Vellarin's crimson cloak fluttered in the wind as he stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over the gathering of warriors, nobles, and spectators. The sunlight above the arena seemed almost dimmer when his shadow stretched across the stage.
His eyes—sharp and unblinking—fixed on the horizon, as though he could see beyond the mountains that hemmed in the royal grounds. Then, without looking at the crowd, he spoke.
"Our first round will begin in the Blood Valley."
A murmur rippled through the competitors—some bristling with excitement, others tightening their grips on weapons.
Vellarin's tone never wavered.
"From here, you will make your way to the valley. Once there… you must survive for three days."
His words hung in the air like a decree carved in stone.
"King Zalmic has already told you this much," he continued, tilting his head slightly, his long hair catching the wind. "But let me make something very clear—be careful."
