From the shadowed tunnel on the left flank of the imperial colosseum, a hush fell over one section of the crowd as Peter Reitch's voice rang through the echoing speakers.
"And now… from the Den of Shadows, the blind beast, the sword dancer, the underling of the infamous Black Dragon himself—make way for the enigma... NAZE!"
A thunderous cheer erupted, rippling through the crowd like a wave of lightning and dust. And yet, the figure hadn't emerged. Not yet.
There was only silence… a haunting stillness... before the soft, measured sound of footsteps echoed from within the tunnel.
Then he appeared.
Naze stepped out slowly.
Wrapped in a crimson blindfold whose extension blew in the wind across his face like a warning sign to all who dared challenge him, his movements were calm, his expression unreadable.
His twin swords—black with silver hilts—were sheathed on his back, sharpened beneath the rose decorated sheath like butcher's blades polished for a final cut.
The crowd roared again, some chanting his name, others throwing bets into the air, unsure whether to love or fear him. Naze didn't notice. Or perhaps he simply didn't care.
He walked toward the center of the grand arena, completely at ease, as though strolling into a silent meadow rather than into battle. He didn't know who Cain Zuli was. He hadn't bothered to find out. Stats, legends, whispers—they were for fearful mortals. He only believed in the now. And in the now, only one thing mattered: the man standing at the other end of the sand.
Within the confines of the trickster god's dimension tote confines, Ralia Amia leaned forward and whispered to the two standing beside her, "Do you think Cain Zuli will kill Naze?"
Conrad Stan hesitated. Lola opened her mouth but said nothing.
Before either could form a reply, Peter Reitch's voice boomed again.
"There he is! The man, the myth, the legend himself! Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for Mr. Naze!"
The applause swallowed the question whole.
Naze stopped at the edge of the arena's raised platform. His head tilted slightly, as though listening to a sound no one else could hear. The ambient noise faded for him. All he felt was the wind brushing against his blindfold, and the heavy presence of something—or someone—coming.
From the royal seating box, Prince Balek sat with his fingers folded over his lips, his expression unreadable. But if one looked closely, a flicker of pity might be caught dancing in his eyes.
He felt pity for what Cain Zuli would do to Naze. He knew the trickster god wanted to end Naze's dominance so he needed an opponent who wasn't too powerful that Naze couldn't stand a chance, and at the same time who wasn't defeatable by him.
Elsewhere among the nobles, conversations sparked like wildfire.
Prince Jaden—the second prince, master of intelligence and secrets—sat quietly with his sister, Princess Jerusha. Unlike the others, he wasn't joining in the debates. Not yet.
"Brother," Jerusha said softly, "do you think Naze has a chance?"
Jaden's gaze swept across the arena, then drifted to Naze's back. He leaned slightly toward his sister, speaking just loud enough for a few nearby royals to hear.
"The Trickster God hasn't been subtle. Each opponent he sends after Naze is stronger than the last. And yet, Naze keeps surviving. No... he keeps winning. I think the real fear shouldn't be for Naze—it should be of Naze. I don't think we've seen the full extent of what that man is capable of"
His words stunned Jerusha into silence.
Even the ever-gentle and lovely1st Princess Zemira turned her head slightly, intrigued.
7th Prince Aloysius, however—the sneaky, smirking backstabber of a royal—scoffed from a nearby seat where he nearly choked on his ice cold drink...
"Big words, brother. Do you even know who Cain Zuli is?" Aloysius leaned forward, his voice sharp with disbelief. "That man could slaughter ten Ocean-Flooding Realm warriors—of any rank—with his hands tied behind his back and still make it home in time to lay his wife senseless. He's not just a killer. He's a walking extinction event. Naze just has been very lucky with his past matches. This time? He'll be erased."
Jaden didn't reply. His eyes remained locked on the center of the arena as if to say, Fools don't deserve answers.
Then the moment came.
From the right flank of the colosseum, shadows shifted. Sand trembled.
Peter Reitch's voice rang out, shaking the stadium to its core.
"And now... the reaper in flesh! The emperor's blade in the dark! The greatest assassin the Empire has ever known! A ghost among men! Some say he is as cruel as the Scarlet Raven himself... Welcome—Cain Zuli!"
A single figure stepped forward.
Cain Zuli.
He did not wave. He did not acknowledge the crowd. His very presence caused a visible ripple of energy across the arena floor.
He wore a black masked veil to hide his face with the assassin midnight-black armor, no markings, no cape—just a lean, deadly presence. His eyes were cold and lifeless, like a corpse that chose not to stay buried.
The colosseum erupted. People screamed, some in joy, others in fear. The nobles leaned forward in fascination. The arena vibrated, dust spilling from old stone crevices.
Now, both warriors stood on the edge of the stage. Still. Silent. Watching. Waiting.
And somewhere above them, hidden from all eyes, the Trickster God smiled.
The referee stood between them, a thin line of sweat tracing his temple despite the chilly undercurrent sweeping across the open-roofed Colosseum.
His knees slightly buckled, his throat dry as sand. He was a seasoned man who had officiated countless death matches—beast fights, mage duels, and even the legendary Sand Pit Siege—but standing between these two men made his soul tremble.
On his left stood Naze, the blind swordmaster, still as a silent statue, as if the gods had carved him out of the wind. His twin blades lay quiet on his back. He looked calm—terrifyingly so.
On the right, Cain Zuli.
The name alone inspired dread. Zuli exuded danger like a miasma. His presence was heavy, not in physical size, but in raw, suffocating intent.
He didn't move unnecessarily. He stood like a man used to killing in the dark, with no audience, no rules, and no referees, his stance appeared like he didn't see a worthy opponent before him—just a stepping stone.
The crowd, once roaring, now held its breath. Murmurs turned to silence. Even the nobles ceased their chatter.
The referee, knowing hesitation might earn him death from either man, raised his trembling voice.
"Here... here are the rules," he managed, his voice cracking like brittle glass. "The last man standing... wins."
A pause. His eyes flicked nervously between the two unmoving warriors.
"Death... to the loser."
He stepped back instantly, faster than he ever had in his life.
Then—
"Begin!"