The horn blared, a single, reverberating note that signaled the commencement of the first trial. Instantly, the arena floor beneath Liam's feet buckled, a section to his left collapsing into a shadowy pit while another to his right thrust upwards, creating a precarious, uneven platform. The promised chaos had begun.
Liam activated Dragonheart Vigor, pushing mana into Agility. The world seemed to sharpen, movements around him subtly slowing to his perception. He leaped from a crumbling flagstone, narrowly avoiding a wild swing from a desperate-looking youth already caught off balance. The glowing sigil on the youth's back was an inviting target, but Liam's priority was survival and assessment.
Temporary alliances formed and shattered with dizzying speed. A trio of knights from a southern house ganged up on a lone warrior, striking his sigil repeatedly before turning on each other in a bid for more points. Betrayal was the currency of this melee. Liam, a lone wolf by necessity, danced through the shifting battlefield. He used the changing terrain to his advantage, luring pursuers onto unstable ground or through illusionary walls that shimmered and vanished at the last second, causing them to stumble into traps – a hidden caltrop field here, a gout of harmless but disorienting smoke there.
Crimson Fang was a blur in his hand. He focused on quick, precise strikes to the glowing sigils, his enhanced agility allowing him to dart in and out of engagements. The Blooddrinker effect was a potent ally, each successful (non-lethal) strike that drew even a superficial scratch near a sigil granting him a fleeting boost. He had to be incredibly careful; a killing blow meant disqualification. The sword's innate hunger was a dangerous siren song he had to resist.
His Draconic Senses were invaluable, picking up the subtle clicks of hidden mechanisms, the faint scent of unusual herbs on certain blades. It was this heightened awareness that drew his attention to Ser Jarek, the knight whose competence had felt off. Liam saw Jarek "accidentally" brush past a competitor, who moments later stumbled, his face paling, his movements sluggish. Poison. Then, Jarek subtly kicked a loose stone that triggered a hidden net trap, ensnaring another participant just as an ally moved to strike their sigil. It was too coordinated, too deliberate to be mere opportunism.
An arrow whistled past Liam's ear, forcing him to duck. High on a newly formed stone outcrop, Lady Elara Voss had found a sniper's perch. Her arrows were incredibly accurate, forcing Liam to remain constantly mobile, his Agility pushed to its limits. She wasn't just targeting his sigil; she was trying to herd him, to restrict his movements.
Suddenly, a larger faction of three heavily armored young nobles, their sigils blazing with the crest of a bull, cornered him against a shifting wall of magical energy. "Nowhere to run, Lithian pup!" their leader sneered.
Just as they lunged, a roar erupted from Liam's flank. Kael Thorne, his massive axe a whirlwind, slammed into the nobles, shattering their formation. "Get out of my way, fancy boys!" Kael bellowed, clearly having been targeted by the same faction.
The nobles, enraged, turned their attention to Kael. Liam, seizing the opening, struck two of their sigils in quick succession. Kael, though fighting with brutal efficiency, was being overwhelmed by the coordinated assault of the remaining noble and his recovering comrades. One of them, feinting a high strike, aimed a vicious, low kick at Kael's exposed knee.
On instinct, Liam moved. He intercepted the kick with his own greaved shin, the impact jarring. He then spun, the pommel of Crimson Fang connecting with the noble's temple, sending him sprawling. Kael stared, momentarily surprised by the save.
"Don't think this makes us friends, Lithian," Kael grunted, before turning his axe on another approaching competitor. A grudging respect, however, flickered in his eyes.
It was then Liam saw his chance to deal with Jarek. The saboteur was attempting to subtly loosen the supports of a temporary bridge another competitor was crossing. Liam, feigning an attack on a nearby participant, "stumbled" towards Jarek, his movement appearing accidental in the chaos. As he "recovered his balance," Crimson Fang lashed out, not with lethal intent, but with a precise, raking cut across Jarek's sword arm, aiming to disarm or at least disrupt.
The Jagged Edge of Crimson Fang bit deep. Jarek cried out, dropping his blade. As he clutched his arm, his sleeve tore, revealing a dark, serpentine tattoo coiling around his forearm – the unmistakable mark of the Serpent's Teeth, and by extension, the Shadow Vipers.
"A Viper in the Oulbeck den!" Liam shouted, his voice carrying over the din. "This man is a saboteur!"
All eyes, including those of Grandmaster Orin Oulbeck from his viewing platform, turned to Jarek. The exposed tattoo, coupled with his earlier suspicious actions now cast in a new light, was damning. Oulbeck guards moved in swiftly, apprehending the struggling Jarek.
High above, on the arena's highest balcony, a cloaked figure watched the proceedings with unnerving stillness. Liam hadn't noticed him before, but now, his Draconic Senses tingled with an intensity that far surpassed even Grandmaster Orin. This observer was an abyss of power, an 8-Star Sword Sovereign, perhaps even Orin's own master. As Liam glanced up, he thought he saw the barest hint of a smile beneath the deep cowl. The figure murmured, too low for any normal hearing, yet clear as a bell to Liam's enhanced senses, "Interesting… a dragon's touch lingers on that one." A shiver ran down Liam's spine.
The horn sounded again, signaling the end of the first trial. The magical shifts in the arena ceased. Exhausted competitors leaned on their weapons, some jubilant, many dejected.
A herald announced the top finishers. Liam, despite the constant harassment and the diversion with Jarek, had secured third place.
The System chimed:
[Sub-Objective: First Trial - Survival and Cunning - COMPLETED!]
[Finished in Top 5: Rank 3]
[Bonus Objective: Exposed a Saboteur - COMPLETE!]
[Rewards Granted:]
• [+1 Attribute Point. Please allocate.]
• [200 EXP (Total EXP: 800/1000 to ★★★ Adept)]
• [New Faction Reputation Acquired: "House Oulbeck's Notice" - You have gained the favorable attention of House Oulbeck. This may unlock unique training opportunities or interactions in the future.]
Liam mentally allocated the point. Agility. Evasion and speed are paramount in these chaotic scenarios. [+1 Agility. Total Agility: 18]
Grandmaster Orin Oulbeck descended to the arena floor. He first addressed the Jarek situation, his voice like crackling thunder, promising a thorough investigation and severe punishment for any who sought to defile his tournament. Then, his piercing gaze found Liam.
"Lord Liam Lithian," Orin declared, his voice carrying a newfound respect. "You fought with cunning and courage. But more than that… you fight like a man who has already seen death and has no intention of meeting it again soon. I'll be watching your progress with great interest."
The praise from a 7-Star Sword Saint sent ripples of murmurs through the remaining competitors. Liam simply bowed his head in acknowledgment, the weight of those words, and the gaze of the mysterious observer, settling upon him.
Miles away, back in the shadowed halls of Lithian Hold, Vorian received a coded message from a discreet informant he had placed within the Oulbeck tournament's attendees. He unrolled the small parchment, his eyes scanning the report of the first trial. A slow, cold smile spread across his lips as he read of Liam's performance, of the exposed Viper, of the Grandmaster's notice.
"So, the little whelp has claws after all," Vorian mused, crushing the parchment in his fist. "And he's drawn the eye of Orin Oulbeck, and perhaps even… him." His smile widened, devoid of any warmth. "Excellent. Let him gather attention. Let him grow a little. It will only make his eventual fall all the more… satisfying. And perhaps, it will draw out other players I can use." He chuckled, a dry, rasping sound that held no humor, only chilling, patient malice. His game was long, and Liam was but one piece on a much larger, bloodier board.