Region 1…
Duke City…
New Oradonian Base…
While the roar of the imperial colosseum shook one corner of Region One, in another part—far from prying eyes and shielded by layers of ancient magic—the New Oradonian Base pulsed with life. This secret stronghold, commanded by the formidable Archmage Amber Nois, stood as the heart of Oradonian strength in the region.
Out of the two hundred new recruits, one hundred and twenty had survived the brutal first stage of training and advanced to the second, where real battlecraft would be forged into their bones. The remaining eighty were held back—grounded for a full year to drill the basics into them until skill replaced hesitation.
Amber Nois herself had entrusted the day-to-day forging of these recruits to Uriel Commes, the famed Scarlet Raven—a man whose very name made fresh soldiers stand straighter. She, meanwhile, turned her full focus to the most important duty: safeguarding the base. Her wards, runes, and barriers ensured that even the gaze of common immortals would slide past without noticing it existed.
But there were eyes her magic could not so easily blind.
The Trickster God had long sensed something amiss in Duke City—a ripple where the air itself seemed to look away. For weeks, he had ignored it. But now, needing a new pawn—someone who could stand against and perhaps kill the blind swordsman, Naze—he finally decided to investigate.
The moment he arrived, the invisibility veil shimmered before him like water in sunlight, parting under the weight of his gaze. His smile curved slowly, but then… it faltered.
For beyond the magic, another gaze met his own.
It was sharp. Unyielding. A woman's eyes—burning with protective ferocity, like a mother hawk spreading her wings over her nest. Archmage Amber Nois did not flinch. In that instant, the base felt less like a hidden fortress and more like her personal hunting ground.
The Trickster tilted his head, intrigued.
"Interesting… you might actually be a challenge for me. That's a first…"
But even as he said it, something unfamiliar prickled at the back of his mind—a rare sensation for one such as him. Threat.
At the speed of thought, Archmage Amber Nois materialized before the trickster god, her arrival rippling the very air around them. Her gaze was sharp and unyielding—so defiant that even the most hardened warrior would feel a cold shiver crawl down their spine.
The trickster god tilted his head, eyes narrowing as he studied her. He tried to read her thoughts, her essence, her fears—yet all he found was a void. She was the first mortal he had ever encountered whose mind was a blank canvas to him or was she even mortal?
His expression remained calm, wearing that mask of careless indifference that had fooled kings and killers alike. But beneath the surface, his thoughts tangled in a mess of disbelief. This woman—this mortal or rather immortal—was an enigma.
Then Amber Nois spoke, her voice low, deliberate, and carrying the weight of unshakable certainty.
"I know you," she said. "Your true name is V'Zaleth… the Grinning Lie."
The name hit him like a hammer blow. No mortal should have known it. Not here. Not anywhere. The grin on his lips remained, but it was tighter now, forced. A question burned in his mind—Who exactly is this woman? And why in all the realms can't I read her?
Amber took a single step closer, her eyes locked on his.
"I know you've walked this Earth before," she continued, each word like a needle sinking into him. "I know the ruin you left in your wake. This time, your trail of corpses is smaller—only a fraction of your last visit. I'd place the number at… one percent. Roughly five thousand five hundred dead, either by your hand or by your games."
The trickster god shifted ever so slightly. It was almost imperceptible, but it was there.
She went on, relentless.
"You're not used to this feeling, are you? Someone turning your own methods against you. Making you the one squirm."
Inside, he felt that uncomfortable twist—a knot of uncertainty and irritation. He was the one who made others sweat, who peeled back their secrets with casual ease. And yet here he stood, staring at a mortal whose mind was sealed shut to him.
But pride was a god's armour, and his was uncracked. He would not ask questions. He would not admit ignorance. Silence would be his shield, letting the mystery fester.
Amber's voice cut through again.
"I know why you're here. You've come to pluck some unfortunate soul for your little mortal combat—a spectacle that ends the same way it always does: with blood on the ground and life snuffed out. You didn't invite me to this one, but I see everything, V'Zaleth. My eyes are not bound by walls or distance." She had magical eyes that could see far beyond the walls of the Oradonian Base.
The god's grin lingered, but it no longer reached his eyes.
And for the first time in centuries… he watched in silence, unsure whether he was the hunter, or the hunted.
Amber Nois did not flinch. Her voice was calm yet sharp enough to cut through the oppressive silence that hung between them.
"Look, you could probably kill me if you wanted to… but I'm sure you've noticed by now—there's something unusual about me. So if you attack, there's no guarantee you'll walk away unscathed. Believe me… you won't be fine afterwards. So let's just cut a deal so everyone wins. If I'm okay with it, I'll shake on it. If not… you can do whatever you feel is right—" her eyes narrowed, "—and live with the consequences."
The Trickster God's smile was an unbroken crescent, frozen in place as though carved into his face. His eyes glimmered like oil on water—shifting colours, never resting, always watching. He could taste the magic swirling around her, heavy and ancient, threaded with a mortal boldness that was far too dangerous to be natural.
Usually, this was the part where he leaned forward, whispered a riddle laced with poison, and watched his victim's mind unravel—trapped in an endless loop until they broke, screamed, and died. But this woman… she was unmoved. Her gaze didn't dart. Her heartbeat didn't stutter.
He tilted his head, curious, silent. The air between them thickened, as though reality itself was holding its breath.
Finally, he spoke. His voice was smooth, deceptively gentle, like velvet hiding a blade.
"Give me a worthy opponent who can kill my current champion… and I will leave you alone."
Amber's lips twitched into the faintest smirk. She knew a lie when she heard one. If there was anything constant about the Trickster God, it was that he despised uncertainty. Leaving her alone would mean allowing an unpredictable threat to walk away—and that simply wasn't in his nature. If anything, he would bide his time, twist the game, and return to finish her—grinning all the while.