A figure in a dark cloak. Footsteps—steady as a heartbeat. No haste. No fear. The crowd—tens of thousands of beings—froze.
Even Mort, who'd been laughing a heartbeat ago, leaned forward. His face changed. Something tightened inside. His throat suddenly went dry.
Lianisa… went still. She hadn't seen his face yet, but she already knew—this was no ordinary warrior.
"What is this… what am I feeling?.. Like pressure. As if the earth itself is watching him."
The air grew heavier. As though an unseen force had seeped into the coliseum—calm, yet so ancient, so deep that even the spirits of the ancestors were listening.
The crowd did not shout. No one uttered a word. The beastfolk were silent. The slaves lowered their eyes. Even the children—went still.
Ardon pulled back his hood.
A severe face, scars, eyes—cold as ice-water. But there was something more in them. The gaze of someone who had seen the end. And did not break.
When he stepped onto the sand—it did not crunch. He did not seem to walk so much as belong there. A part of the arena. A part of the world.
—"That's him," someone whispered from the back rows. —"The Gray Shadow. The Silent Blade. Ardon…"
From the far side a half-cat sprang out. Predatory, supple, young. He snarled, swung a hook, beat his chest.
—"That fool still doesn't get where he's ended up," Mort muttered, though even his voice no longer had its earlier swagger.
Ardon did not move. He was silent. He did not even raise his sword. He simply watched. And that was enough.
The half-cat lunged. One motion. One leap.
And then…
Ardon's blade flashed. Barely. Like the shadow of lightning.
The half-beast's ribcage flew apart like rotten planks. The body dropped to its knees. And the sword was already lowered.
Silence held for another heartbeat. Then an eruption. But not laughter or cheers—howling. People did not understand why they were crying. The beastfolk did not know why they felt cold.
Ardon turned without a word. And walked back into the darkness from which he had come. As if the night had spoken its piece—and vanished.
And Lianisa… sat trembling.
"It was him. General Ardon Rill. My warrior. My friend. The man who was meant to bring my son back. And now he is—a slave. A legend in chains."
The arena emptied. But the blood had not yet dried on the sand. The same scent hung in the air—heavy, warm, as if death were nearby but in no hurry.
Mort leaned forward, staring with satisfaction at the gate where the champion had disappeared.
—"Well? What do you say?" he tossed out, licking his lips. —"Impressive, huh? They say he was once from the north. Others say—from the mountains. And some—he's a demon who forgot who he was. But everyone agrees on one thing: he has the look of a man who's watched hope die."
Lianisa did not answer. She sat motionless. Her gaze was empty, but inside… a fire was burning.
"That was Ardon. He's alive. He's… here. Alone. What about the others? What about my son?.. How did you survive, Ardon?.."
—"Hm," Mort said, shifting his gaze to her. —"How do you know him?"
He tried to say it lightly, playfully, but curiosity slipped into his voice. And a touch of distrust.
Lianisa looked at him. Brief. Cold. Almost without expression.
—"He is a legendary warrior of the humans."
A pause. Silence.
—"Is that so…" Mort whispered, narrowing his eyes. —"So you know something. Or maybe he knows you?"
She did not move. Did not answer. Only looked away again. But inside…
"No. You won't learn a thing. I will give you nothing. My name, my past, my pain—they are not your prey."
—"You know, if you want him that badly… there's one way," Mort said, slouching back in his chair. —"They bring him a prostitute every night. You could offer yourself. And… whisper something sweet in his ear. Who knows—maybe he'll even recognize you."
That laugh… was filthy, hollow, sticky. Lianisa felt something boil in her chest. But her face did not change.
She rose. Slowly, contained.
—"No, thank you," she said. —"I'll find another way."
—"A pity." Mort spread his hands. —"Because my giant is already warming up. And when he's finished, your 'legendary warrior' will be left with nothing but memories of your silence."
She stood like a shadow. Like a rock the waves break upon. She did not answer. She did not flinch.
"I will save you, Ardon. Not with my body. Not through humiliation. As an ally. As the one who still remembers who you were."
The arena still smelled of blood. In the box, the talk still went on—not about the fight, but about the battle to come. About something larger than muscle and steel.
—"Your champion hits hard, Shchur. I won't deny it," Mort said, pouring himself wine. —"But tomorrow your unbeatable hero will become a legend… in pieces."
—"Ha!" Shchur stretched a grin. —"He hasn't lost a single fight. Not one. He cannot be broken. He isn't just a slave—he's a force of nature. He won't stop until he smashes everything before him."
—"Tomorrow he will stop," Mort prophesied with a smile. —"When my giant rips off his arms and smashes his head against the sand. I'll personally gather the pieces into a sack and send them to you. A keepsake."
Lianisa sat beside them. At first glance—quiet, indifferent. But her thoughts… boiled.
"No. I can't lose him. Ardon knows what happened to my son. And the giant—a power that can bring this system down. They are keys. A way out."
"But how do I get close to Ardon? He's locked away. A slave. Kept apart."
"I can't just ask. And I can't wait. I have to act."
And suddenly… she saw it. Mort's and Shchur's eyes—mean, feverish. Their argument—wasn't strategy. It was ego. Pride. And then it struck her.
"They'll bite. Idiots. If I step in the right way—they'll agree. And I'll set the rules."
She rose. Calm, precise.
—"What if your fighter loses?"
Silence. Both men fell quiet and turned their eyes to her.
—"What did you say?" Mort frowned.
—"If your fighter loses," she repeated clearly, —"but mine stays alive—Shchur hands him over to you. Completely."
—"Ha!" Shchur burst out laughing. —"And what if it's the other way around? What if mine wins?"
—"Then you get fifty silvers," Lianisa said evenly.
—"And you," Shchur added, smiling like a predator.
—"Are you out of your mind, girl?!" Mort exploded, springing to his feet. —"What are you doing sticking your nose into business where no one called you?!"
Lianisa stepped up to him. Slowly. She leaned in and whispered right into his ear:
—"I've seen how your giant fights. The champion has no chance."
—"…"
—"But if he survives—you'll have the two strongest fighters in this city at once. I'll ask the giant not to kill Ardon. And no one will ever learn of this arrangement."
Mort seethed. His eyes burned. But he said nothing. She could see it—he was calculating. She already knew what he would say.
—"Agreed," he finally exhaled. —"But… if you trick me—I'll find a way to make you regret you were ever born."
Lianisa nodded without a word. And turned her gaze back to the arena.
"One more step. And I'll shift this game. Ardon… you will not die. Not here. Not now."