In the royal box, the atmosphere was electric. Laughter and taunts flew between the three Whiteheaven princes seated side by side.
"Well then, Gambling Brother?" Brisena shouted gleefully, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Looks like I won! Hahaha!" He clapped Magnoli on the shoulder, laughing victoriously.
Magnoli sighed and handed over a stack of gold coins.
"Three hundred and fifty wits, gone... Enjoy it, little brother."
Brisena accepted the coins with the flair of a triumphant conqueror.
"Thanks, brother. Turns out draining your wallet is easier than flipping a coin."
Magnoli snorted.
"You got lucky. Modolak had every advantage. Too bad he didn't know how to use his brain."
"You rely too much on stats," Brisena replied smugly, his grin unfading. "Try intuition for once. Even the great gambler can misread the board."
Dorges chimed in, shaking his head.
"I still can't believe it. Who bets on a guy who's blind, beaten, and just fought a full match? That's madness."
"True," Brisena shrugged. "But you saw it with your own eyes. Sometimes, luck cuts sharper than logic."
Magnoli narrowed his eyes. Dorges chuckled, eyes drifting to the arena.
"Still, I'll admit—Hans was incredible. He's no mere trained slave. Maybe it's all that experience."
Brisena nodded slowly.
"Not just luck. He's got grit and heart. And Lord Rius—he really believed in that fighter."
Suddenly, the announcer's voice boomed, cutting through the noise.
"Ladies and gentlemen! That victory wasn't just historic—it was a symbol of defiance! And now, shift your eyes to the royal box. Rarely do we witness three imperial princes gracing the people together!"
The crowd erupted into thunderous cheers. Every gaze turned upward.
"Welcome, Prince Dorges! The Storm Dragon of Whiteheaven, the Unshakable Stone!"
Dorges stood and gave a modest nod. The cheers swelled.
"Next, welcome Prince Magnoli! The Prince of Beauty, the Champion of Freedom!"
Magnoli rose slowly, offering an elegant smile and raising his golden goblet of wine. The crowd roared even louder.
"And finally, our youngest prince—Prince Brisena! Beloved of the People, the Gentle Breeze of the White Palace!"
Brisena stood and waved with a wide grin. The applause reached a fever pitch. All three princes basked in the spotlight.
But the excitement was far from over.
"And now!" the announcer bellowed, his voice charged with fire, "The next match begins! Wilder, fiercer, and more unpredictable than before!"
The audience surged to their feet, shouting.
"This time, three fighters will enter the arena... one versus one versus one! No alliances, no mercy. The last one standing—wins!"
The crowd's roar split the sky. The western sun bathed the open arena in gold. Three heavy wooden gates began to creak open.
"From Lord Tois... the arena's titan... KOSTAS!"
Kostas lumbered out of the first gate. His massive, obsidian frame seemed to shake the earth. In his hands swung a giant war hammer, slow but devastating. The crowd screamed in awe.
"From Lord Nicolo... the sadistic headhunter... MONDES, the Cricket!"
Mondes danced out of the second gate—slender, coiled with tension. He wielded a long, curved sickle with a hooked end, spinning it like a predator ready to strike. His hungry eyes scanned the audience.
"And from Lord Rius... today's surprise entry... NORI, the Black Raven!"
The third gate opened.
A woman stepped out. Broad-shouldered, scarred, her mohawk haircut catching the light. Cold, sharp eyes. In both hands, she gripped two obsidian-colored blades. For a heartbeat, the crowd went silent.
A woman?
But Nori's presence crushed their doubts with every step.
"Feel like betting again?" Brisena chirped, glancing at his brothers.
Dorges jabbed a finger toward the arena.
"Kostas. Size doesn't lie."
Magnoli grinned.
"Mondes. Tricksters never fight fair, and that's how they win."
Brisena chuckled.
"Then I'll take Nori. There's something in her eyes… something dangerous."
Over in the lords' gallery, Nicolo scoffed.
"A female fighter? Rius has lost his mind."
Lord Tois sneered.
"Does he think this is a playground? Sending in a woman?"
Lord Rius sat silently.
"I believe in her," he murmured.
GONG!
Kostas charged Nori instantly, swinging his hammer with earth-shattering force. Mondes darted in from the opposite side, his sickle gleaming, aiming to slice.
Two men. One woman. No mercy.
