The tavern's dim glow spilled onto the table, casting long shadows over the wooden grain. Feren slouched in her seat, one hand twirling a dagger's tip against the tabletop, her eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and suspicion as she studied Leo.
"You know the lay of the land, don't you?" she said, her voice low but sharp. "Rustalia's the iron fist of the three empires. Luminael's got its magic, sure, but it's a distant second. Azashia? Barely worth mentioning."
Leo leaned back, his chair creaking under him. "Yeah. I've heard."
His tone was calm, but his mind was racing, piecing together fragments of a world still half-new to him. I read about Rustalia in that dusty library book back home… but its power feels bigger than the pages described. Did I miss something?
Feren grinned, oblivious to his silent doubts. "Figured that's why you showed up in this dusty corner of the empire. Not exactly a tourist spot."
Leo's fingers tightened slightly around his mug. "The tournament?"
Her grin widened, sharp as the blade she toyed with. "Bingo. You were poking around about it at the market, weren't you? Alright, I'll bite—here's the deal."
She straightened, her playful edge giving way to a serious glint. "The Rustalian Crown Duel isn't some inter-empire brawl. It's their pride and joy, held every spring. Fighters from all over—mercenaries, wanderers, even foreigners like you—flock here to test their mettle. Strength is the only ticket in."
She leaned closer, her voice dropping. "It's a two-man game. Partners. You've got to move like one mind, fight like one blade. Most who enter are S-rank, or damn close. This isn't a game for amateurs."
Leo's gaze didn't waver, though his thoughts churned. A duo… trust, coordination. I work alone. Always have.
Feren continued, counting off on her fingers. "Win, and you get more than glory. The king himself picks the victors for his elite guard—a shadow unit that answers only to him. Then, he opens the royal vault. One item, your choice. Could be a blade that cuts through steel or a relic that bends time."
She raised a second finger. "And the kicker? One wish. You name it to the king. If he nods, it's yours—land, power, secrets, whatever."
Leo's breath caught, though his face stayed stone. A wish… access to the king. If I could get that close, I could find out what he knows about the slavers. Maybe even end them.
Feren tilted her head, studying him. "But here's the catch—you've got no partner. Registration's in three days, and the slots are filling fast. You're good, Hades, but you're not that good."
He met her gaze, unflinching. The silence between them wasn't doubt—it was resolve.
Her eyes widened slightly. "Wait… you're not seriously thinking of entering, are you?"
Leo stood, his cloak brushing the floor as he turned toward the tavern's door. A faint smirk tugged at his lips, hidden by the scarf wound tight around his face.
"Guess I am."
He stepped into the night before she could respond.
"Hey!" Feren scrambled to her feet, her voice chasing him into the street. "You can't just—! You need a partner, idiot! And the slots might be gone by tomorrow!"
His reply drifted back, cool and distant. "I'll figure it out."
Then he was gone, swallowed by the shadows of the city.
Feren stood frozen at the threshold, her dagger still in hand. "That guy… he's either a genius or a fool."
The city slept under a crescent moon, its light barely touching the cobblestone streets. The air was thick with the scent of rain and coal, the silence broken only by the faint clink of Leo's boots against the stone.
He moved alone, a specter in the dark, his scarf fluttering slightly in the breeze. The tournament's a means to an end. I'm not here for prizes or fame. I'm here for him.
His eyes scanned the alleys, sharp as a hawk's. A memory flickered, unbidden but clear.
Earlier today, after that burned bread from the market stall… I saw him. A man, broad as a barrel, cloaked in gray. He was dragging a kid—too young, too scared. No one else saw the faint glow around their wrists. A binding spell, subtle but unmistakable. I've seen it before, in another life. Slavers.
His jaw tightened. He was careful, hiding the kid's hands under that cloak. But I noticed. And now, at night, he'll be less cautious.
Leo paused at a crossroad, his gaze flicking to a shadowed alley. This is where I saw him last.
He slipped into the narrow passage, his steps silent against the damp stone. The city seemed to hold its breath, the only sound the distant drip of water from a broken gutter.
Then—a flicker of movement. A cloaked figure, heavy-set, darted across the street, disappearing behind a crumbling wall.
Leo followed, his movements fluid, deliberate. He stayed low, blending into the shadows like he'd done it a thousand times before.
As the figure rounded a corner, Leo's voice cut through the quiet, steady but firm. "Going somewhere?"
The man spun, his cloak flaring. "Who's there?!" His voice cracked with panic, and as Leo stepped into the faint moonlight, the man's eyes widened at the sight of the scarf-covered face. He stumbled back, tripping over a loose cobble. "D-Don't come closer!"
Leo tilted his head, his tone calm but laced with steel. "I just want answers."
The man's hands flailed, sweat gleaming on his brow. "I-I don't know anything about the slaver ring!"
Leo's eyes narrowed. I didn't mention slavers.
He took a step forward. "You said that a bit quick."
The man froze, his face paling. "I-I meant… I'm just a nobody! A merchant!"
Leo's stare was unrelenting. Nervous. Sloppy. He's hiding something.
"Take me to him," Leo said, his voice flat but unyielding.
The man swallowed hard, nodding. "O-Okay, okay. This way."
They moved through a maze of alleys, the walls closing in, slick with moss and grime. At the end of a dead-end street, the man stopped before a blank stone wall.
Leo raised a brow. "This it?"
The man muttered under his breath, words in a tongue Leo didn't recognize. The wall shimmered, a faint blue glow tracing a doorway. It parted like water, revealing a dark staircase descending into the earth.
"After you," the man said, his voice trembling.
Leo didn't hesitate. He stepped through, the air growing cold and heavy with the scent of rust and stone. Torches flickered along the walls, their light barely reaching the shadows.
At the bottom, a figure lounged in a rickety chair, his bulk spilling over the sides. The same man from Leo's memory, his face greasy with a crooked smile. Cages lined the walls behind him, their contents hidden in the dark.
"New blood, eh?" the man said, his voice oozing false warmth. "Welcome to my little market."
Leo stepped forward, his eyes locked on the man's. He said nothing.
His silence was louder than words.