Elysian’s stomach twisted as he watched.

  Sybil had landed more cuts. His blade had found its mark again and again, slicing across the thralgar’s arms, his ribs, his thigh. But it didn’t matter. Every wound sealed almost as soon as it opened. The blood barely had time to well before the flesh stitched itself back together. Meanwhile, Sybil’s own cuts stayed—bleeding freely, soaking his tunic, weakening him with every passing second.

  ‘Damn it.’

  Elysian clenched his jaw. “Lyn, why the hell are they using real weapons? This is just a competition—why not use wooden swords or dulled blades?” He gestured to Sybil, already bloodied, already faltering. “What if someone—”

  Kaerthlyn cut him off with a snort. “Why are you asking such a dumb question? This is a fight. Only children use wooden swords.”

  Her words made Elysian’s skin crawl.

  ‘She isn’t wrong, but—’

  “This is a competition meant for thralgar,” she continued, her voice level. “Wounds don’t mean much unless someone intends to kill—”

  “That b*stard is trying to kill,” Elysian snapped. His hands curled into fists. “Look at his strikes. Look where he’s aiming.”

  Kaerthlyn fell silent, watching. Then she exhaled sharply. “Yeah. I see it.”

  Elysian’s gaze flicked to the crowd, to the warriors watching from the sidelines. None of them seemed alarmed. If anything, some were grinning, murmuring among themselves, enjoying the spectacle.

  “What the hell is wrong with them?” Elysian hissed. “Why isn’t anyone stopping this?”

  The thralgar from earlier gave him a sidelong glance. “This is how fights happen in Kor’Morul. If they hate each other, it’s allowed to go as far as it needs to. Even to the death.”

  Elysian’s breath stopped. He turned to look at Kaerthlyn. She only nodded in confirmation, then returned her focus to the fight. Elysian gritted his teeth.

  ‘Damn it. Where the hell is the officiator? Do I need to stop this? No. I can’t. That’ll only bring repercussions. That’ll only make things worse. That’ll put Grimwatch in even more danger.’

  His hands curled into fists.

  ‘Sybil—just survive, you b*stard.’

  The thralgar lunged. Sybil barely dodged in time, the massive blade slicing a hair’s breadth from his ribs. He twisted away, feinted left—then struck, his sword carving a line across the thralgar’s forearm. Blood welled. Then, before Sybil could even retreat—a fist slammed into his gut. Sybil choked on the impact, staggering back, his footing off. The thralgar pressed in. A downward strike, meant to cleave him in two. Sybil threw up his sword just in time. Steel met steel in a bone-rattling clash, his knees buckling under the force.

  The thralgar grinned, shoving harder, bearing down with brute strength. Sybil collapsed onto one knee.

  Elysian swore under his breath. The fight wasn’t even anymore. It wasn’t a stalemate. Sybil was losing. If this kept up, he wouldn’t be getting back up again. Frustration snapped through Elysian like a whip. “Hey, you b*stard!” he shouted, voice raw, cutting through the din. “Are you really going to just sit there and let that brute throw you around?”

  Sybil’s head snapped toward him, eyes flashing. A slow grin curled his bloodied lips. “I haven’t even started yet.” The words were barely out before he moved—kicking back, narrowly avoiding the thralgar’s blade by a hair’s breadth. Then, with a sharp pivot, he lunged away, retreating just out of reach. He caught Elysian’s gaze. Grinning and breathless. “You’re back. What took you so long?”

  Elysian exhaled sharply, but before he could respond, the thralgar turned, eyes narrowing. “Another rootless?” His voice was a low growl, full of contempt. His gaze locked onto Elysian. “Wait your turn. When I’m done with him, you’re next—”

  His mistake. The momentary distraction was all Sybil needed. He struck, aura flaring. The air crackled as his sword carved through the space between them—faster, sharper, carrying weight this time. Not just a surface wound. Something real.

