Hyde froze.
He knew that voice. Deep. Cold. Commanding.
It belonged to one man—and one man only.
The Clan Leader.
Braska.
A wave of dread surged through Hyde's chest like ice water. He didn't turn. He didn't respond. He knew what this meant.
He was caught.
Still, desperation clawed at his mind.
Maybe I can still get away…
Hyde spun around with a shout and lunged, putting every ounce of strength into a wild swing of his sword—aiming straight for Braska's throat.
But Braska didn't flinch.
With a calm precision, he raised his own blade and blocked the strike effortlessly. Sparks lit the dim room as steel clashed against steel.
> "You really are a fool," Braska said, his voice low and dangerous. "You should've run the moment you heard my voice. But instead, you chose to attack me?"
His eyes darkened as he pushed Hyde's blade back with a flick of his wrist.
> "Fine then. Let me show you what happens when a man betrays his clan."
Braska moved with brutal elegance. In a single sweeping motion, he spun to Hyde's left, slammed his knee into Hyde's thigh, and brought his foot crashing into the side of Hyde's right leg.
There was a sickening crack.
Hyde screamed, collapsing to one knee as his sword clattered across the floor.
Before Hyde could even process the pain, Braska grabbed his dominant hand—the one that once held his blade—and twisted it sharply, violently, until bone snapped.
CRUNCH.
The agonizing sound of bones breaking echoed through the room, followed by Hyde's howling screams.
Braska's expression didn't change.
Not even a flicker of sympathy.
Holding Hyde like a ragdoll, he yanked him up by the hair with one hand and slammed his head down against the nearby table.
CRACK.
Wood splintered. Blood splashed across the ground. The table shattered beneath the force, and Hyde's limp body slumped to the floor, moaning in pain.
If it had been any ordinary man, he would've died on the spot. But Hyde was no ordinary man—he was a warrior of the clan. His body, though broken and bleeding, still clung to life.
From the dark corner of the room, Christopher sat slouched on a half-shattered sofa, arms folded, legs crossed.
He watched the scene unfold with mild amusement.
> "Damn," he said with a smirk. "You really went full villain on him. That table never stood a chance. You sure you're not auditioning for some underground action flick?"
The room was a disaster—splintered wood, scattered blood, overturned furniture.
But Chris?
He couldn't care less.
Braska, still breathing heavily, turned to him and began cleaning the blood off his hands with a cloth.
> "I'll take care of this mess," he said flatly. "But let's talk about your marriage. We've decided there will be a competition between the women of the clan. The winner will face you in single combat. If you defeat her, you can choose your bride. If not... the clan will choose for you."
Chris raised an eyebrow.
> "All the girls are participating?"
For a moment, Braska looked confused.
Then a strange expression crossed his face, as if trying to read something between the lines.
> "Wait… do you… swing that way?"
Chris blinked.
Hard.
In another world, in another life, he might've laughed. He might've explained.
But not here. Not in this world, and not to these people.
Not when his persona had to remain untouchable.
He kept his expression unreadable and simply replied:
> "No. I don't."
ut in his mind?
He was seething.
> What the hell has my life come to? I'm the guy women used to chase across countries. If I wanted someone, they were mine. No games. No challenges. And now I'm being interrogated by a desert warlord about my orientation?
He turned his face away, hiding the insult behind his eyes.
> "Ugh, relax. I was just surprised," Chris muttered. "Your tribe being matriarchal and all, I didn't expect every girl to be this eager to marry some guy they've never even met, cherry on the top someone from the very Empire they hated. That's... not exactly how I thought they rolled."
He let out a small laugh, more to himself than anyone else.
> "Anyway, it's good to know they're taking me and this proposal seriously. Do whatever you want. As long as your people don't get in my way... I'm fine with anything."
Braska nodded, visibly relieved.
> "Thank the Gods. For a second, I really thought this marriage might not happen. I wouldn't have known who to pair you with if you said yes."
Chris gave him a sideways glance and said coolly:
> "You don't have to worry about that. And yeah—I'll be there. Let them come at me with whatever competition they want. I'll win."
There was a sharp edge to his voice now.
A challenge.
A promise.
And Braska?
He believed him.