Strax left Valen's unconscious body lying on the arena floor. The sealing runes had already stabilized the field, ensuring that the defeated man would not die there. The crowd roared, many unable to comprehend the gravity of what they had just witnessed. To them, it was just another crushing victory for the golden warrior.
But the watchful eyes, those of the strong, those of the hidden… these were different. Whispers rippled through the stands, the scribes exchanged worried glances, and the waiting warriors, who until then had seen Strax as just another opponent, now felt something different. Fear.
Strax, however, was uninterested in them. His gaze roamed the perimeter, his golden pupils pulsing as he released mana in discreet waves. Each pulse revealed specks—dark spots scattered like seeds in fertile soil. He had counted them before. Now, he confirmed it.
More than a dozen. Maybe two. The entire tournament was a nest.
