The memories Rowan Mercer had taken from Tobias Jinmont had answered the last questions he cared about.
The old chaos. The forbidden techniques. The truth behind the so-called miracles. With that knowledge in hand, Rowan no longer needed anything from the Hale family's rivals. They were small, persistent problems, the kind that survived only because no one bothered to finish them off.
That wouldn't do.
Rowan still had people tied to this identity. Ordinary relatives, ordinary lives. Loose ends had a way of becoming knives when ignored. Dealing with the problem as planned was cleaner, safer, and far more efficient.
Besides, he would need help later. The Bellamy Consortium was well positioned to handle mundane complications. Logistics. Cleanup. Distractions. Rowan had no interest in building a power base from scratch when one already existed and could be nudged into alignment.
Once he gathered what he wanted and nothing here could push him further, he intended to disappear for a long while. Deep study. Isolation. The same way his other self had done elsewhere.
The match began.
Aureo stepped forward and raised a small charm, its surface etched with containment runes. The spirit he had taken from his previous opponent surged outward, merging with him in a rush of cold pressure. His posture changed instantly. His presence deepened, heavier and more dangerous than before.
Power alone wasn't skill, Rowan noted, but there was no denying the scale of it.
"Elder Willow, lend me your strength," Aureo said, voice steady despite the strain.
Dark energy curled around him as he vanished from sight and reappeared directly in front of Rowan, striking without hesitation.
Rowan didn't move.
Lightning snapped once.
Aureo felt a sharp impact at the base of his skull and the world went black.
The entire exchange took less than a second.
"Winner," the referee announced after a stunned pause, "Rowan Mercer."
The arena erupted.
No one had expected it to end like that. Aureo had been empowered by a bound entity with centuries of accumulated force, and Rowan had dropped him with a single blow. The crowd buzzed with speculation, excitement, and unease.
For the first time since the tournament began, the outcome no longer felt predictable.
Marcus Hale stood and cheered loudly, laughing as though he'd just won a fortune. Which, in fairness, he had. Nearby spectators stared at him in confusion, trying to figure out when his loyalty to Rowan had grown so intense.
Elsewhere, a much quieter calculation was taking place.
Victor Windmere watched from the stands, his expression calm but his mind racing. The reports from overseas. The sudden collapse of the Iron Front's leadership. Rowan's display just now.
The pattern was clear.
Rowan Mercer was operating just below the Grand Master's level. Possibly higher, if he stopped holding back.
That made the contingency plan viable.
Very viable.
The Grand Master himself watched with narrowed eyes, his mood lighter than it had been in days. Losing to an unknown challenger earlier in the week still lingered like grit under his skin, but Rowan's presence shifted the board in an unexpected way.
Tomorrow's matches were already set.
Rowan Mercer versus Marcus Hale's senior disciple.
Evan Clarke versus Fiona Barlow.
The second match was a formality. Fiona's role had never been to win, only to ensure Evan advanced safely. Everyone who mattered understood that.
The first match was the hinge.
If Rowan lost, the final would pit Evan against a far superior opponent, and the outcome would be obvious. The entire event would fail its real purpose.
If Rowan won, everything stabilized.
Because Rowan couldn't take the position Evan was being prepared for.
The fifth day arrived.
Morning brought Evan Clarke's match, which unfolded exactly as expected. Fiona performed with theatrical exaggeration, overcommitting, mistiming, and collapsing at precisely the wrong moments. The audience, furious at being treated like fools, chased both competitors halfway down the mountain after it ended.
That afternoon, Rowan prepared for his own bout.
Evan found him near the entrance to the arena, practically vibrating with nervous energy.
"Rowan," he said quickly, "you have to win this one. You absolutely have to."
Rowan smiled faintly. He knew exactly why.
"Come here," Rowan said, hooking an arm around Evan's shoulders and pulling him aside. "Let's talk."
Evan didn't resist for a second.
"I know what you're thinking," Rowan continued, voice casual. "And you're right. He's not beating me. Which means that position you've been circling is already yours."
Evan swallowed.
"I'm not here for that," Rowan went on. "I came for the Codex. That's it. But I'm also interested in what you're carrying."
Evan's expression tightened. He shook his head immediately.
"I've told everyone the truth. I don't have what they think I have. My grandfather taught me defensive techniques and lightning control. That's all."
Rowan watched him closely.
Then he clapped a hand on Evan's shoulder.
"Relax. I'm not here to take anything from you by force. I prefer deals. You're smart enough to know what you need, even if you don't want to admit it yet."
Evan didn't answer.
"That old disaster," Rowan continued calmly. "The forbidden techniques. The things everyone's afraid to talk about. I know them. All of them. If you ever want answers, you know what I'll ask in return."
Evan's pupils contracted.
"And if someone comes after you," Rowan added, voice dropping just enough to matter, "I'll handle it. There isn't anyone in this world I can't deal with."
He released Evan and walked toward the arena.
Behind him, Evan Clarke stood frozen, breathing shallowly. He could fool investigators. He could fool rivals.
He couldn't fool Rowan Mercer.
The truth would wait.
Rowan had time.