Rain poured down on Seylmar, weighing the air with an almost supernatural tension. Lightning streaked across the sky as the streets slowly emptied. Even the bravest sought shelter. But in the shadows, some were gathering.
An abandoned warehouse, north of the port. Damp. Dusty. A circle of torches lit the faces hidden beneath black hoods. At the center, a sacred blade rested upon a stone altar.
— "The target is in the city," a deep voice said. "And he's already attracting the attention of the powerful."
— "He must die," another replied. "Before he reminds us of what we all tried to forget."
— "Who will carry the pact?"
Silence. Then a man stepped forward. Thin, eyes bloodshot, haunted.
— "Give me the blade. I accept the pact. For my kin. For what he stole from me."
He cut his palm and laid his hand upon the blade.
Blood spilled. The blade vibrated.
— "By the Blood Pact… There is no turning back."
In the inn's room, Ishi stared out the window. Lysa still slept, curled beneath a blanket. He couldn't find sleep. He could feel it. Something in the city had changed.
— "They're moving," he murmured. "Finally."
He rose, grabbed a flask of water, and splashed his face. Then he left.
Destination: the temple district.
The sanctuaries of Seylmar were deserted at this hour. Only an old man swept the marble floor of the Temple of Truth.
— "Looking for something, stranger?"
— "Answers," Ishi said.
The old man stared at him, squinting.
— "You… You have that look. The look of the Returned."
— "I've come to ask a favor."
Ishi knelt before a statue of a forgotten god. He extended his arm, and an ancient seal briefly shimmered beneath his skin.
— "I need you to confirm something."
The old priest approached, laid a hand on Ishi's shoulder… and paled.
— "This is no ordinary curse… It's an abomination. You're bound to a fragment of the Void."
— "I know. I just needed to hear someone else say it."
— "Then why come here?"
Ishi stood.
— "Because they're coming. And before I face them, I need to know how far I can go."
He walked away, leaving behind a trembling priest and a shadow that had followed him.
A scream in the night.
A figure flew across the Seylmar sky, hurled from a rooftop. It crashed to the ground with a dull thud. A guard approached… and immediately stepped back.
— "By the gods…"
The body had been drained of blood. And on the wall, written in red:
"Pact accepted. Kael will die."
By morning, the tension was palpable. Competitors whispered in hushed voices. Rumor had it two fighters were found dead—outside the arena. The judges hesitated: should the tournament go on? But Lord Calwyn's decree silenced the debate:
— "The tournament does not stop. Not for an assassin. Not for a monster. He who fears death has no place here."
Ishi smirked, hearing those words from the backstage.
— "Well said, hypocrite lord."
Third match.
Kael versus Rehn, the Infiltrator.
A swift, agile assassin, known for his poisoned blades. But more importantly, a member of the Black Circle.
The gong rang.
Rehn vanished. Literally.
— "No point in hiding," Ishi murmured.
He closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. Then struck.
Technique: Perception Wave.
An invisible pulse swept across the arena. Rehn reappeared, thrown off balance.
Technique: Judgment of the Wind.
A combo. Fast. Precise. The assassin tried to dodge… but a blade of wind slashed through his hip. He screamed, tried to flee.
— "Not this time," said Ishi.
He leapt. A kick to the temple. A knee to the ribs.
Rehn collapsed. Alive—but humiliated.
— "Winner: Kael!"
In the stands, Calwyn clenched his jaw.
— "He's provoking us."
Beside him, a man in a black feathered cloak whispered:
— "He's forcing our hand. You know what that means."
Calwyn nodded.
— "We must summon the Ancient Heroes."
— "And him?"
— "Send the Bearer of the Pact. Tonight. Let him die—or let him finally show his true face."
Night fell once more. And somewhere, in the dark alleys of Seylmar… blood was about to flow.
To be continued…