İt had been five hours since they left the bandit mountain, yet Elias and his companions had barely made it halfway. The setting sun painted the sky in hues of gold and crimson, while the vast wheat fields rippled like a golden ocean. A gentle breeze whispered through the stalks, carrying nature's silent lullaby.
A graceful carriage, drawn by four horses, moved along the gravel path.
Inside, Elias sat hunched forward, elbows resting on his knees, fingers interlocked as he drifted deep into thought. The guards accompanying him had dozed off, heads bowed in slumber.
Hedric leaned his left arm on the window, fingertips touching his lips in silent contemplation. His other hand rested on his crossed legs. Within the carriage, only the soft wind and faint snoring could be heard.
When a stray wheat husk brushed the corner of Elias's eye, he was pulled from his reverie. He glanced briefly at Hedric, then flicked the husk out of the window. His gaze lingered on the scenery outside—until he froze.
This scene... he had seen it before. It was exactly like the vision he had on the farm. The sunset, the quiet carriage, the swaying wheat... even the birds gliding across the sky were the same.
"This... this is impossible. What kind of nonsense is this?!" Elias thought in disbelief. In this world, no one experienced déjà vu—because the concept simply didn't exist here.
Just then, Hedric's calm, slightly raspy voice pierced through the silence:
"Keep shifting like that, and the big guy next to you's going to fall out."
Elias turned his head toward him, a rare, childlike expression flickering across his face. But Hedric continued staring out the window. His eyes carried a mixture of fatigue, numbness, and—buried deep within—profound regret. He hid it well, but Elias had a knack for reading people's true emotions.
This man… a ruthless, cruel slave trader… yet that fleeting vulnerability on his face disturbed Elias. He furrowed his brows and looked away, though a trace of anger still lingered in his chest.
"What?" Hedric asked, sensing Elias's stare. But when Elias waved him off dismissively, he said no more and turned back to the window.
A short silence followed. Then, in a husky, slightly bitter voice, Hedric began to speak:
"You should be grateful you're in this carriage. No one else would've done this for you."
He gave a faint smile, and continued:
"I hate people from the lower classes, especially slaves like you. Want to know why?"
Elias said nothing, but listened intently. Hedric noticed, and a subtle smirk curled his lips.
"I once had a wife. She was a noble, like me. We were happy. Truly in love. Her navy-blue hair flowed from her shoulders to her waist. Her eyes... as blue as the sky."
"She was terribly jealous. Just holding another girl's hand would spark a storm. But I always made it up to her. No man in the kingdom loved his wife more than I did."
"She was pregnant—our first child. Those were good days... until the rebellion began. The slaves and commoners attacked noble estates. Our manor was one of them."
"I was at war. My parents had fled to the palace. The only loyal servant who stayed was Alrean—the one driving this carriage. He tried to protect my wife… but couldn't stop the arrow that pierced her belly."
"When I returned, I found her weeping. Our child was gone. The doctors said she could never have children again. My father forced me to remarry, for the sake of our lineage. I couldn't resist."
"My wife... took her own life."
A single tear fell from his eye. He wiped it away and grinned darkly.
"That's why watching slaves get torn apart in the arena... brings me such pleasure."
---
Hours later, their journey reached the foot of a barren mountain known as Dragon's Fang. Its slopes resembled a desert, dry and lifeless. Above, bird-like creatures with sharp beaks soared through the sky. People called them Cargons.
Meanwhile, Hedric explained the tournament's schedule and rules to Elias. Initially, Elias had intended to use the tournament to test his strength—but upon learning the duels were to the death, he listened more carefully.
According to Hedric, the Ludus Cruoris tournament had begun 150 years ago. Queen Isabella of that era was fond of combat sports, and the Temple of the Blood Moon demanded sacrifices for their goddess. To appease both the public and the priesthood, King Aron created the tournament.
It was a deathmatch. The victor had to kill the loser. If neither died, both were executed. In this kingdom, a slave's life was worthless.
The format was simple: after preliminary rounds, only four fighters would make it to the final stage. There, they would battle one another, and the winner would challenge the reigning champion. Defeating the champion earned the title of Grand Victor.
And the prize for the winning slave? A medallion—purely for show. The true reward went to the owner: 40,000 silver coins.
Something in Elias stirred with anger, but he kept listening.
After a grueling seventeen-hour journey, they finally arrived at Carvelyn. When the steward informed Hedric of their arrival, he turned to the guards and ordered:
"From here on, you'll go on foot. I have business to attend to."
The guards nodded, and Elias was escorted out. He muttered under his breath:
"That man... is he really the same bastard from three years ago? When did he change so much? What is he planning now, that damned devil?"
Just then, a guard grabbed his arm, pulling him back to reality.
He looked up and noticed the long, zigzagging gray staircase leading upward—at least 120 steps. One of the guards, a plump man, collapsed to his knees, groaning:
"How are we supposed to climb this? One step at a time?"
The other scoffed, "Get a grip, Hector. It's just a few steps."
Eventually, they reached the top. The guards at the gate checked their identities and allowed them inside.
Elias's eyes widened.
The mountain had been hollowed out. A massive city carved into the rock lay before them.
Carvelyn.