Meanwhile, at the far end of the coliseum, Cael Verendis stood unmoving. Around him lay a ring of the unconscious, eight, nine, ten bodies already downed. His count had already climbed to twenty-two.
But he didn't look satisfied.
One of his followers, a sneering boy in violet silk, approached with a fresh opponent barely able to hold a sword.
"This one's not even worth your breath," the boy said.
Cael's eyes didn't move. "Then why bring him?"
With a casual flick of his wrist, Cael's blade whipped through the air and knocked the incoming boy's sword from his hand before he'd even gotten within reach.
The boy froze.
"Go," Cael said, not even looking at him. "You're not even meat."
The boy scrambled away, shame covering him like a cloak.
One of the knights watching from the platform narrowed his eyes. "That one's dangerous," he murmured to another.
"The duke's son?"
"No," the Knight said. "Valdros. The one Cael is ignoring."
---
Another noble, tall, broad-shouldered, shield and hammer in hand, charged toward Ethan.
"I don't care where you're from. I just want your spot on the board!"
Ethan raised his blade in silence. The noble lunged with a roar, swinging the hammer in a low arc. Ethan leapt back. The hammer cracked the ground where he'd stood a second before. The noble advanced again, shield raised, using it to herd Ethan toward the wall. Ethan didn't resist. He let himself be pushed back, let the noble overextend. Then, he dropped low and struck with a rising slash, catching the noble's leg beneath the knee. The boy stumbled.
Ethan surged forward, blade striking the shield with calculated ferocity, once, twice, thrice, before twisting to the side and slamming his elbow into the noble's jaw. The hammer fell from the boy's hand.
Ethan stepped in, pressing his blade into the gap between shield and chestplate.
"Submit."
The noble, gasping for air, tapped out.
[ Knockout Registered – Ethan Valdros: 9 ]
[ Leaderboard Update – Holding at Rank: 60 ]
---
A few feet away, Velina found herself facing two opponents at once. She ducked a swing, rolled between them, and delivered a sweeping strike to one's back. Her blade sang as it moved, precise and elegant. She blocked a strike with her forearm, wincing, and countered with a kick to the knee. The second opponent buckled, and she followed with a blade strike that ended the match.
More murmurs followed.
The daughter of a merchant, not noble-born, holding her ground against trained heirs?
Unthinkable.
---
Back on the southern platform, Cael Verendis watched Ethan with growing interest.
"He fights like a mongrel," he said. "But there's something sharp buried beneath the dirt."
One of his lackeys smirked. "Should we humble him now?"
"No," Cael said, turning to walk. "Let the Trial end first. Then I'll shatter him in front of everyone."
---
As the sun climbed higher, the dust in the coliseum thickened. The trial neared its end.
Only two hundred and thirty stood now. The leaderboard shimmered with the locked scores.
TOP 10 – CURRENT RANKINGS:
1. Cael Verendis – 18
2. Neron D'Valmir – 17
3. Rexus Algrave – 16
4. Alissia Varn – 15
5. Silas Montreux – 15
6. Eirun Fex – 15
7. Luthar Rehn – 14
8. Draken D'marion – 14
9. Tyrel Cane – 13
10. Cayden Rellhart – 12
[Aspirants Remaining: 230]
---
One by one, the names of those who failed appeared in red, fading from the board. Those who remained, two hundred and thirty exactly.
Whispers swirled among the noble observers in the gallery above. Some applauded out of politeness. Others scowled, eyes fixed on Ethan and Velina.
Below, a few nobles snarled beneath their breath.
"This is absurd. He has no bloodline."
"He's manipulating the bands somehow."
"He must be disqualified."
And yet, none of them dared say it aloud.
Because in the coliseum, strength was law. And the law had spoken. But the first trial hasn't ended yet.
---
The dust of the coliseum never truly settled, it clung to skin, to breath, to every aching muscle in the bodies of the two hundred who remained standing. The Trial Bands on their wrists pulsed a soft blue, signifying passage.
But the First Assessment wasn't done, not until the hourglass of the arena ran dry.
"An hour and a half remain!" boomed the voice of a Knight atop the observation tower. "Any aspirant not in the top one hundred by then will be disqualified. Hold your ground, or rise higher!"
The floating Lightboard shimmered. The names held steady at the top… but just below the 100th, they flickered with every clash still raging on the field.
Ethan stood in the inner edge of the coliseum's battlefield, leaning slightly on his blade. His tunic clung to him with sweat and specks of blood, none of it his own.
Eight victories. Top seventy. And yet, the glares still dug at him from all angles. Nobles were whispering, rearranging. You could almost hear the resentment creaking beneath their polished armor.
One of them approached.
Thin, wiry, and draped in the orange-trimmed robes of House Elvarin, the boy strutted toward Ethan with his sword sheathed but his chin high.
"You must be quite proud of yourself," he sneered.
Ethan didn't answer. His eyes scanned the battlefield. Calculating. The noble took a step closer. "Peasant in the top seventy. That's cute. Do you think this is where you stay? Or are you just keeping the spot warm for your betters?"
Ethan turned to face him fully. "Do you want to fight, or just talk?"
The noble's lip curled. "My name is Feran Elvarin. Son of High Magistrate Alcos. My lineage traces back to the founding walls of Vaelond. And yours?"
"Ethan Valdros," he replied calmly.
A pause.
Feran blinked. "…That name doesn't exist."
"Yet here I am."
The boy snarled and lunged.
Ethan met him before the first footstep landed.
CLANKKK!!!!
Their blade collided with a metallic howl.