  The thralgar barely managed to react. A ripple of gasps from the onlookers warned him just in time—he threw up his arm in a desperate block. But the impact still landed. A sickening crack. The thralgar staggered, clutching his now-useless arm, face twisting in pain. “You coward!” he roared, fury bleeding into every syllable.

  The crowd echoed his rage, voices rising in disapproval.

  Sybil just smiled. Unbothered. Unapologetic. “Coward?” he echoed, tilting his head. “Don’t blame me for your lack of focus.” He wiped his blade against his sleeve, flicking the blood aside. “This is a fight. You should’ve been paying attention.”

  The moment the thralgar released his aura, the air around him shuddered. It wasn’t just power—it was dominance. Sybil had fought warriors before, but this? This was something else—raw and primal. The air thickened, pressing down on his chest like a weight, making it harder to breathe. A metallic tang of energy crackled in his ears, his skin prickling from the sheer force radiating off the thralgar. And worse—the wound Sybil had just inflicted? Gone. Knitted together in mere seconds.

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  The thralgar flexed his arm, curling his fingers before clenching them into a tight fist. He rolled his shoulder, testing the limb as if the injury had been nothing more than a mild inconvenience. Then, he met Sybil’s gaze. And smirked.

  Sybil’s stomach clenched. His grip on his blade tightened. “That’s—” His voice cracked. His breath stopped. “That’s unfair.”

  The thralgar tilted his head, a mocking gleam in his eyes.

  Sybil barely noticed. He was still frozen in place, shock creeping through his limbs, his muscles locking. The difference in their power was—impossible. The thralgar wasn’t just stronger. He was something else entirely.

  Elysian exhaled sharply, his patience fraying.

  ‘Better he learns now. That there are monsters out there. Real monsters that put us mere humans to shame. Better he sees reality for what it is before that arrogance gets him killed.’

  “You see now, don’t you?” Elysian muttered under his breath. “Your talent means nothing in this wide and terrifying world. There are always someone stronger out there—real monsters. What you can only do is know how to survive.”

  Sybil stood frozen, totally lost on what to do next.

  Elysian’s voice whipped across the arena. “Snap out of it!” Sybil jerked. “You’re facing someone stronger, faster, better. So what?” Elysian’s voice sharpened, cutting through the panic locking Sybil in place. “The reality hasn’t changed. You still have to fight. Kill your fear, stop hesitating, and win, damn it!”

  Something in Sybil’s expression shifted. The raw fear didn’t vanish—but it hardened into something else—determination. His grip on his sword firmed. His stance adjusted, knees bending slightly, weight shifting onto the balls of his feet. And then, he grinned. “Didn’t I say—” His aura flickered, then flared. “I haven’t even started yet.” And then he moved. A surge of light and force pulsed through his body, his aura wrapping around him like a second skin. He shot forward, blade flashing.

  The thralgar saw it coming. He shifted his weight, his own aura twisting like a storm around him, bracing for impact and retaliation.

  ‘No. He’s still too slow.’

  Elysian’s fingers curled into fists. “Left.” It was loud enough for Sybil to hear but he moved. He jerked left at the last second, the thralgar’s blade whistling past his ribs, missing by a breath.

  Elysian’s focus narrowed. “Right. Evade, don’t engage.” Sybil pivoted mid-step, narrowly slipping past a brutal strike, the force of it kicking up dust where he had been a heartbeat ago.

  Elysian’s jaw tightened. He had to push harder. “Jump—forward, stab.” Sybil didn’t hesitate. He sprang forward, his sword a silver flash. And this time, it struck true. The blade bit into the thralgar’s arm. Not just a scratch—a wound.

  The thralgar’s body jerked back from the force of the blow, a snarl ripping from his throat.

  Sybil didn’t stop. “Kick his arm—propel back. Now.” His boot slammed into the wounded limb, using the impact to launch himself backward. His landing was unsteady, his breath ragged, but he had created distance.

  Elysian’s mind raced.

