The arena wasn't quiet, but the chaos had condensed.
Gone were the random skirmishes, the desperate lunges for glory. What remained now was pure concentration. Fewer fighters. Clearer killing intent. The strongest had weathered the storm, and what remained was the fire beneath the ash.
Within the first ten minutes, the massive number of competitors was culled to just thirty. All either at the second or third star.
At the center of it all, the prince stayed, watching, judging, and evaluating. There was no point to all this blood if not for his promised rewards.
The rewards of the Igarian kingdom. An entity as old as the central continent, with resources storied for over a millennium.
Lysara Selyth advanced with the same measured rhythm she'd kept from the beginning — not once breaking form, not once breaking pace. Her ash didn't cling anymore. It controlled. It mapped the field around her with density and command, rendering Jorun Velgrath's heat useless.
