The first set of matches unfolded exactly as I’d anticipated.

Nida’s opponent was a wiry elf with pointed ears like Nasq’s, though that’s where the similarities ended. His power was laughably insufficient against Nida’s relentless, in-your-face combat style. The moment the announcer’s “Start!” echoed across the arena, she surged forward.

The poor mage barely managed to part his lips for a spell before Nida’s fist smashed into the side of his head.

Though he managed to throw up a chantless defensive barrier, it was flimsy at best. Nida tore through it with a barrage of strikes that left him scrambling. Her power—whatever it was now—had far surpassed a mere beginner bronze core. The way she dismantled him suggested she was on the verge of breaking into the silver realm.

It didn’t take long for the elf to surrender. A particularly brutal uppercut shattered his arm, the brittle crack of bone audible even from my seat. His magic failed him entirely after that.

Nasq’s fight was even more decisive, though far less violent. With a flick of his wrist, he liquefied the stone beneath his opponent’s feet, trapping the man waist-deep before hardening it again. The close-combat fighter thrashed, screamed, and swore, but it was useless. Nasq strolled up and stomped him unconscious with casual indifference.

As I observed, it became easier to distinguish Nasq’s magic from conventional spellcasters. Most mages and sorcerers in Graedon were limited by their attributes, similar to heart energy users. Minor spells were common enough, but Nasq’s ability to wield an infinite variety of techniques marked him as something entirely different. Not even Marquess Benedict could boast such versatility.

It must be tied to the Desire System, I mused, absently twirling a strand of brown hair around my finger.

Hannah returned shortly after Nida and Nasq claimed their second victories, both with little effort. A massive bruise marred her swollen left eye, though her other injuries—if she had any—were either healed or hidden beneath thick new clothing.

“You okay?” Brianna asked, springing from her seat to meet her.

Hannah chuckled, wincing at the motion. “The healers patched me up right after the match,” she said, her attempt at a shrug earning a grimace. “I’ve had worse.”

“Why didn’t they heal your eye?” Brianna’s voice was soft as she gently brushed her hand over the inflamed skin.

“They got busy with the next round,” Hannah replied. “Tournament healers only handle first aid.”

“The family healers will come running the moment her parents see her like this,” Darrow said. Though his voice was calm, a vein bulged at his temple, and his narrowed eyes bored into the floor.

Is he mad his cousin got hurt?

I patted the empty seat beside me. “Sit here, Hannah.”

She nodded and sat, while Brianna reclaimed her spot on my other side. “What did you think of my fight?” Hannah asked, her tone cautious.

“I didn’t watch the mortal fights,” I replied bluntly. “It’s like watching grass grow.”

“Oh,” she murmured, lowering her head.

“However, I’ll praise your effort,” I added, earning her startled attention. “I didn’t see the match, but I saw the orc you fought. Facing such a disadvantage takes guts, even in defeat.”

Her chin lifted slightly, a faint smile tugging at her lips. Across from me, Darrow’s face softened for an instant before his usual scowl reasserted itself.

“As a reward, can I ask you something?” Hannah’s tone shifted, unexpectedly bold.

I hesitated. I wanted to use the time in between matches to meditate and improve my core, not answer meaningless questions. Especially considering my silver core had been bottlenecked in the silver realm for much too long, and the drive to push through was growing maddening. Still, building goodwill with a potential inner ally of the House I intended to claim wasn’t a bad idea.

“You may ask,” I said.

“How did you get that scar on your eye?”

My hand drifted to the deep lines that marred my right eye, and old memories surged unbidden. After a moment, I replied—not with the answer she wanted, but the one I was willing to give. “Not all families are kind, Hannah. Some are cruel. Very cruel.”

“Your family did that?” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the crowd’s cheers.

“In a way,” I said evenly.

“What did you do? Why did they do it?”

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“I gave him one in return.” My voice was cold, and my mind replayed the vivid image of blood blinding my vision as I carved a clean line from Kyros’s navel to his nose. “If you ever see a man with a deep black scar running from his nose into his clothes, leave. Get as far away as you can.”

Beside me, Brianna whispered something to Victor, who stood and left without a word. She leaned close, her tone hushed. “I sent him to spread the word. You should’ve told me earlier. Is it one of your brothers?”

I shook my head. “No. And it’s unlikely anyone will encounter him.”

She eyed me suspiciously but didn’t press further.

Kyros shouldn’t be here. He lacked the heart energy mastery needed for soul transference. The man was a brute, relying solely on suffocating opponents with raw density.

But… I was here. That slim possibility lingered.

“Actually,” I said, nodding. “Spread the warning. I want to be informed if anyone matching that description appears, even if it’s just suspicion.”

“It will be done, my lady,” Brianna replied with a bow of her head.

“Wow,” Hannah murmured, exhaling slowly. “I hope none of my family does that to me.”

I shrugged, turning back to the arena as Nida entered the stadium nearest to us. "The strings of fate do whatever they want. Hoping it won’t happen is useless. Getting strong enough to ensure it doesn’t is the only real solution.”

Whatever response Hannah offered was drowned out by the announcer’s booming voice.

