Chapter 84: Ugly Secrets

Her gown was crimson and gold—the colors of her husband’s house, though she had been born to a different kingdom. Her dark hair was swept up in an elaborate style, studded with diamonds. Her lips were painted. Her eyes were bright. She smiled at the crowd like a woman who had everything she wanted.

Standing behind her, close—too close—was a man.

He was tall. Handsome. Dark-haired. His features were similar to the queen’s. His name was Lord William Siracha. The queen’s uncle. The king’s most trusted advisor.

He stood behind Sylvia’s throne. His hand rested on the back of her chair. His fingers brushed her shoulder. She leaned back, just slightly, into his touch.

No one noticed.

No one was looking.

A messenger stepped into the center of the arena.

He wore the crimson and gold of House Magenta. His voice was amplified by a simple enchanted device—a magestone that carried his words to every corner of the colosseum.

"Citizens of Aurelia! Warriors of Valdris! Nobles and commoners alike! Welcome to the Trials of Valor!"

The crowd roared.

"Today, we begin the tournament that has been held once every five years for centuries! A tournament where the strong rise and the weak fall! A tournament where anyone—regardless of birth, regardless of station—can earn a place among the nobility!"

Another roar.

"The rules are simple! The qualifiers will be a battle royale! All competitors will enter the arena at once! The last fifty standing will advance to the individual rounds! From there, single combat! One-on-one duels until only one remains!"

He paused.

"The prize for the victor is as follows: The title of Baron! A grant of land! A monthly allocation of resources from the Crown! And a place among the nobility of Meganta!"

The crowd erupted.

Emeric listened. He didn’t cheer. He didn’t shout. He just watched.

The messenger continued.

"Let the Trials begin!"

The crowd began to disperse toward the seating areas. The competitors—those who had already been confirmed for the battle royale—moved toward the staging grounds beneath the arena.

Emeric turned to follow.

That was when he heard the laughter.

"You’ve got to be kidding me."

Emeric stopped.

He knew that voice.

He turned.

Kaelen stood behind him. His brother. His elder brother. The heir to House Halden. He was dressed in fine silks and polished leather. His hair was swept back. His smile was sharp.

Behind him, a group of young nobles. The lackeys.. They laughed when Kaelen laughed. They nodded when Kaelen nodded.

"I’m surprised you showed your face here," Kaelen said.

Emeric said nothing.

"After the Hunt? After that little fluke of yours? You think you’re qualified to win this?" Kaelen laughed. "This isn’t the Hunt, brother. This is the Trials. Every mercenary that dreams of a better life will be here. Every commoner with a sword. Every noble who wants to prove something. You can’t possibly win."

Emeric met his gaze.

"I’m not here to win your approval."

Kaelen’s smile faltered.

"I’m here for my family."

"Your family?" Kaelen laughed again. "You mean the cripple? The Storm Mage who can’t even stand?"

Emeric’s jaw tightened.

"Watch your mouth."

"Or what?" Kaelen stepped closer. "What are you going to do, Emeric? You’re nothing. You’re the Unblessed one. The failure. The son my father wishes he’d never had."

He raised his hand.

Fire gathered at his fingertips.

"Let me remind you of your place."

He thrust his hand forward.

Emeric drew his sword.

Still wrapped in cloth. Still unopened. He didn’t have time to unwrap it. He just pulled it from his belt and raised it.

The fire hit the cloth.

And then—

Nothing.

The fire disappeared. Absorbed. Sucked into the blade like water into sand. The cloth didn’t burn. The blade didn’t melt. It just... drank.

Kaelen stared.

His hand trembled. His face went pale.

"What—"

Emeric lowered the sword.

The cloth was warm. But unharmed. The blade beneath it hummed. He could feel it—a faint vibration. Like something waking up.

Kaelen staggered back.

"What did you do? What is that?"

Emeric slid the sword back into his belt.

"Something you can’t touch."

Kaelen’s face twisted. Anger. Fear. Humiliation.

"This isn’t finished."

Emeric met his gaze."Yes it is. Stay out of my way."

He turned and walked toward the staging grounds.

Kaelen didn’t follow.

The staging grounds were beneath the arena.

A vast underground chamber of stone and iron. Competitors from across the continent gathered here. Hundreds of them. Warriors. Mages. Vessels. Mercenaries.

Emeric found a corner. Leaned against the wall. Closed his eyes.

He could still feel the sword. Warm against his hip. Humming..

He didn’t know what Bjorn had made. But it was something special.

He would find out when the time came.

—-

[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]**

[EVENT REGISTERED — TRIALS OF VALOR]

[STATUS: COMPETITOR CONFIRMED]

[OBJECTIVE: SURVIVE THE BATTLE ROYALE]

[REWARD: ADVANCEMENT, REPUTATION, CROWN RECOGNITION]

[SYSTEM NOTE: THE TRIALS ARE NOT JUST A TEST OF STRENGTH. THEY ARE A TEST OF WILL. THE WEAK WILL FALL. THE STRONG WILL RISE. YOU ARE NEITHER. YOU ARE SOMETHING ELSE.]

---

He opened his eyes.

A horn sounded.

The gates above opened.

The crowd roared.

The Trials had begun.

Light flooded the staging grounds. The roar of the crowd hit him like a wave. Emeric stepped forward with the others—a river of warriors flowing into the arena.

The platform was massive.

A circular stage of packed earth and stone, easily three hundred feet across. Walls of enchanted iron rose at the edges, twenty feet high. Beyond them, the crowd. Thousands of faces. Thousands of voices. All of them screaming.

Emeric counted the competitors as they entered. He lost count at fifty. Maybe more. Knights in gleaming armor. Paladins with holy symbols. Mages with staffs. Vessels with scars. Mercenaries with hard eyes. Commoners with nothing but determination.

He moved to the edge of the platform. Kept his back to the wall. Watched.

The messenger’s voice echoed across the arena.

"Competitors! The rules are simple! Last fifty standing advance! Knock your opponent out of the ring, incapacitate them, or force them to yield! There are no teams! There are no allies! Only survivors!"

He paused.

"Begin!"