Chapter 153 – The Sand Curtain.

Tournament morning dawned with the Third Circle sky tinged in a dense, rust-colored haze.

The walk from the Lower Cauldrons Estate to the Red Cauldron Arena was made in near-total silence, yet every squad member played their part along the public thoroughfare with stage-ready discipline.

Kael wore a broad band of white linen wrapped around his left forearm, concealing the plates of his dragon armor, gripping the Volcanic Shield's handle with a slight slouch to his posture, as if the weight of the slab aggravated his elbow bone. Aurelia-Elysia walked beside Seraphina clutching her staff with sluggish steps, coughing into the back of her hand every two corners and taking small sips from an earthenware bottle of herbs.

Rhea trailed five paces behind Diana.

The wolf girl had the hood of her night-blue coat pulled low over her brow, silver ears flattened in a rigid line. She did not look at the Commander, spoke to no one, and kept her arms crossed over her Dragon Daggers, maintaining the sullen scowl of someone present solely out of contractual obligation.

Diana marched in the lead, wearing her black leather coat with the Crown of Arcane Sovereignty settled upon her brow. Her dark eyes with golden rings held a fixed gaze on the monumental entrance of the red granite arena. Beside her, Zarek carried his two moon swords strapped across his back, all four chitin arms tucked beneath his loose vest, sporting a posture of feigned boredom.

At the competitors' gate, Diana handed a silver coin to the garrison officer to cover the locker fee and check-in registration for the three pairs.

With that, the faction vault adjusted to 539 Silver Coins (53.9 Gold Coins).

***

The interior of the Challengers' Tunnel was damp, dark, and reeked of stale sweat, weapon oil, and dried blood caked into the flagstones.

Dozens of mercenary pairs from Level 50 to 60 were scattered across the stone benches lining the subterranean corridor. There were duelists honing shock lances, ogres flexing two-meter-wide shoulders, and casters tuning mana rings, all awaiting the heralds' summons.

Rhea sat on a wooden bench three meters away from Diana, legs stretched out and eyes glued to the floor, without uttering a single word to the faction leader.

Kael sat beside the wolf girl, letting out a forced groan as he rested his left elbow on his knee, massaging the linen wrap with his free hand.

The staging inside the enclosed tunnel immediately caught the eye of the noble entourages milling through the reserved hallway.

Parting two chainmail guards with heavy strides came a figure clad in broad robes of scarlet velvet embroidered with gold thread: Lord Morvath, the patriarch of the clan that had dispatched the spy to the abandoned foundry days prior.

Walking beside the nobleman were his two primary champions for the opening round:

Kragan, the Shieldbreaker (Level 56), a gray-skinned brute with four muscular arms encased in spiked iron gauntlets, shouldering a two-ton demolition mace across his back.

And Valthor, the Lacerator (Level 57), a lithe demon armed with twin curved sickles of tempered steel.

***

Lord Morvath stopped before the bench where Diana leaned against the stone wall.

The noble drew a folded sheet of paper from his sleeve — the copied report that the tower spy had written after the fake courtyard drill — and tapped the parchment lightly against the palm of his left hand, flashing a wide grin of yellowed teeth:

“Commander Diana of the Arcane Greed Faction...” Morvath spoke in a drawl, his voice oozing feigned condescension. “The rumors circulating through the city market over recent days left me rather concerned for your squad's wellbeing.”

The noble glanced at Kael nursing his wrapped arm, then over to Rhea sitting apart, isolated from the group:

“A vanguard with a cracked bone that can't take an overhead blow... A priestess with scorched mana pathways... And your silver scout sitting in the corner like a dog beaten by its master.”

Kragan, the four-armed Level 56 warrior, gave a gravelly laugh that echoed down the tunnel, cracking his iron knuckles:

“It'll be quick, master. The first strike of my mace will split that volcanic shield right along with what's left of the boy's arm.”

Diana did not raise her voice. She did not even uncross her arms beneath the black leather of her coat.

She merely raised her dark eyes, letting her vertical pupils and two golden rings lock straight onto Lord Morvath's plump face:

“If your spy wrote that report with such conviction, Morvath... I suggest you head over to the arena bookmakers' desk right now and wager every scrap of your House's gold on your pair's victory.”

Morvath frowned for an instant before that icy calm, but the sight of Kael with his arm bound and Rhea ignoring the Commander won out over the aristocrat's arrogance.

“Already did, girl.” Morvath smirked sideways, smoothing his velvet tunic. “Fifty gold coins on Kragan's clean victory in the opening round. I hope your vault holds enough silver to cover the burial costs for your vanguard.”

The nobleman turned on his heel flanked by his two champions, marching toward the second-floor VIP boxes.

***

The moment Morvath's entourage vanished up the arched stairwell, Diana looked toward the bench where Rhea sat.

The wolf girl's amber eyes met Diana's from beneath the blue hood.

There was merely a millisecond of exchanged glances: Rhea's feigned fury dissolved into a predatory spark of absolute complicity. Kael tightened his iron gauntlet within the fake linen bandage with an unseen grin beneath his visor, and Aurelia-Elysia pocketed the herbal flask with a quiet nod.

The crash of iron chains echoed from the end of the tunnel.

The matchup bracket of the Conquerors was hoisted in the center of the arena's main gate on heavy pulleys.

The opening matchup was officially posted in bronze lettering:

Arcane Greed Faction Pair (Kael & Rhea) vs. House Morvath Pair (Kragan & Valthor).

High above the arena, the iron gong of Inquisitor Vaelor (Level 65) rang like a thunderclap that set the gravel on the ground vibrating.

The iron portcullis of the sand pit began to rise slowly, unveiling the suffocating heat and the deafening roar of twenty thousand demons baying for blood in the stands.

Diana stepped forward in the tunnel, halting before Kael and Rhea.

“The fish swallowed the bait whole,” Diana said, her voice low and sharp as an ice razor. “Step onto that sand and break both their legs.”

Kael and Rhea took their first step out of the tunnel's shadow, treading onto the red sand beneath the glare of the arena.