The gates of the Panther Slayer Arena split open with a deep groan, and the crowd surged to its feet. Torches flared along the high walls, casting red light across the sand below.
Thirteen knights stepped forward into the open, their armor gleaming like shards of steel. Spears, swords, shields—all polished for glory, all thirsty for blood.
Among them walked Valix Enpo, son of Mojola Enpo. His armor was plain, his sword without enchantment, but his eyes burned. He felt the weight of thousands of eyes pressing down, the deafening chants shaking his bones.
From the audience stands, Mojola Enpo sat tall and silent. His hands rested on the stone rail, his gaze never leaving his son. He had fought many battles, but tonight he fought none. Tonight, the boy would stand alone.
A horn blared.
The sand trembled.
From the dens, the first panther crept into the light. Its golden eyes burned with hunger, its muscles shifting beneath its sleek black fur. Another followed. Then three more. Then the flood. Shadows poured into the arena, snarling and circling, their tails twitching like whips.
The crowd roared, "Slay! Slay! Slay!"
Valix raised his blade. His breath was sharp in his chest. His heart hammered. Steady. Do not shame him. Not Father. Not tonight.
The second horn blared.
The panthers attacked.
Chaos erupted.
One knight screamed as a panther leapt upon him, tearing through armor with its claws. Blood sprayed across the sand. Another knight swung too late—his throat vanished between a beast's jaws.
Valix ducked, the wind of a claw grazing his cheek. He rolled, thrust his sword upward, and drove the steel through the panther's chest. The beast shrieked, writhing before falling still. Sand clung to Valix's skin as he scrambled to his feet. His hands trembled, but his eyes did not falter.
Around him, knights clashed and fell. Steel rang, shields splintered, screams echoed. The panthers moved with cruel grace, dragging men into shadows.
Six knights were lost before the crowd's eyes—slain, crushed, or devoured. Their deaths were quick, but not silent. The panthers feasted openly.
And in that feasting, something unholy stirred.
One panther tore into the chest of a fallen knight, its muzzle wet with blood. It lifted its head and growled in words only a few could hear:
"Soft bones."
Another, chewing, hissed, "They call them slayers. But they are meat."
A third licked its fangs, glaring toward Valix. "That one fights different. His blood sings. Can you not hear it?"
The crowd above only cheered louder, blind to the voices.
Valix stood panting, his sword dripping red. Three panthers lay dead at his feet. Another limped, its side torn open by his strike. His chest heaved, sweat burning his eyes, but his arms did not lower.
The beasts circled, but he met their gaze with steady fire. His sword hummed faintly in his hand—though it was no Gorot. It was will. It was fury. It was something sleeping in his blood.
Then, with a shout that split his throat, Valix drove forward. He fought like no other knight. His blade found throats, hearts, bellies. Panthers fell one after another, each kill sharper, swifter, more merciless than the last.
The final horn sounded.
The arena was silent for a breath, then erupted like thunder. Of the thirteen, only seven knights stood. Six had been torn to pieces, their places lost, their prizes unclaimed.
But among the seven, Valix Enpo stood tallest.
Bloodied, weary, yet unbroken, he lifted his blade high. The sand beneath him was dark with the panthers he had slain—more than any other.
The announcer's voice boomed over the roars of the crowd:
"Behold, Valix Enpo! Slayer of the most panthers! General of the Ninety-Nine! Bearer of the Final Gorot, the Sword of Lightning, and the Last Gorob, the Chain of Watchers!"
The torches flared brighter, as if the gods themselves answered. The crowd's roar shook the very stone.
High in the stands, Mojola Enpo closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. His son—his boy—was no longer a shadow in his name.
Valix Enpo had become legend.
But far above, unseen by the crowd, three wasps circled silently in the night, their glowing eyes fixed on the boy.
Not human, one whispered. Not only human.
The others buzzed in dark agreement.