[18th June]
Rey didn't slow down.
The moment he entered the medic hall, he pushed past the crowded corridors, heading straight toward Fenlor.
The aftermath of the match still lingered in his mind.
That final moment.
That scream.
It hadn't left him.
—
When he reached the treatment area, he stopped.
Fenlor lay on the bed, barely recognisable.
His body was covered in bandages, fresh blood still seeping through some of them as medics worked quickly, stitching wounds, cleaning cuts, and stopping the bleeding wherever they could.
Multiple syringes were connected to his arm, feeding blood back into his system.
Even then—
His condition looked unstable.
Rey's gaze shifted.
The family was already there.
A woman stood closest to the bed, shoulders trembling as quiet sobs escaped her. Her eyes were red, swollen from crying.
Fenlor's mother.
Willa.
Beside her, Hosric tried to steady her, though his own expression was far from calm. His face was tight, strained, like he was holding himself together by force.
Further back stood another man—
Vaelis, his second Uncle.
And beside him—
Edvarin.
Silent.
Watching.
—
Hosric was the first to notice Rey.
Their eyes met for a brief second.
Then Edvarin turned as well.
He didn't speak.
He simply raised his hand and motioned for him to come over.
—
Rey stepped forward.
Each step felt heavier than it should.
A quiet weight settled in his chest.
Uncomfortable.
Unfamiliar.
He stopped beside Edvarin.
For a moment, neither spoke.
But Rey's gaze didn't leave Fenlor.
A thought lingered in his mind.
'This… shouldn't have happened like this.
If I haven't said that stuff before...'
And no matter how much he tried—
He couldn't completely push away the feeling that he had a part in it.
—
A hand rested on his shoulder.
Firm.
Steady.
Rey looked up.
Edvarin.
"Don't carry that," the old man said quietly.
Rey didn't respond.
Edvarin continued, his voice calm but unwavering.
"We heard what he said. Who he was looking at?"
A brief pause.
"That wasn't about Fenlor."
Rey's eyes flickered slightly.
"There are things moving in the noble circles that you don't fully see yet," Edvarin went on. "Pressure. Power plays. The Duke has been waiting for an opportunity."
His gaze shifted toward Fenlor.
"We were simply convenient and the first ones chosen to be the scapegoats."
Rey's jaw tightened.
"So don't mistake this as something you caused."
The words settled slowly.
Not comforting.
But grounding.
—
"And don't worry," Edvarin added, his tone changing slightly. "Fenlor won't fall here."
A faint glint appeared in his eyes.
"I prepared something for him a long time ago."
—
Rey frowned slightly.
But before he could ask—
Time passed.
—
Half an hour later, the treatment was complete.
The doctors stepped back, wiping sweat from their foreheads. The wounds had been closed, the bleeding controlled—for now.
"He's stable," one of them said. "But he must not be moved."
That was enough.
The family gathered closer.
—
Fenlor remained unconscious.
His breathing was faint but steady.
Willa sat beside him, her hand trembling as she reached out, barely daring to touch him.
"Why…" her voice broke. "Why didn't you just surrender…?"
Tears fell again.
"You stubborn child… look at yourself now…"
She turned slightly, her voice desperate.
"Hosric… wake him up… please… why isn't he waking up…?"
Hosric clenched his fists.
"Willa… calm down," he said softly. "He needs rest. His body has been pushed too far."
"But how can I calm down?" she snapped, her voice cracking under the weight of it. "He's my son!"
Hosric fell silent.
There was nothing he could say to that.
Then—
A voice cut through the room.
Cold.
Certain.
"He's not dead."
Edvarin stepped forward.
His presence alone shifted the atmosphere.
"My grandson won't die from something like this."
His gaze swept across the room.
"And as long as I'm here…"
A faint pause.
"…nothing will take him."
Rey watched him carefully.
There was no exaggeration in his tone.
No emotion.
Just certainty.
—
Edvarin reached into his coat.
And took out a small box.
The craftsmanship alone was enough to draw attention—refined, precise, not something meant for ordinary use.
He opened it.
Inside—
A vial.
Filled with deep red liquid.
—
The moment it was exposed—
The air changed.
Rey felt it instantly.
A dense, almost suffocating vitality spread outward.
His body reacted on instinct.
Every cell—
Pulled toward it.
Calling for it.
—
Hosric's expression changed immediately.
"Father… wait."
His voice was tense.
"That's the Stage 3 beast essence… the one you and Uncle Gareth hunted."
He stepped forward.
"You can't use it like this. Even a drop is too much for him. His body might not handle it—"
"Enough."
Edvarin's voice cut him off sharply.
"Do you think I don't know that?"
The pressure in his tone made Hosric stop instantly.
"It's been processed. Diluted. Stabilized."
He lifted the vial slightly.
"It was meant to temper his body once he reached the next stage."
A brief pause.
"But fate had other plans."
__
Willa didn't understand the details.
She didn't need to.
All she saw—
Was hope.
Edvarin uncorked the vial.
A strong metallic scent filled the room.
He didn't hesitate.
Half of it was poured into Fenlor's mouth.
The rest—
Over his body.
—
For a moment—
Nothing happened.
—
Then—
The change began.
A sharp scream erupted from Fenlor's mouth, his skin turning red and veins bulging all over his body.
Willa, standing behind, tried to move closer but was stopped by Hosric.
The wounds.
They started closing.
Not slowly.
Not gradually.
But visibly.
Before their eyes.
—
The torn flesh knit itself together. The deep wound in his abdomen shrank, the bleeding stopping as new skin formed over it.
Colour returned to his face.
From pale—
To faintly red.
—
Rey stared.
Completely still.
'This… exists?'
He had seen many things.
Fought through things he shouldn't have survived.
But this—
This was something else.
