As Nova stepped into the arena, the crowd buzzed with sudden excitent. A humanoid challenger entering a deathmatch wasn’t common—especially one without reputation or backup. A wave of murmurs spread like wildfire.
"Another hybrid? Ten creds say he won’t last a minute."
"Is he unard? No way he lasts."
The man who had signed Nova up chuckled beside the betting counter, shaking his head with a crooked smile.
"Relax, folks. The new guy’s match is a soft one. Nothing to worry about."
But the sly grins and stifled snickers from other organizers told another story. Nova noticed. He didn’t react.
As Nova stepped into the harsh, sun-baked arena, a hush fell over the imdiate crowd. It was the kind of silence that ca before a joke—or a slaughter.
Bets were exchanged, jeers thrown like stones.
Nova didn’t react.
He walked calmly toward the center, expression unreadable, body language loose—confident in a way that unsettled those who paid attention.
The gate opposite him let out a chanical groan before slamming open with a gust of heat and dust.
His opponent entered to roaring applause: a massive lizardman easily twice Nova’s size, thick-scaled, with a tail that dragged scars in the sand.
He flexed his claws and lifted an enormous club carved from so bone-tal hybrid.
The beast snorted, sneering at Nova.
"You’ll scream prettier than the last one."
Nova looked at the weapon rack near him. Without hurry, he stepped over, eyes gliding over broadswords, spears, axes—all designed for showy violence.
He chose none of those.
Instead, his fingers closed around a plain, short sword with a clean edge and perfect balance. He twirled it once with a flick of his wrist—fluid, precise, asured.
"Cute toy."
The lizardman growled, resting the end of his club on the ground like a bored executioner.
"I’m generous today. You get the first move."
The crowd burst out laughing. One man shouted.
"Let him tap out now!"
But Nova didn’t laugh. He weighed the sword in his hand one final ti—then without a word, threw it.
The lizardman barely had ti to grunt in surprise. He raised his club in a lazy parry. CLANG! The short sword clanged against the thick club and ricocheted away.
Gasps. Chuckles. Disappointnt.
"He just gave up!"
"Pathetic!"
The lizardman opened his mouth to mock him further—
—but in the split-second it took for the blade to fly, Nova had moved.
He closed the distance with unnatural speed, not a blink wasted. Sand didn’t even have ti to rise beneath his feet.
His boots struck the lizardman’s knee. The beast stumbled forward instinctively, dropping his guard.
That was all Nova needed.
He jumped, twisted midair, and brought his forearm up into the lizardman’s exposed throat. A sharp, surgical strike. No wasted motion. No showmanship.
The lizardman staggered.
Nova’s hand clamped down on his opponent’s snout, forcing it upward, while his knee slamd into the gut—once, twice—before spinning behind him in a flash.
The crowd hadn’t even processed what happened.
Nova caught his short sword mid-fall.
He gripped it backward.
One clean slice at the joint where thick muscle t spine.
The lizardman dropped like a sack of stone.
Dead.
Silence.
For a long mont, no one moved.
Then the crowd broke into chaos.
"Did—did he just—?!"
"That was a setup, right?!"
"NO WAY that guy’s a hybrid!"
Bets were torn apart. Screams clashed with stunned silence. The organizer who’d laughed earlier was now pale, staring at Nova as if seeing him for the first ti.
Nova simply walked off the sand, blade still in hand. He didn’t acknowledge the crowd. Didn’t raise a fist. Didn’t smile.
He exited the gate the sa way he had entered—quiet, unreadable, and unshaken.
And behind him, the legend had already begun.
Nova rose from the bloodstained arena floor, brushing the dust from his sleeves as if he’d only stretched his limbs, not executed a cold, decisive kill.
The lizardman’s body lay still behind him, twitching once before going limp. The crowd was no longer jeering—only whispering. Murmuring. Staring.
Every eye followed Nova as he strode toward the arena’s edge and passed through the gate.
His gaze was locked on the match organiser, who stood rooted to the spot near the payout terminal, color draining from his face.
Nova didn’t speak at first.
He stopped only a few feet away, just close enough that the weight of his presence hit like a suffocating wind.
"I’ll take my paynt."
He said, his tone flat, cold. Not a request. A fact.
The organiser blinked rapidly.
"O-of course. Yes, just a mont, the system has a queuing delay—it’ll process—"
Nova took a single step closer. His shadow stretched out over the man’s feet. His eyes, unreadable and sharp, pinned the organiser like a beast eyeing prey too slow to run.
The organiser’s breath hitched.
"I an—it’s ready now. You can have it. Just—just hold on."
Nyx’s voice filtered into Nova’s ear calmly.
[I’ve set up a secure transfer channel. Ghost-routed through six dead nodes. They won’t be able to trace a single credit.]
Nova lifted his hand, palm open. A ripple of blue aether activated his interface midair, lighting up a secure paynt screen.
"Transfer. Now."
The organiser’s fingers fumbled as he synced his system. He nearly dropped his holopad as he selected the account, input the agreed amount—then added more, just in case.
A soft chi confird the transfer.
The credits blinked green. Nova didn’t even glance at the number.
"Done. All yours."
The organiser said, forcing a weak smile.
Nova closed the interface and turned without a word, walking away as if nothing had happened.
The crowd parted instinctively. The legend of the humanoid who beat a warrior lizard barehanded—and walked away richer—was already spreading like wildfire.
______
Princess Stelle walked through the palace corridors with a spring in her step, an unusual glint in her eyes and a faint smile playing on her lips.
Her long-ti attendant, Mira, followed closely behind, glancing at the princess’s expression with visible unease.
"My lady... if I may, you seem... happy."
Mira began cautiously.
Stelle didn’t respond at first. Her fingers tapped against the hilt of one of her throwing spears at her hip, her smile deepening.
After a mont, she turned her head slightly, eyes gleaming.
"I’ve finally found him."
Mira blinked.
"Found who, Princess?"
Stelle stopped walking and looked out a tall window overlooking the city’s main arena, her expression dreamy in the most dangerous way.
"My match."
Mira gasped.
"A match?! You an—romantically?"
She clutched her hands together in excitent.
"Finally! This is amazing! I never thought the day would co! What should I do, Your Highness? Should I prepare flowers? Arrange a dinner? Maybe a secret rendezvous—"
Stelle’s smile widened into sothing far more terrifying. She turned to Mira and leaned in slightly.
"No, Mira. I want you to sharpen every spear in my collection."
"...What?"
"We’re going to fight. And this ti, I might actually enjoy it."
Stelle said with a thrill in her voice.
Mira rushed after her, still processing.
"Should I at least find out his na?"
She asked.
Stelle didn’t look back.
"No need. If he’s worthy, we’ll et again soon."
Mira sighed, half in awe, half in fear.
"Only my princess would flirt with spears instead of flowers..."
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