---
Rain had fallen hard over Seylmar, thickening the air with an almost supernatural tension. Lightning tore through the sky as the streets gradually emptied. Even the boldest sought shelter. Yet in the shadows, some began to gather.
An abandoned warehouse, north of the port. Damp. Dust-choked. A ring of torches cast flickering light on faces hidden beneath black hoods. At the center, a sacred blade rested on a stone altar.
— "The target is in the city," said a deep voice. "And he's already drawing the eyes of the powerful."
— "He must die," another replied. "Before he makes us remember what we all tried to forget."
— "Who will carry the pact?"
Silence.
Then a man stepped forward. Gaunt. Bloodshot eyes. A haunted look.
— "Give me the blade. I accept the pact. For my own. For what he stole from me."
He slit his palm and placed it against the blade.
Blood spilled. The blade trembled.
— "By the Pact of Blood... you can no longer turn back."
---
In the inn's room, Ishi gazed out the window. Lysa was still asleep, curled up beneath the blanket. Sleep would not come to him. He felt it—something in the city had shifted.
— "They're moving," he murmured. "At last."
He stood, grabbed a water flask, and splashed his face. Then he left.
His destination: the temple district.
At this hour, the sanctuaries of Seylmar stood silent. Only an old man swept the marble floor of the Temple of Truth.
— "Looking for something, stranger?"
— "Answers," Ishi replied.
The old man stared at him, narrowing his eyes.
— "You... you've got that look. The look of someone who's returned from the other side."
— "I came to ask a favor."
Ishi knelt before the statue of a forgotten god. He extended his arm, and a dormant seal flickered beneath his skin.
— "I want you to confirm something."
The old priest approached, laid a hand on Ishi's shoulder—then froze.
His face turned pale.
— "This is not a simple curse... This is 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 up.
— "Because they're coming. And before I face them, I need to know how far I can go."
He left, behind him a trembling priest—and a shadow that had quietly followed.
---
A scream in the night.
A figure flew through the skies of Seylmar, hurled from a rooftop. It crashed to the ground with a sickening thud. A guard approached... and instantly stepped back.
— "By the gods..."
The body had been drained of blood. On the wall, painted in red letters:
"Pact accepted. Kael will die."
---
By morning, tension thickened the air. Competitors whispered behind closed doors. Word had it two fighters had been found dead—off the battlefield. The judges hesitated. Should the tournament go on?
Lord Calwyn gave the answer himself:
— "The tournament will not stop. Not for an assassin. Not for a monster. He who fears death has no place here."
From the wings, Ishi heard him—and smiled.
— "Well said... hypocrite."
---
Third Match.
Kael vs. Rehn, the Infiltrator.
A swift, elusive assassin known for his poisoned blades—and more importantly, a member of the Black Circle.
The gong echoed.
Rehn vanished. Literally.
— "No point hiding," murmured Ishi.
He closed his eyes. Breathed deeply. Then struck.
Technique: Perception Wave.
A silent pulse swept through the arena. Rehn reappeared—off balance.
Technique: Wind's Judgment.
A flurry. Sharp. Precise. Rehn tried to dodge—but a blade of air sliced across his hip. He cried out, stumbling.
— "Not this time," Ishi said.
He lunged. A kick to the temple. A knee to the ribs.
Rehn collapsed—alive, but utterly broken.
— "Winner: Kael!"
---
In the stands, Calwyn's jaw tightened.
— "He's provoking us."
Beside him, a man in a cloak of black feathers whispered:
— "He's forcing our hand. You know what that means."
Calwyn nodded.
— "We summon the Ancient Heroes."
— "And him?"
— "Send the Bearer of the Pact. Tonight. He dies—or he reveals his true face."
Night fell once more. And somewhere, in the alleys of Seylmar...
Blood was about to be spilled.
To be continued…