—
'I really am a frog in a well…'
The thought came naturally.
And this time—
He didn't deny it.
—
Willa's breathing steadied.
Her hands no longer trembled as much.
"He's… fine now, right?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Hosric nodded.
Relief visible on his face.
"Yes. He'll recover."
She looked back at Fenlor.
Then frowned slightly.
"Then why isn't he waking up…?"
"Exhaustion," Hosric replied. "His body needs time. He'll wake up on his own."
That was enough.
For now.
Edvarin stepped back.
And turned.
Rey was already waiting.
They moved a short distance away.
Out of earshot.
—
Behind them, Willa remained beside Fenlor, refusing to leave his side.
The others began preparing to step out.
—
"Hosric," Edvarin called.
"Yes, Father?"
"You stay."
Hosric frowned. "But the matches—"
"Let them continue," Edvarin said calmly. "Your place is here."
A pause.
"I'll go with Vaelis."
Vaelis stepped forward slightly, giving a small nod.
He looked calm, composed—sharp features, steady presence.
"And him."
Edvarin glanced at Rey.
A faint smile touched his lips.
"We still have someone to watch."
Rey said nothing.
But his gaze had already changed.
The relief was there.
Fenlor would live and recover soon.
That much was certain.
But the anger—
Hadn't faded.
Not even slightly.
—
Deep in his eyes—
Something cold remained.
And it had a name.
Raviel Ashcroft.
'Raviel…'
Rey's gaze lingered on Fenlor for a moment longer before shifting inward.
'This won't end cleanly.'
His thoughts settled, cold and deliberate.
'Either I walk away defeated…'
A pause.
'Or you don't walk away easily after this.'
The anger was still there.
Burning.
But no longer chaotic.
It had settled into something far more dangerous.
Controlled.
—
Rey exhaled slowly.
The problem wasn't simple anymore.
Before today, he had been confident.
Raviel was strong, yes—but still within reach.
Now—
That confidence had cracked.
A Spirit Master…
The image of those floating daggers replayed in his mind.
Precision.
Control.
Absolute dominance.
That wasn't something brute force could break.
'Without my ability… I can't match that.'
The conclusion came without hesitation.
Which meant—
He needed something else.
A way to close the gap.
Or survive it.
—
Footsteps echoed faintly as Edvarin and Vaelis left the hall.
Rey didn't follow.
Hosric remained behind, his attention divided between Fenlor and the ongoing matches displayed on his device.
The room quieted.
For a moment—
Rey simply stood there.
—
His first meeting with the Valemont family.
It hadn't gone how he imagined.
No introductions.
No proper words.
Just blood.
Silence.
And pressure.
—
'Not the right time for it anyway.'
His eyes drifted back to Fenlor.
Still unconscious.
Still breathing.
And that was enough.
—
An hour passed.
Slowly.
—
Rey straightened.
His focus shifted.
The tournament hadn't stopped.
And neither could he.
—
"Uncle," he said calmly, breaking the silence. "I'll head out. My match is coming up."
Hosric glanced at him.
Then nodded.
"Go."
There was no hesitation in his tone.
Because this—
Was expected.
—
Rey turned and left.
—
By the time he reached the preparation hall, the atmosphere had already changed.
The 17th match was underway.
The sound of clashing weapons echoed faintly through the corridor.
Rey took a seat on one of the benches, his eyes lifting toward the large screen mounted on the wall.
—
A spear user.
A longsword wielder.
—
Their fight was clean.
Technical.
Each movement measured, each strike calculated.
No wasted energy.
No reckless aggression.
—
Rey watched quietly.
Not as a spectator—
But as someone studying.
Breaking it down.
Understanding it.
—
The balance didn't break until the end.
A single mistake.
A misjudged counter.
The spear slipped free.
And just like that—
The match was decided.
—
Rey nodded slightly.
'This is what it should look like.'
Not overwhelming force.
Not suppression.
But skill.
Control.
Execution.
—
The defeated contestant walked past him moments later.
Shoulders heavy.
The winner followed.
Breathing hard, but composed.
Both glanced at Rey briefly.
Then moved on.
—
The hall emptied again.
Rey's eyes shifted toward the entrance.
Waiting.
—
Davin.
He should have been here.
—
But he wasn't.
Even after the match ended.
Even as the next round approached.
—
Rey's gaze narrowed slightly.
'Late?'
That didn't fit.
Not for someone like him.
—
The arena staff moved quickly.
Within minutes, the damaged ground on the screen was restored—flattened, reset, as if the previous fight had never happened.
—
Then—
The call came.
"19th match. Prepare."
—
Rey stood.
His ID flashed across the screen.
He didn't hesitate.
He stepped into the arena.
The moment he appeared, the attention shifted.
His bow rested across his back.
The dagger at his side.
No concealment.
No adjustments.
This was his style.
And now—
Everyone knew it.
—
He walked to the center.
Handed over his ID.
The referee checked it quickly.
Then looked up.
And paused.
"…Where is your opponent?"
But Rey didn't answer.
Because he didn't know.
—
Time passed.
Seconds stretched.
The crowd began to murmur.
But still no one.
The referee's gaze dropped to his watch.
"Final call."
His voice echoed.
"Third and final call for the second contestant."
Silence.
A minute passed.
The referee raised his hand.
"As the second opponent has failed to appear, I declare—"
"Wait."
The word cut through everything.
Every head turned.
At the entrance.
Someone was walking in.
Unhurried.
Straight toward the arena.
Confusion spread instantly through the crowd.
Whispers.
Shock.
Recognition.
In the stands—
Gravion covered his face with one hand.
"…That idiot."
His voice was low.
Resigned.
Because he already knew—
This wasn't going to be simple anymore.
__
Author's Note: Another one is on the way.