Night once more fell upon Seylmar, but the arena still echoed with the frenzy of the tournament. The cheers, the applause, the whispered bets drifting through the backstreets… it all blended into a constant, humming backdrop. Yet in the shadows, things had begun to move. The tournament was not merely a contest. It was a magnet. And it had started drawing in far more than just warriors.
Deep within the stadium's underbelly, a masked man walked through a corridor forbidden to the public. Dim magical seals lit his way. He entered a round chamber, hidden behind an illusion. Three other figures waited for him there.
— "He's here," rasped the first voice, rough and serpentine. "The bearer of the Broken Mark."
— "He's changed his name. 'Kael,'" said the second, a woman cloaked in white.
— "But not his intent," added the third, younger, but ice-cold. "He seeks provocation. Attention."
The masked man gave a nod.
— "And he's succeeding. Calwyn saw him. The others will follow. Everything is accelerating."
Silence fell.
— "What are the orders of the Black Council?"
— "Observe him. Do not engage. Not yet."
— "He wants the heroes," the woman murmured. "And we... want the same."
Back in his room, Ishi was poring over a map of the tournament. He had marked everything—names of the other combatants, their styles, their affiliations… and most of all, their hidden identities. For some of them wore masks too. And the time had come to tear those masks off.
— "Your next fight is against him," said Lysa, pointing to a name: Thorne the Scarlet.
A renowned gladiator. Former champion of an imperial arena. Strong, brutal, but most importantly, backed by the Order of Balance—a group claiming neutrality… but sworn to eradicate all bearers of cursed marks.
— "I'll break him," Ishi whispered.
The next day, the arena was more packed than ever. Nobles from distant cities had gathered. Ancient academy mages, foreign merchants, spies... All awaited the day's battles.
In the stands, a man in black armor watched the arena closely. On his finger gleamed a ring with a purple sheen. He smiled as Ishi appeared.
— "You shouldn't be here," he murmured. "But I can't wait to see what you've become..."
Ishi's second match.
— "Kael versus Thorne the Scarlet!"
The crowd roared.
Thorne entered to wild cheers, shirtless, scarred, dragging a sword as wide as a door behind him.
— "A little hooded pup? You gonna run, or kneel?"
Ishi said nothing.
Gong.
Thorne charged, sword raised high. Ishi stood still. Then—
Technique: Fractured Mirage.
Three illusions blinked into existence. Thorne slashed—missed. Another swing—empty air. He growled, then cried out as a sharp blow landed on his back.
Ishi appeared, swift as lightning.
Technique: Slow Break.
A strike to the arm's nerve. Another to the knee. A third to the temple. Thorne staggered, his sword clattering to the ground.
The crowd stood.
But Ishi didn't stop.
A punch to the solar plexus. An elbow to the throat.
Technique: Exile's Whisper.
Thorne dropped to his knees, choking. The ground trembled faintly. The mountain of muscle collapsed sideways, reduced to a broken puppet.
Silence.
Then—
— "Victor: Kael!"
Applause. Whistles. Tension in the air. Eyes locked across the stands. Someone had just shattered the balance.
In the crowd, a white-haired man clenched his jaw. A black mark pulsed on his wrist.
— "It's him. I recognize him. The boy from the cursed village."
Beside him, a young woman with golden eyes sighed.
— "We're going to have to step in, aren't we?"
— "He's forcing our hand..."
In the back corridors, Ishi wiped blood from his gloves. Lysa stood at the doorway.
— "They'll come," she said.
— "Let them. I've waited long enough."
He looked out the window. The skies above Seylmar were growing stormy.
— "One by one, I'll unmask them. And when their faces are laid bare… I'll destroy whatever's left of them".