The crimson mist hung low in the Blood Valley, clinging to the jagged rocks like a living thing. Distant growls and heavy footfalls echoed through the haze, but for Aamir, the place felt… quiet. Too quiet.
He stood atop a broken boulder, hands in his pockets, the corpses of twelve massive beasts scattered in a loose perimeter around him. Each was unique — scaled wolves with molten breath, horned bears whose hides could stop most steel, a winged cat-beast with talons like sickles — but all were dead with single, precise blows.
Aamir clicked his tongue. "This is no fun… only these weaklings keep coming. It's making things easier than I'd hoped."
When the tournament began, he had slipped away from the other competitors, vanishing into the deeper valley without a word. It wasn't strategy — he simply preferred to move alone. The others assumed it was arrogance, maybe overconfidence. They didn't know the truth.
