The secondary arena buzzed with murmurs, and Lira's arrival only amplified them.
The crowd—a mix of fighters and servants—whispered among themselves, clearly stunned by her presence.
Charles, still in the center of the ring, felt every eye on him.
Lira stood at the arena's edge, arms crossed, her expression fierce enough to make anyone flinch.
Mira, the servant, lingered behind her, visibly uneasy.
Dren lay unconscious on the ground, and Noran, the referee, looked like he wanted to disappear.
One of Dren's disciples, a scrawny kid with a shaved head, stepped forward, trying to explain.
"Miss Lira," he said nervously, "Rian challenged Dren to a duel. They bet… big things. Dren said Rian was disrespecting him, and… well, that's why they fought."
Charles raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms.
"Yeah, but I won," he added, flashing a calm smile. "Don't skip that part."
The remark sparked more murmurs from the crowd.
Some spectators whispered, visibly impressed but also annoyed.
