Blood dripped steadily from the Soren's arm, soaking through the cloth he'd hastily wrapped around it. His breathing was controlled, but shallow. Every twitch of his fingers sent fire racing through his nerves. He stood still watching. But not moving. Not yet. Denis paced in front of him, blade spinning lazily in one hand, his grin wide and self-assured. "Huh... so that's it, then?" Denis muttered. "You were fast. Clean. Thought you had me dancing."
He pointed at the Soren's bleeding arm. "But the moment I got in close then boom. You fold like wet paper." Soren remained silent. Denis laughed, stepping a little closer. "That cut told me everything I needed to know. You're not built for close combat. All those dodges, feints, and counters just smoke. But up close? You're vulnerable. Just like everyone else."
He circled, slow and theatrical now, like a lion toying with prey. "You had me worried for a second, mystery boy. Real worried. That footwork? Impressive. Reflexes? Sharp."
"But you don't take hits well. You don't react well when blood's involved. Means one thing." He stopped in front of the MC, eyes gleaming. "You've never had a real fight before."
Soren stayed silent, his gaze fixed downward, almost as if he wasn't really there. Denis clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Oh, don't go quiet on me now. I want to savor this moment." He lifted his blade, the tip lazily aimed at the Soren's throat. "What's wrong?" he smirked. "Out of clever moves? No more little tricks or traps up your sleeve?"
Soren raised his head just enough to meet Denis's gaze. His eyes were cold, steady, and completely unfazed. Then, in a calm, dry tone, he said, "Are you done talking?" Soren muttered. The arena was alive with the clashing of steel and the haunting echoes of dying screams. Yet, in this battered corner of blood-soaked stone and decaying walls, time seemed to stand still.
Soren still breathing heavily, one hand clutching his wounded arm. Blood seeped through the ripped fabric, warm and thick, dripping onto the dust below in a slow, steady beat. His breaths were shallow not from fear, but from intense concentration. Denis rolled his shoulders, a grin spreading across his face. "Come on," he urged, stepping closer, "you were dancing out there just a moment ago."
He waved his blade like a conductor leading an orchestra. "I've seen you graceful footwork, smart spacing, all that beautiful movement. You made the others look sluggish. But that was before I got to you." He pointed at the wound as if it were a trophy. "Look at you now completely frozen. Your rhythm? It's vanished. Your stance? It's falling apart."
He raised his hand in a dramatic flair, slicing through the air with a swift motion across his chest. "That move revealed everything I needed to know about you. You're clever. You're quick. But you're also fragile." Soren remained silent, unresponsive. "You fight like someone who's always had the upper hand someone who's never faced real pressure. You shine when you're in charge. But take just one hard hit... and it all falls apart."
He stepped closer, the sound of his boots crunching on the gravel. "Want to hear the difference between us?" Denis asked. "You're a survivor. I'm a killer." Still, no reply. Denis chuckled. "Oh, don't sulk now. Come on, say something! Whisper a cool line, flash that smug look of yours, or even flip a coin. Isn't that your style?"
Still, there was silence. Then click. The MC dropped something. A coin. It fell from his pocket. He never quite understood why he had a coin in his pocket, but he remembered that Maeve had given him these clothes. Maybe the coin was just left there by accident.
The Orveile house was enveloped in a hush. A hush that felt almost too deep. Outside, a few birds were chirping, and the gentle tinkling of the garden wind chimes danced in the early morning breeze. The walls of the old manor glimmered softly in the golden light of the rising sun, casting warmth over the antique furniture and the dust-kissed bookshelves that filled every nook.
Then, out of nowhere, a loud bang shattered the stillness.
CRASH!
Maeve Orveile, a dropout from the Trial Realm and the girl who helped Soren clear the Trial Realm a full-time magnet for trouble, had just sent an entire shelf of ceremonial daggers crashing to the floor. "WHERE IS IT?!" She was wandering around barefoot, her hair looking like it had just survived a tornado. One of her socks was hanging on for dear life, halfway off her foot. And to top it all off, there was a spoon stuck in her hair.
No one had a clue why. "This doesn't make any sense… I swear I left it right here!" With the determination of a battle commander and the frantic energy of a raccoon in a dumpster, she flung open drawers. One was filled with spell scrolls, another with emergency socks, and the last one? A live hedgehog.
She blinked in disbelief. "You're definitely not it." She kept moving. The walls of the Orveile house were thick with dust, wrapped in layers of magic and secrecy. But they didn't stand a chance against Maeve in a frenzy. She flung open cupboards, knocked over chairs, and at one point, somehow managed to take apart a ceiling fan.
"It was in the jacket. It was in the jacket." She paused. Her eyes widened. Her pupils shrank. The coin.
THE COIN. The one she had kept hidden away. The one enchanted with a unique trace marker that only she could sense. The one that could survive dimensional resets.
The one she
"…left in Soren's jacket."
Maeve screamed. A scream so piercing that the birds outside tumbled from their nests. The chimes snapped off their strings. Somewhere, a hedgehog covered its ears with tiny paws. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!" The door burst open. A maid peeked in, balancing a tray of morning tea and croissants. "Lady Maeve? Is everything alright " Maeve turned to her like a demon just summoned from the depths. "DO I LOOK FUCKING ALRIGHT, MIRANDA?!" Miranda blinked. "Um… no?"
"CORRECT ANSWER!"
She stormed over, snatched the croissant from the tray, glared at it, and then took a dramatic bite as if it had personally wronged her. "I left the coin. THE coin. You know the one. The one with the dual sigil. The last link I have to him!"
Miranda nodded as if she got it, but her eyes told a different story. "...You mean the shiny one with the creepy thorn symbol that hums if you hold it too long?" "YES. That's the one."
"Oh." Miranda blinked slowly, taking her time. "I thought you gave it to Lord Soren on purpose."
"On purpose?! DO I LOOK LIKE I MAKE GOOD LIFE DECISIONS ON PURPOSE?!"
The spoon tumbled out of Maeve's hair as she fumed. She didn't even notice. Miranda carefully set the tray down and stepped back, like someone trying to calm an irate magical bear. "Is it… really that bad?"
"Bad? Not exactly, but that coin was given to me! I died with that thing! I'm nothing without it, Miranda! It can bypass realm drift, it can hold a blood-link signature, and worst of all…" She turned and pointed at the artificial screen on the far wall, which was showing a live feed of the tournament. "Is that coin you're talking about the one on the screen?"
She turned around and gestured toward the enchanting screen on the far wall. It was displaying a live feed of the tournament. Maeve looked at the screen and saw the fight between Soren and Denis." Remember that slave kid that you helped he just tossed it into the arena." Maeve's eyes pop wide as she sees the fight and the coin that just fell on the ring.
" SH*T SH*T SH*T SH*T!!!"
Back at the ring the fight with Denis and Soren they are both still looking at the coin.
Denis blinked. "Seriously?" Soren raised his head slowly. His eyes locked with Denis's. No fear. No panic.