Draven's crimson eyes narrowed, locking on the nearest token.
It pulsed faintly, the timer ticking down, held tightly in the hands of a muscular dwarf. Broad shoulders, arms corded with muscle, eyes sharp and wary, scanning the battlefield around him.
Draven tilted his head slightly. No hesitation. No pause.
"…Alright," he muttered, voice low, controlled. "…I'll get that token."
Draven's crimson eyes never left the dwarf. Step by step, he moved through the chaos. Calm. Precise. Unhurried—but every motion radiated lethal intent.
Around him, the crowd surged and collided. Participants clashed, bodies flying, screams and grunts cutting through the cacophony.
The dwarf's broad frame slammed into a charging opponent.
**THUD.**
The other participant flew backward, colliding into two more, knocking them off balance.
Still, the dwarf didn't pause. His arms pumped, fists swinging with practiced force, fending off each attack as they came.
A participant tried to flank him from the left, blade raised.
The dwarf pivoted, shoulder checking the man back, sending him stumbling. Without hesitation, he spun, smashing another attacker across the chest with a shoulder strike.
Chaos rippled outward from him. Bodies fell. Collisions echoed. Space opened—small windows of movement forming around him like ripples in water.
Draven adjusted his stride, weaving between the bodies without a sound. His movements were fluid, calculated, almost ghostlike.
The dwarf's attention never wavered. He was focused, reacting, striking, defending—yet he hadn't noticed the crimson figure threading through the melee.
Draven's hand flexed slightly. Every step brought him closer.
A misstep, a small stumble from the dwarf as he swung at an incoming attack. That was all Draven needed.
A shadow fell over him.
Before the dwarf could recover, Draven was there.
One clean, controlled motion—Draven's fist struck with precise, unyielding force.
The dwarf's body folded, wind forced out in a sharp gasp.
**THUD.**
He collapsed to the ground, groaning, unable to recover, consciousness slipping away.
The token, glowing faintly, rolled slightly in the dirt. Draven's hand closed around it immediately.
Around him, chaos froze.
Some participants hadn't even noticed what happened. Others stared, wide-eyed, mouths agape.
A dwarf, broad and imposing, felled by a single strike—by someone no larger than a nine-year-old child.
Shock. Terror. Disbelief.
No one moved. No one dared.
Draven didn't pause.
He didn't celebrate. He didn't look around. He simply began walking back. Step by silent step, purposeful and calm, token clutched tightly in his hand.
The faint pulse of the timer mirrored the beat of his steps.
Every eye in the surrounding area followed him now. Every whisper of movement, every breath, every hesitation tracked him.
And yet, he remained unshaken.
Draven returned almost immediately, silent as ever, steps measured, token clutched tightly in his hand.
He extended it toward Lucien's sister without a word. She took it, fingers brushing his briefly, and held it up, eyes scanning the faint glow.
"…Two minutes," she said softly, voice calm, reading the timer's faint pulse. "…Still two minutes left."
The wolf girl's ears twitched sharply. Tail flicking. Her eyes narrowed as she stepped closer, voice sharp.
"…I want one too," she snapped. "…I'm not wack, don't think I'm letting her hog it."
Lucien's jaw clenched. "…Then go get one yourself," he said, tone clipped, exasperated. "…Stop whining."
The wolf girl bristled, lips pressing together. "…Ugh! This brat is really annoying…"
Lucien froze mid-step, eyebrows furrowing, hands lifting slightly in protest. "…Wait—who's calling who a brat—?!"
But before he could finish, his sister's voice cut through, calm and firm.
"…Lucien."
Just one word.
The command carried weight. Sharp. Unyielding.
Lucien's jaw slackened slightly, attention fully on her now. His frustration faltered under the tone, replaced by the familiar respect he instinctively held for her.
"…Yes," he muttered, voice low, subdued, ready to listen.
The battlefield around them pulsed with danger, the remaining tokens glowing faintly, and the trio braced, the tension between them unresolved but contained—for now.
At that moment, the fox girl arrived alongside the man, her steps light but purposeful.
A faint glow shimmered around her—mana restored, unrestricted. The counter of the token she had held earlier had reached zero, and now the energy pulsed freely through her.
The female cat beastkin, who had been hissing and lunging, didn't get the chance to strike again. The fox girl moved like lightning, a streak of motion and intent.
One precise step, a shift of weight, and the cat beastkin was disarmed, sent sprawling backward, wind knocked out of her with a controlled strike. Her claws scraped uselessly across the ground as she glared up in disbelief.
The fox girl didn't pause, just flexed her hands as the mana shimmered along her arms, stabilizing. Her aura, faintly crackling, radiated control and deadly efficiency.
Lucien's eyes widened slightly, jaw tightening as he processed her arrival.
"…You're here," he muttered, a mixture of relief and surprise threading his voice. "… I thought you decided to leave."
The fox girl didn't respond immediately. Instead, her gaze swept across the battlefield, scanning for remaining threats, the token's lingering energy fading behind her. Calm. Controlled. Deadly.
The fox girl finally spoke, voice low but steady, carrying over the faint hum of mana around her.
"…I would dare not," she said, eyes scanning the battlefield. "…When my best chance to leave this place… with my life… lays here."
The man beside her nodded slightly, echoing her sentiment in quieter tones. "…She's right. We stay because there's too much at stake to walk away now."
The wolf girl's ears twitched sharply, tail flicking with suspicion. "…And who are these two?" she asked, voice sharp, gaze flicking between them.
Lucien didn't hesitate. His tone was clipped, defensive, eyes narrowing. "…And what is it to you?