Nori dodged fast—faster than anyone expected. Her body weaved left, then right, avoiding the crushing weight of Kostas's hammer. Her movements were precise, fluid, unrelenting. She never stopped moving, slipping between the brutal attacks of both men—who, whether they meant to or not, were ganging up on her.
But the alliance didn't last long.
The three-way fight exploded into pure chaos. Flesh was cut. Blood spilled. No one walked away unscathed.
And Nori—supposedly the weakest—fought like a ghost on fire. Every strike, every step, forced the others to adapt. They couldn't keep up.
The final phase approached, the battle's climax evident in their labored breath and bloodstained limbs.
Kostas swung his hammer in a wild arc toward Mondes. The crushing blow shattered Mondes's sickle in half, forcing the wiry fighter to stagger back. But Mondes retaliated. With the jagged tip that remained, he plunged it into Kostas's left shoulder. Blood gushed.
"Aaarghhh!" Kostas roared, grabbing Mondes by the neck and lifting him one-handed. Mondes kicked and thrashed, his weapon still lodged in Kostas's flesh.
Nori saw her chance.
Bleeding from her own wounds, she dashed forward. Her blade sliced through Mondes's arm—the one still gripping his broken sickle.
The severed limb hit the ground. Mondes shrieked in agony.
Kostas, staggering under the pain and Mondes's weight, lashed out with a brutal kick. Nori flew back, her body crashing against the arena wall.
The crowd screamed. Some cheered. Others gasped and looked away, unable to watch the savagery unfold.
Mondes, pale and trembling, spotted Nori's fallen black sword. With a final cry—rage and despair bleeding into one—he drove the blade deep into Kostas's abdomen. A torrent of blood burst from the giant's body. Kostas let out a long, guttural breath… then collapsed. The ground shook as his massive form crashed into the sand.
Mondes dropped to his knees, drained.
Nori, bloodied and staggering, forced herself to rise. Her eyes locked onto Mondes—half-dead, barely conscious. She dragged herself toward Kostas's warhammer, gripping it with her left hand. But as she lifted it, Mondes's other hand suddenly stabbed into her stomach.
"Die…" he whispered, breath shallow.
Nori didn't flinch. With a single, brutal swing, she brought the hammer down.
CRACK!
Mondes's skull shattered. Blood and bone sprayed into the air. The crowd fell silent.
Nori stood still… then collapsed. Blood poured from her wounds. She didn't move again.
Silence.
No victor.
Moments later, the bodies of all three fallen fighters were dragged out of the arena.
Where once there had been cheers and chaos, now only silence remained. The crowd held its breath, stunned by what they had just witnessed. Nobles exchanged glances, their faces stiff with disbelief. In the royal box, the three princes said nothing. It was as though the entire arena was wrapped in a heavy shroud of awe and confusion.
Then, a voice—loud, deep, and unwavering—cut through the silence.
"Are we going to stop here?" shouted Lord Rius, his voice echoing across the blood-stained sands. Every eye turned toward him.
He stepped forward to the center of the arena, standing tall with conviction blazing in his expression.
"We just witnessed raw power. But now… let's talk about hope."
The murmurs began—soft at first, then growing louder, until the crowd stirred like a waking beast.
Rius's voice rang out, firm and resolute.
"Today, I give this stage to those you've overlooked the most. Ten slaves. Yes—ten. They're not here for your entertainment. They will fight for their lives!"
Shouts erupted—surprised, excited, disbelieving.
"They'll face twenty of the finest lutadors from Lords Nicolo and Tois. If they win… they walk free. No coins. No contracts. They buy back their dignity with blood and courage!"
Silence fell again. Every breath seemed to halt.
"I repeat—freedom, if they win!" Rius raised his fist high.
"So now I ask you… are you ready to witness it? Not a show. A struggle for freedom!"
This time, there was no pause.
The arena exploded.
Spectators leapt to their feet. Roars echoed. Hands rose. Applause cracked like thunder. The crowd no longer came for carnage—they came for something more. Rius had ignited a different kind of fire in the arena: not violence, but possibility.
In the royal box, the princes finally reacted.
Magnoli arched a brow, intrigued but uncertain.
"It's madness… but genius."
Dorges scowled.
"It's a gamble. Giving slaves a stage like this? It could spark rebellion."
Brisena—eyes locked on Damerius, the man the world now called Lord Rius—looked genuinely moved.
"He's turned this arena into more than blood and wagers," Brisena murmured.
"He's given them… hope."