  ‘The thralgar’s healing speed—it’s fast, but it’s not instant. That means—’

  Before Elysian could finish the thought, the thralgar’s growl cut through the air directed at the noble. Low and dangerous. Fury, barely restrained. The thralgar shifted, his weight coiling, his stance lowering. But he didn’t turn. Didn’t so much as glance at Elysian. Because he had learned. The distraction had cost him once. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

  Even still—everyone knew. The entire arena knew. The fight had changed. The silence was heavy, stretching out in waves of disbelief. Onlookers—trolls and thralgar—stared. Not at the fight. At Elysian.

  Even Kaerthlyn, always composed, had gone rigid. Her sharp eyes were locked on him, something unreadable in her gaze. The thralgar beside them—who had spoken to Elysian earlier—looked at him as if he were something other than human. As if he were a creature they couldn’t quite understand.

  Elysian ignored the stares and whispers. His focus stayed where it belonged—on the fight. Because this wasn’t over—not even close.

  “Move forward, engage.” Sybil lunged, aura flaring. The thralgar met him head-on, feet grinding into the floor as his wound sealed shut before their eyes. The fight sent a ripple of tension through the onlookers, but Sybil didn’t waver. He needed to win. And most importantly, to survive.

  “Duck—momentum forward!” The thralgar’s blade came in fast—too fast. But Sybil dropped low, a breath away from being cleaved in two. The air above him shredded as the force of the strike sent a sharp wind cutting across his face. He kept moving—had to keep moving.

  “Sword right—now!” Sybil twisted, blade flashing in an upward arc. A sharp gash split open along the thralgar’s thigh, dark blood spraying across the ground. His oppenent staggered, momentarily thrown off balance.

  “Anchor. Change direction. Kick—” Sybil plunged his sword into the earth, the blade biting deep as he yanked himself into a pivot. His heel drove hard into the back of the thralgar’s knee. A beast of a warrior, forced to kneel.

  An opening—a perfect opening. Sybil saw it. His body moved before thought could catch up. He reared back, blade poised to drive into the exposed flesh.

  “Stop! Retreat—now!” Elysian’s voice cut through the chaos. Sybil hesitated. Just for a second. And then—boom. A shockwave of force erupted as the thralgar kicked the ground, the impact sending cracks through the floor. Sybil was hit and pushed backward—fast. Too fast.

  ‘Idiot. He should’ve waited for my instruction!’

  The soldier barely had time to brace before he slammed to the floor. Pain flared up his back as the breath was punched from his lungs. But there was no time to recover, the thralgar was already moving. Already on him. His blade carved downward—a crushing executioner’s strike meant to split him apart.

  Elysian’s mind snapped into action. “Roll—left!” Sybil threw himself aside just as steel slammed into the ground where he’d been a second before. The impact cratered the platform, sending dust and shattered wood flying.

  “Evade. Low stance.” Sybil threw himself to the side, barely dodging as the thralgar’s boot came slamming down where his ribs had been a breath ago. The ground shuddered from the impact. He twisted, dropping low, instincts taking over.

  “Pivot—strike upward!” His sword whipped up, steel clashing against steel with a screech of metal. Sparks erupted, flashing white-hot as Sybil’s arms buckled from the force. The blow sent him skidding back, boots scraping against the dirt, his breath sharp and unsteady.

  The thralgar grinned—hungry. He surged forward, raising his sword high before slamming it down with the full weight of his monstrous frame. Sybil barely caught it in time. Steel met steel—and Sybil crumpled. His knees nearly hit the ground as the weight bore down on him, the thralgar pushing, his raw strength crushing. The soldier’s arms screamed under the strain, muscles trembling. The thralgar growled, a low, guttural sound that rumbled in his chest. Sybil met it with a roar of his own—a battle of wills.

  A hush fell over the watching crowd. The thralgar’s grin widened. He could feel it—Sybil breaking, his strength failing, the fight slipping from his grasp.

  Sybil’s vision blurred. His knuckles turned white. His body wanted to give. But his will—

  His will refused.

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