. Anyone in the top eight gets a rare soulbound armor set. But the top three? They get gifts from all the noble houses.”

Eryk raised an eyebrow. “That’s a significant reward. A favor from every noble house could be more valuable than the tournament prize itself.”

Darleyn leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Which brings us to the real question—why was our food and drink tampered with?”

Pag clenched his jaw. “Someone doesn’t want us to compete. Or they want us weakened.”

“The tampering wasn’t meant to kill us,” Darleyn said. “Just impair us. A sleeping draught that suppresses magic? It’s a way to keep us out of the early rounds or make sure we underperform.”

“That means someone is afraid of us,” Eryk said with a grin. “I’d call that a compliment.”

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Pag wasn’t smiling. “But who? Adrien’s playing his own game, but that doesn’t mean he’s the only one moving pieces. Another noble house could have seen us as a threat.”

Darleyn tapped the table thoughtfully. “We need to find out which houses have a vested interest in the tournament outcome. If we cross-reference past winners with their backers, we might be able to see a pattern.”

Eryk flipped through the pages of his scroll, then stopped. “This might be something—House Valcour. They’ve backed three winners in the past decade.”

Pag sat up. “Valcour? That’s Lord Adrien’s biggest rival in court.”

Darleyn’s expression darkened. “If we’re under Adrien’s banner, they might have seen us as his chosen champions.”

“Which means they tried to sabotage us,” Pag concluded.

Eryk shook his head. “But Adrien’s backing multiple people. Why target us specifically?”

Pag thought for a moment. “Maybe they see us as the biggest threat. Or maybe… someone within Adrien’s camp wants us gone.”

Silence settled over them as the implications sank in.

“We need to be careful,” Darleyn said. “The tournament hasn’t even started, and we’re already playing a dangerous game.”

Pag closed the book in front of him. “Then let’s make sure we play it better than they do.”

A knock at the library door broke the tension. The three of them exchanged wary glances before Eryk stood and opened it. A courier, clad in a crisp uniform bearing Adrien’s sigil, stood in the doorway, holding a sealed parchment.

“A message for Pag, Eryk, and Darleyn,” the courier announced, handing over the scroll before stepping back into the dimly lit corridor.

Pag unsealed it and quickly scanned the contents. His frown deepened. “It’s an invitation,” he said. “Adrien wants to meet us tonight.”

Darleyn narrowed her eyes. “Convenient timing.”

Eryk folded his arms. “Either he’s going to offer us more insight… or this is a trap.”

Pag set the parchment down, his mind already calculating their next move. “Either way, we’re going. We need answers.”

The three gathered their notes and prepared themselves. The meeting location was a private lounge within Adrien’s estate, a place known for its secrecy. As they made their way through the dimly lit corridors of the city, the weight of uncertainty settled over them. Each step brought them closer to the unknown.

When they arrived at the estate, they were led through a maze of opulent halls before being ushered into a room lit by a grand chandelier. Adrien sat at the head of a long table, his expression unreadable.

“Ah, you came,” he said smoothly, gesturing for them to sit. “I take it you’ve been doing your research.”

Pag met his gaze evenly. “We have. And we have questions.”

Adrien steepled his fingers. “Good. Then let’s talk.”

The tension in the room thickened as the three took their seats. Adrien’s piercing gaze swept over them before he leaned back slightly, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips.

“I assume you’ve discovered some… interesting details about the tournament,” he said. “But I wonder, do you truly understand what’s at stake?”

Pag didn’t flinch. “We know about the sabotage. Someone tried to cripple us before we even stepped into the arena.”

Adrien’s smile faltered slightly. “Yes, unfortunate, isn’t it? The tournament is more than just a competition. It’s a proving ground for alliances, betrayals, and power plays.”

Darleyn crossed her arms. “And you have multiple contestants under your banner. What’s your endgame?”

Adrien sighed, his fingers running through his hair. “It’s not just about winning. My house has been struggling since the last tournament. Our competitors failed to make it past the second round, and the fallout has been disastrous. Trade deals that were once secure have fallen through—only to be offered to my rivals. Long-held alliances have weakened. It’s been subtle, gradual, but relentless.”

Eryk’s eyes narrowed. “You think someone’s orchestrating this?”

Adrien nodded grimly. “I can’t prove it. Everything has been legal, coincidental on the surface. But if this continues, my house will be rendered powerless. That’s why I need to win this time.”

Pag leaned forward, his voice calm but firm. “Then tell us—what exactly do you need from us?”

Adrien exhaled slowly, his gaze intense. “Everything. I will give you anything and everything you need to ensure victory—resources, training, information, favors. If you win under my banner, we all survive.”