Velrosa paced slowly near the garden path, her silver hair catching dying rays of sun as she weighed every possibility. Eli stood against a column, arms folded, while Ian sat calmly on a stone bench, peeling dried blood from his knuckles with quiet disinterest.
"They know," Velrosa muttered. "Or at the very least—they suspect."
Eli responded first. "But they can't prove anything. You said those agents are dead, right?"
Ian nodded. "Dead and gone. They won't be raising a case against anyone."
"Still, this wasn't just a raid," Velrosa said, her voice cold. "This was a test. A baited net. And if Ian was weaker, he might've been dragged off in chains or worse."
She paused, eyes sharpening with sothing darker than worry.
"The Redwater gang. If the Sanctum traced anything through them, even the hint of our arrangent with Rat, then they need to be eliminated."
Eli gave a slow shrug. "Fine by . They've been a stain on this city's belly long enough."
"I want them wiped out. Quietly. Not a single whisper left. Make it look like the gangs turned on each other. Fra the Crow Blades if you must."
Velrosa's voice had taken on that cold, regal edge—the one that reminded Ian why nobles ruled not through strength alone, but through unflinching decisions.
"I'll get it done," Eli said, pushing off the column and vanishing into the estate.
—---
By morning, the city of Esgard had caught fire—not by blade or spell, but through breath and gossip.
They whispered it in the market squares and shouted it in the taverns. They carved it into betting slates and chalked it on alley walls:
"The demonblade fights again."
"The man who can't die."
"House Elarin's shadow rises."
When the next match of the League of Champions was formally announced, it spread like wildfire.
The na "Ian" was shouted alongside curses, prayers, and cheers.
His next opponent would be Joras Vallent, a duelist from House Durnhal, said to wield twin sabers forged by the Grand Smiths of Teravan. A veteran of thirty-two matches and a man who had never been knocked unconscious—until now, perhaps.
But it wasn't just the opponent people were watching.
It was Ian himself.
The impossible survivor.
The man who killed Torkas and shattered Varn. Who walked into the arena and ca out soaked in blood but untouched by death.
The betting houses doubled their guards.
Bookkeepers faked illnesses.
Gold flowed like riverwater, and odds twisted by the hour. And yet, in the noble courts and rchant halls, another conversation unfolded:
If House Elarin had soone like this, what would stop them from climbing back to power?
What would stop Velrosa from staking a claim to the council itself?
—---
Back at the Elarin estate, things were unusually quiet.
Velrosa sat in her study, maps and rosters of League champions spread before her, tracking each potential opponent Ian might face.
Elise stood by the door with her usual tight expression. Ian leaned against the window fra, staring out at the city as if asuring it.
The silence broke when a guard entered, bowing quickly.
"Your Highness... a visitor. Unannounced."
Velrosa didn't look up. "Send them away."
The guard hesitated.
"It's... the Seventh Chair of the Council."
Everything froze.
Ian straightened slowly. Elise's fingers drifted to the dagger hidden beneath her robes.
Velrosa closed her eyes and exhaled through her nose.
"Bring him in."
Monts later, the room was filled with the scent of incense and the muted rustle of golden robes.
High Priest Eltharion Vale entered without haste, every movent a calculated sermon. His golden eyes, radiant and unwavering, scanned the chamber as if evaluating a trial.
He wore ceremonial robes of radiant white laced with veins of gold, and a crimson mantle that hung from his shoulders like judgnt itself. On his brow was the silver circlet of the Sanctum, engraved with sacred runes that glead with divine energy.
"Lady Velrosa," he said with a faint smile, "may the Light ever illuminate your halls."
Velrosa stood, offering only a shallow nod.
"High Priest Eltharion. We are... honored."
Ian remained where he was, unmoving.
The priest's eyes flicked toward him, lingered, then moved on.
"I was passing through the province on ecclesiastical business," Eltharion said, each word polished like a gemstone, "and felt it would be disrespectful not to visit a noble house that has risen so... suddenly."
"We are grateful," Velrosa replied carefully. "We've simply been fortunate in the arena."
"Fortune is an odd thing," Eltharion mused. "Sotis a blessing from the Light. Other tis, the mask of sothing darker."
Silence thickened like smoke in the room.
Ian's fingers twitched at his side.
Eltharion stepped further in, running his hand gently along the edge of Velrosa's desk.
"Tell ... how does a nearly ruined house rise so quickly? With no allies, no backing from the old bloodlines. And yet... you now sit at the center of attention."
Velrosa didn't flinch. "Esgard adores its spectacle. And I've simply given them a...Champion."
"A champion, yes." Eltharion turned his golden gaze on Ian again. "The demonblade. A man unbroken, undead, untouchable. Surely the Light watches him with fascination."
Ian finally spoke. "I wouldn't say fascination is the word I'd choose."
Eltharion chuckled softly. "You are bold. That much is evident. But boldness can draw both glory... and wrath."
Velrosa stepped forward, voice sharp. "Was there a reason for your visit, High Priest?"
The smile vanished. "Indeed. Consider this a friendly reminder. The Sanctum of Light watches closely. And we do not ignore... miracles. Nor those who bring them forth."
He turned to Velrosa again, voice calm but iron-edged. "Make sure your path does not stray into heresy. We are... ever vigilant."
And with that, he turned and left, golden robes trailing like the tail of a cot.
The room remained frozen long after the door closed.
Ian was the first to move. "Friendly guy."
Velrosa exhaled slowly. "He knows."
"He suspects," Elise corrected. "But nothing more your Highness."
"And that," Velrosa said, her voice dropping into a whisper, "makes him more dangerous than any other."
Outside, bells rang in the distance—heralding the dawn.
And sowhere in Esgard, another hunt had already begun.
Reviews
All reviews (0)