“The odds are 3:1 in favor of Brutus the Orc Barbarian!” he bellowed, likely spinning around with an enchanted stick to amplify his voice. “But we’ve seen in previous matches that Nida—the Paragon, as she’s now called—can’t be taken lightly! Both fighters are close-combat experts with records for dominating their opponents. However, this isn’t Brutus’ first tournament. While Nida the Paragon is an unknown, Brutus has a reputation for brutality.”

I left my seat, leaning on the railing for a better view. Nida needed this fight. It would teach her she wasn’t as strong as she believed and that she still had much room to grow.

“Your friend is about to get squashed,” Darrow said, joining me at the railing. His tone brimmed with excitement as he watched the fighters circle each other. “I’ve seen Brutus spar with Alaric before Alaric made it to the silver realm. If anyone here is closing in on a silver core, it’s Brutus.”

I said nothing, watching the Orc carefully. His core wasn’t anywhere near the silver realm, despite the telltale signs of the third ring’s formation. He carried the energy of someone close to a breakthrough, but his weak foundations made it unlikely he’d ever cross the threshold. Even if he did, he’d be forever stuck, unable to form silver realm heart rings—a half-step achievement at best.

The two fighters circled one another, their stances shifting with wary precision. Brutus made the first mistake. His legs shuffled too close together, leaving him vulnerable. Nida lunged forward like a coiled spring, seizing the opening.

“Baited,” I muttered, clicking my tongue as Nida realized the trap too late.

Her charge faltered—cut short by a bolt of lightning crashing down from above, narrowly missing her. A trap, cleverly concealed within the clouds. The Orc had channeled his heart energy to set the snare.

A second and third bolt followed. The third struck true, attracted to Nida’s spear as if magnetized. White energy cracked against her arm, the force sending a tremor through her body. The scent of charred flesh filled the air. She clutched her blackened arm, struggling to stay upright.

“I told you,” Darrow said, whistling softly. “No one avoids that bait. Never seen it happen, not once.” There was pride in his tone, though it was unclear if it stemmed from the Orc’s ingenuity or his own smugness.

“Is he your champion?” I asked, quirking a brow.

Darrow laughed. “Gods, no. He’s my younger sister’s champion. My fighter is Alaric—he’ll fight in the next tier.”

Figures, I thought dryly.

“Is she not going to surrender?” Hannah leaned so far over the railing I feared she might tumble into the arena. Her voice held a mix of curiosity and concern.

Instead of surrendering, Nida did the opposite. The energy around her began to coalesce, swirling faster and faster until it formed a visible vortex. The air thickened with raw power as she absorbed it into herself. Then came the roar—an utterly inhuman sound that silenced the Colosseum.

Bones cracked. Her face elongated into a muzzle. Golden eyes shifted to blood-red, glowing with predatory malice that mirrored my own. Nida’s humanoid form dissolved, replaced by the lithe, muscled body of a tiger. Her white and black-striped fur gleamed under the sunlight, a testament to her ancestral tiger god.

The audience gasped. The sheer intensity of her transformation blanketed the arena in oppressive bloodlust. The air grew humid, and sticky with energy. Sweat pooled down my skin, the ever-breezy VIP section stifling and thick with restricted heat.

“She’s a shapeshifter?” Darrow’s voice was incredulous as his wide eyes snapped toward me.

I tapped my cheek in mock innocence. “How about that?” I said lightly. I’d only seen her shift once before, but it was no less mesmerizing the second time.

In her primal form, Nida was unstoppable. She wove through Brutus’s panicked lightning bolts with feral grace, her movements a blur. Realizing his heart energy alone wouldn’t be enough, Brutus gripped his claymore and charged, roaring as lightning crackled along the blade.

The collision of his blade with Nida’s claws sent shockwaves rippling through the arena. The wind howled, scattering belongings and lifting carpets like banners in a storm. Even in our elevated seats, the force whipped my hair across my face.

“They’re both breaking through!” Darrow shouted, his voice tinged with awe as he steadied himself against the railing.

“They’re not both breaking through,” I corrected, jabbing a finger toward the arena. “Only she is.”

Darrow scoffed. “The energy level suggests otherwise. You can feel it—two cores are ascending.”

I shot him a sly grin. “Perhaps by the standards of the breakthroughs you’ve seen.”

True to my words, the battle shifted in Nida’s favor. Brutus’s size and strength were no match for her speed and growing ferocity. Each clash pushed him further back until she landed a devastating strike—four parallel gashes cut deep into his chest. Blood erupted from the wounds in a gruesome spray, painting the white stone crimson.

The Orc dropped to his knees, clutching his abdomen as though holding his insides together. Nida bared her fangs, poised to strike the killing blow.

But she hesitated. Her glowing red eyes locked onto me, her gaze unreadable. Instead of finishing him, she growled low in her throat.

“I… surrender,” Brutus rasped, raising a trembling arm in defeat. His other hand clutched at his wounds as if trying to keep the freely spilling blood inside.

Nida’s body shuddered, and she began to shrink back into her human form. The colosseum erupted into cheers, the roar of the crowd nearly deafening. While not quite as thunderous as the ovation for Dame Annalise, it was easily the loudest of the day.