"…I didn't expect you to suddenly drop in and ask such a thing."
Netsalem adjusted his glasses. A heavy, somber light clung to his staff, indicating he was prepared for a fight at any moment. The Sarkaz standing before him was not someone even the King of Rot could afford to take lightly. If this man had come with the intent to brawl, Netsalem had to be prepared to lose an arm to settle the matter.
The visitor‘s question concerned Netsalem‘s disciples.
The man looked back with lazy, half-lidded eyes, idly swirling a wine glass as he stared at the Nachzehrer King.
"Sanguinarch… no, Dukarell. I have no reason to answer any question you pose."
The uninvited guest was the master of the Sanguinarch Court, the Lord of the Vampires. Why had a slaughterer of his reputation come here? The disciples currently in the mansion had no idea of his arrival; men who carried the titles of Sarkaz Kings were effectively walking catastrophes.
"You‘re too harsh. When we should be pooling our strength, you cast me out so readily," Dukarell said, his tone refined and aristocratic. Netsalem only glared at him. He knew exactly what other titles this man held.
The Butcher. The Vampire Lord. The Bloodthirsty.
But the one Netsalem found most repulsive was: The Kinslayer.
The madman who had personally murdered his own elder brother—a man who had inherited the Sarkaz crown and was known as the Lord of Fiends four generations ago. That was the essence of Dukarell.
The only reason Netsalem showed him any modicum of courtesy was that they were peers in power, and Netsalem was once a leader who had championed the restoration of the Sarkaz.
"Any Sarkaz who knows your true face would do the same," Netsalem spat.
"…Hmm. I truly only came to satisfy a simple curiosity."
Dukarell wasn't here to fight. He was genuinely intrigued. He had heard rumors that two of the disciples Netsalem had taken in were 'masterpieces' that defied logic. One was said to be the last pureblood Wendigo, while the other remained a complete enigma, their identity shrouded in mystery. He wanted to see them for himself, but Netsalem's attitude was purely defensive.
"Is that truly all?"
"And if it is?"
The future of the Sarkaz.
Others believed Netsalem was raising disciples to safeguard the race's tomorrow, but the reality was far from that. Theresis was the only one truly working for the Sarkaz; the other four had personalities that wouldn't care if the entire race vanished tomorrow.
"It‘s almost absurd how soft the man once called the God of War has become," Dukarell remarked. Seeing the man who had once slaughtered the enemies of the Sarkaz with an army of rot now acting like a reclusive sage was a novel experience for the Vampire Lord. Or perhaps it was just a convincing mask.
BANG!
"Master!"
The doors swung open despite the standing order not to enter. Netsalem stared in bewilderment as Buldrokkas'tee stormed in. Dukarell simply hummed in interest and took a sip of his wine.
"…I believe I made it quite clear that I was occupied with a guest," Netsalem said, his voice low with simmering rage. Buldrokk looked back and forth between the Master and the Vampire, but eventually shouted in desperation:
"Forget that! You need to come and see this immediately!"
A roar loud enough to tear through the arena reached Yujin‘s ears.
Before him lay the Iron Knight, Murchal Ingra, collapsed with a massive rent in his chest plate. Yujin took a steadying breath.
[Confirmed. You neutralized the target exactly 54 seconds after the match began. You have kept your word.]
PRTS spoke with a hint of what sounded like digital pride, even though it was Yujin who had done the work. Yujin flexed his hand around the hilt of his sword, savoring the victory.
Winning was the plan, but feeling the reality of it was another matter entirely. Murchal hadn't been weak—he was simply outclassed. If Murchal had played for time or been more cautious, Yujin might not have met his one-minute deadline while restricted to Nearl techniques. But the Ingra heir had been overconfident. The moment the fight turned into a contest of power, Yujin‘s blade had shattered his axes and cut him down.
The impact of Yujin‘s final strike had sent Murchal crashing through several decorative trees before he slammed into the arena wall. The crowd was still screaming as Yujin sheathed his blade.
The winner takes everything. The loser loses it all. Simple rules.
As medics rushed in to carry away the unconscious Murchal, Yujin scanned the stands. He spotted Raquelamalin and Daniel. He raised a hand toward them—proof that the first promise had been kept. But there was a long road ahead. He couldn't afford to be complacent; he had no idea what level of monsters he would face in the later rounds.
"…Let‘s go."
It wouldn't be this easy next time.
The following day, the Champions League continued with a barrage of matches. The true individual duels were saved for last; before them, other knights heated up the arena with exhibition matches—capture-the-flag brawls and team skirmishes.
Sitting in the stands and watching the chaos without rest, Yujin tapped his fingers against his armrest and sighed. Maybe he‘d overdone it drinking with Daniel last night; his head was throbbing. He had forbidden Kiril and Kisha from touching the booze, and Larin had declined with a wave of her hand.
Moreover, his entrance to the arena today had been a nightmare. Reporters had swarmed him the moment he stepped into the public eye. He‘d had to use actual force just to break through the storm of questions.
"Ugh, my head..."
[I advised you to moderate your intake. You chose to ignore me.]
"It was a good day. A man needs a drink on a good day."
[My expectations were appropriately low.]
Yujin finished his chicken tenders and cola and focused on the knight currently standing in the arena. He had intended to head back to rest, but his interest had been piqued.
The Darknight Knight.
The man had inherited the legacy of the Nightzmora. According to the gossip, the Merchant Association viewed him as a "difficult" individual—a thorn in their side, though perhaps not as large a thorn as Yujin himself.
Down on the field, the commentator with the chicken-crest hair was shouting himself hoarse, but the two knights in the arena ignored him entirely. A man wearing a mask as red as blood held twin spiked blades, his eyes tracking his opponent with predatory intensity. Yujin felt a twinge of unease just looking at him.
The moment the match began, shadows erupted from behind the Darknight. The shifting darkness birthed silhouettes of beasts and humanoid monsters that lunged at the opposing knight.
It was like a miniature army. Feral and barbaric, but effective. The Darknight himself didn't even enter the fray; he just stood with his blades crossed while his opponent was systematically dismantled by the Arts-spawned entities.
[Thermal sensors show no footprints. They appear to be physical illusions capable of solidifying for a strike,] PRTS analyzed.
The shadow beasts and soldiers had no weight on the ground, but they were carving the opposing knight to pieces. Their master watched with a distinct air of arrogance, as if the man he was fighting were beneath his notice.
Bleeding and desperate, the opposing knight swung a heavy spear in a wide arc to clear the area before charging the Darknight. For a second, it looked like the spear might actually reach him.
Crunch.
The shadow beasts that had been trailing him pounced, their jaws and hands pinning the knight's limbs. The spear stopped inches from the Darknight's chest. The shadow soldiers forced the knight to his knees.
The Darknight raised a single blade and brought it down. That was the end. It was an overwhelmingly one-sided execution.
Yujin clicked his tongue as he watched, but the Darknight suddenly turned his head toward the stands. His gaze searched the crowd until it locked onto Yujin. He removed his helmet, eyes burning with a crimson fire, and pointed his blade directly at the Sarkaz youth.
The knight's lips moved, but the distance and the crowd noise made him impossible to hear. But Yujin could read the intent perfectly.
[Shall I provide a translation?]
"No, I got it."
Yujin stood up and began to leave. There was nothing left to see here.
But the words of the Darknight echoed in his mind.
*["Wait for me, Golden Pegasus."] *
*["…I‘m coming to cut you down."] *
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