Minutes stretched into a tense blur. The initial storm of battle had thinned the crowd; the shouts and clashes were fewer now, but sharper, like steel scraping bone. Dust drifted lazily through shafts of sunlight breaking between the ruined walls, each golden beam pierced now and then by the shadow of a moving fighter.
Eleres kept to the shadows of the inner ruins, moving in deliberate silence. His path wound through crumbled archways and toppled columns, the jagged edges of broken stone providing cover with every shift of his weight. Each step was measured; each pause, calculated.
From his vantage points, the fight looked less like chaos and more like a series of small, violent storms breaking out and fading across the field. Two clashing figures would lock, steel ringing out—then one would fall, their brass plate ripped away and claimed by the victor, and the other would vanish into the maze again.
Twice he spotted Cedric in the distance. The first time, Cedric's sword was a blur, spinning in precise arcs that kept two attackers at bay. His footwork was exact, his movements devoid of waste—each parry feeding into the next counter. Both opponents fell within moments, one staggering away without a plate, the other unconscious at his feet. Cedric bent, collected his prize, and was gone before another hunter could arrive.
The second sighting was colder: Cedric standing over a fallen fighter, breathing evenly as if the bout had been little more than an exercise. He knelt, plucked the brass plate from the man's neck, and slipped it into his pouch without a word.
Taron moved differently. He didn't stalk—he charged. The farm boy's raw strength broke through guard after guard, his shouts of effort carrying above the din. It was effective but noisy, and the noise drew eyes. Eleres noted three different fighters shadowing Taron from a distance, waiting for him to tire.
Eleres's own hunt was quieter. A flicker of movement to his left pulled his attention—two figures closing in from opposite flanks. They were coordinated.
The first came in fast, sword high in a brutal overhead arc. Eleres shifted back, the blade cutting the air where his head had been. The second moved slower, steps deliberate, eyes fixed on closing the trap.
Eleres angled his body toward the faster man, feinting as if he'd commit to the clash. The man hesitated—and in that hesitation, Eleres spun toward the slower fighter. A low cut came for his legs; he caught it on his blade, steel screeching against steel, then drove his elbow into the man's jaw. Bone met bone with a satisfying crack.
The slower fighter reeled, just long enough for Eleres to rip the brass plate from his chain.
The first attacker roared and came again, the downward strike jarring through Eleres's arms when their blades met. Eleres didn't try to overpower him—he disengaged, stepping back and twisting his body sideways into the narrow gap between two half-collapsed walls.
Shouts followed. Boots pounded behind him. But the ruin's pathways were crooked and tight, and Eleres's feet knew the rhythm now. Every pivot, every sudden duck under a fallen beam, stole speed from his pursuer until the man's frustration boiled over in curses.
When Eleres finally slowed, his breath was steady. Two plates now—nothing compared to what others might have, but enough to stay in the game.
From the observation deck, a young instructor leaned forward. "He's not chasing glory. He's… pacing himself."
Another, older, chuckled. "Pacing can win wars—if you survive long enough to cash in."
Eleres moved on, listening more than looking. The field was alive with fragments of sound: the ring of steel far off, the muffled thud of bodies hitting earth, the quick, harsh breaths of someone running close.
He spotted Cedric first, striding out from behind a ruin. His armor bore fresh scratches, but his posture was unbowed. A moment later, Taron appeared from the opposite side, his grin broad despite a smear of dirt across his cheek.
"You've got the look of someone who's not tired enough," Cedric said dryly, his eyes flicking to the small pouch at Eleres's side. "Two plates?"
"Two," Eleres confirmed.
Taron let out a laugh. "Two? I've got four already! Cedric's got… what, five? You planning to nap your way through this, or are you actually going to join the fun?"
Eleres didn't bristle; he just glanced past them, toward the far side of the arena where a particularly loud clash was drawing attention. A tall, broad-shouldered candidate was standing over a fallen opponent, adding yet another plate to a pouch already heavy. Around him, others were beginning to circle—some drawn by the challenge, others by the opportunity.
Cedric followed his gaze. "That one's got at least eight."
"Eight," Taron repeated, a touch of awe in his tone. "He's going to be untouchable by the end."
Eleres shook his head. "No one's untouchable. Not if you wait long enough."
Cedric's brow furrowed. "You're saying you're fine with being behind now?"
Eleres's answer was calm, almost casual. "Why fight every wolf in the forest when you can wait for the alpha to fill his belly… and take it all at once?"
Taron blinked. "So… you're going to just—what—sit and watch?"
"I'm going to let them tire each other out," Eleres said. "Let them bleed for the plates. Then, when the last few are standing and the weight of their trophies slows them down…" He tapped the hilt of his blade. "That's when I move."
Cedric studied him for a moment longer, then gave a slow nod. "Risky. But if it works, it'll work big."
Taron looked unconvinced, but he shrugged. "Fine. Just don't expect me to sit still."
They parted without ceremony—Cedric melting back into the ruins, Taron heading for the noise like a hound to the hunt.
Eleres stayed where he was for a moment, crouched in the shadow of a leaning wall. His eyes tracked the movement of fighters through broken streets, noting which ones were slowing, which ones still had clean footwork, and which ones had started to limp. Patterns emerged. The strongest were drawing all the fights. The clever ones, like him, were watching.
He settled in, patient as a hunter at dusk.
The battle still raged in pockets across the arena, but for Eleres, the game had only just begun.