The heat still lingered in the air, swirling with the scent of scorched earth and burnt wood. Embers flickered across the battlefield, the once-thriving forest reduced to a wasteland of smoldering remains.
Jhaeros knelt beside Nara's unconscious form, pressing two fingers to her neck. Steady pulse. She was alive, just exhausted. Velka, still cautious, sniffed at her again before letting out a low, rumbling huff.
Whoever had drugged her had known exactly what they were doing.
Jhaeros' feline eyes narrowed. The tournament was already brutal, but this? This was sabotage. This was an attempt to turn one of the strongest competitors into an uncontrollable force of destruction.
And someone had wanted her out.
The Other Fighters
Jhaeros stood, surveying the battlefield. The competition hadn't paused just because Nara had been rampaging. Elsewhere, other fights continued.
In the marshlands, a duel of precision was unfolding.
A tall, blue-skinned Vashari warrior wielding twin hooked blades was locked in battle with a heavily armored dwarf whose warhammer sent shockwaves through the bog with every swing. The Vashari moved like water, dancing around the dwarf's heavy strikes, but the dwarf wasn't just swinging blindly—each attack was aimed at soft ground, trying to unbalance his faster opponent.
Near the icy cliffs, two mages dueled, their magic turning the landscape into a chaotic clash of fire and frost. One, a red-haired girl from the Eastern Empire, hurled fireballs with terrifying force, while her opponent—a silver-haired noble from the Northern Isles—constructed intricate ice barriers in rapid succession, forming a shifting fortress around himself.
And then there was the arena's depths, where the real monsters lurked.
A hulking lizard-like beast, captured from the wastelands, had been let loose among the competitors. A group of three fighters—two humans and an orc—were working together to take it down. One wielded a spear, another a chain-blade, and the last a massive shield, coordinating attacks in perfect sync.
But one misstep and they were finished.
Jhaeros took all of this in at once, his keen senses processing every movement, every shift in the battlefield.
Then, his ears twitched.
The Nobles' Influence
A voice—distant but clear—filtered through the enchanted winds carrying sound across the battlefield. The noble stands.
"Such a reckless display… but it seems the Ilvaar managed to bring her down."
Jhaeros' eyes flicked up, sharp as daggers.
Up on the stone balcony overlooking the coliseum, Lord Mathias Evernwood, Lyra's father, sat with several other noble families.
The aristocracy had their favorites in this tournament—and their enemies.
"Well, what did you expect? That orc fights like a mindless beast. It was bound to happen." A woman with dark hair and silver-lined robes scoffed, sipping from a delicate goblet.
"The real question is… who dosed her?"
A man in fine green robes leaned forward, voice casual, but with an unmistakable edge of interest. He knew something.
Jhaeros exhaled slowly, tail flicking behind him.
The nobility had influence over this tournament. Some of them had direct ties to certain competitors—whether through sponsorship, familial relations, or political agendas. And they played their games in the shadows.
If someone had drugged Nara, it was either to remove her as a threat or to use her as a weapon against a target.
Was it meant for him? Or for Kalem?
Jhaeros had no illusions—Kalem was gathering attention. His mechanical mind, his unconventional tactics, and his quiet efficiency had already made him a subject of discussion.
And that kind of attention invited enemies.
Kalem's Silence
Speaking of Kalem…
Jhaeros had expected him to show up by now.
But Kalem had barely engaged in direct combat. Instead, he had been moving across the battlefield with an almost surgical precision.
His metal crate, filled with weapons and strange devices, had become a traveling arsenal, deployed only when necessary. And rather than seeking out fights, he had been observing, choosing his engagements carefully.
Where most competitors were fighting for survival, Kalem was gathering information.
And that meant, he was up to something.
Jhaeros sighed, glancing down at Nara once more. She was tough—she'd wake up soon, but she'd need time.
He turned to Velka, who sat beside him, licking blood off her fur. "Stay with her."
Velka huffed in response. She understood.
With that settled, Jhaeros stood, his keen eyes narrowing as he turned his gaze toward the battlefield again.
It was time to start hunting.
The Search Begins
Jhaeros moved swiftly, darting through the burned forest and toward the open plains. He needed answers.
Who had poisoned Nara?
He could go after the elf who threw the hallucinogen, but that was just the tool. Someone else had planned it.
His best lead?
The noble-backed fighters.
There were a few candidates.
Lucian Valehart – A swordsman from a noble house known for its rivalry with House Evernwood. He was a direct political enemy of Lyra's father. If anyone wanted to weaken Lyra's allies, it was him.
Seraphina Duskwhisper – A mage specializing in alchemy, with rumored ties to underground mercenaries. If someone needed a rare poison or hallucinogen, she was the best bet.
Vorrik the Unbroken – A brutish warrior backed by a noble patron who had lost money betting against Kalem. He had no direct grudge, but his backers? They wanted revenge.
Jhaeros had no proof yet, but he didn't need it.
All he needed was a trail to follow.
His feline ears twitched as he moved through the terrain, every muscle coiled like a predator on the hunt.
Whoever was responsible for this attack would regret it.
Because they had turned this tournament into something far more dangerous.
And now?
Jhaeros was on their trail.