Meanwhile, deep beneath the now-empty arena, the atmosphere inside the secure betting locket was thick with quiet greed.
Three arena administrators stood huddled around a reinforced iron table. They stared blankly at the staggering, mountainous stash of half a million Einjaar gold coins. The sheer volume of physical wealth practically glowed in the dim candlelight.
"Can you imagine?" one admin whispered, his eyes wide and unblinking. "If nobody claims this, what would you even do with a fraction of this kind of money?"
"Excuse me."
The three admins jolted, nearly jumping out of their skin. They whipped around to face the heavy iron-barred teller window.
Standing on the other side of the thick glass was a broad-shouldered figure entirely swallowed by an oversized, dusty traveler's cloak. A plain, featureless wooden mask completely obscured his face.
A gloved hand reached out, sliding a slightly crumpled betting slip silently under the glass partition.
"I would like to take the winnings, please," the cloaked figure said casually. "Here's the slip."
The voice was distinctly male. It was a deep, relaxed baritone carrying a very specific, lazy drawl—a voice that Lexel would have recognized instantly.
The head admin swallowed hard, his hands trembling as he picked up the slip. He verified the impossible fifty-thousand gold wager stamp. It was flawlessly authentic.
"A-Ah," the admin stuttered, his dreams of early retirement instantly evaporating. "Yes. Here it is."
It took all three administrators straining together to heave the massive, reinforced leather sack of gold onto the counter.
"Thanks," the cloaked man nodded.
He grabbed the colossal sack—a weight that should have shattered a normal man's spine—and casually slung it over his shoulder with absolute zero effort.
"Bye," the familiar voice called out, turning away from the window and strolling down the corridor.
"B-bye," the admin whimpered, pressing his face against the glass as he watched the fortune walk away. He let out a pathetic sigh. "There goes my dream."
In the dark shadows of the corridor, two heavily armored guards watched the cloaked figure carry the half-million gold away. The lead guard's eyes narrowed dangerously. He turned to his subordinate, giving a sharp, urgent nod.
"Go," the guard ordered in a harsh whisper. "Tell the Baron."
---
Out on the marble floor, Kain and Anthierin moved together in absolute silence. They completely forgot to speak. The heavy, unresolved tension hanging between them evaporated, replaced entirely by the mesmerizing spectacle unfolding mere feet away.
The entire ballroom had stopped to watch. The wealthy silk merchants and minor lords paused their own dancing, clearing the center of the floor. It felt as though the frantic string quartet was pouring all their breathless energy exclusively into Lexel and Mera's performance.
Lexel was absolutely relentless. He spun the noblewoman with dizzying speed, her imported silk dress whipping through the air like a storm. He guided her every step with overwhelming, dark royalty, entirely consuming her space and her senses.
As the musicians struck the final, sweeping chord, Lexel executed a flawless, devastating finish. He spun Mera one last time before catching her waist and dropping her into a dangerously deep, breathtakingly intimate dip—a pose far too scandalous for highborn Einjaar society.
Mera gasped, her back arched dramatically over his supporting arm. She stared wide-eyed at the glittering crystal chandelier high above, completely paralyzed by shock and a dizzying rush of adrenaline. Lexel leaned over her, his chest brushing hers, his warm breath ghosting across her collarbone. A terrifying, victorious smirk played on his lips. He had completely conquered the Baron's daughter in front of the entire city.
BAM.
The heavy mahogany doors of the ballroom slammed open, shattering the delicate, scandalous silence.
A heavily armored arena guard burst into the room, his chest heaving as he sprinted past the shocked servants. He completely ignored the frozen dancers and the bewildered merchants. The guard marched straight to the head table, dropping to one knee directly beside the Baron's velvet-cushioned chair.
The Baron tore his furious gaze away from his compromised daughter. He leaned down, his thick face flushed a dangerous shade of purple.
The guard leaned in and whispered frantically into the ruling lord's ear.
"Aaah!!"
Klauss's bloodcurdling roar echoed through the ballroom as he sprinted forward. The disgraced Champion raised his heavy steel broadsword high above his head, his eyes burning with absolute, deranged madness.
Lexel planted his feet. He could feel the sheer, ungodly mass of roasted boar, peppered beef, and entire quail violently reversing course up his throat. He forced his mouth shut, his cheeks bulging as he contained the rising tide of his disastrous dinner. He waited for the absolute perfect, most devastating second.
As Klauss closed the distance, his mouth stretched wide in a continuous, furious battle cry, Lexel unleashed his weaponized indigestion.
He expelled a massive, high-pressure spray of half-digested meat, rich marrow, and thick broth directly into the charging Champion's face.
The wealthy merchants and minor lords shrieked in unified, utter disgust.
Because Klauss was roaring, a horrifying amount of the projectile vomit shot straight down his open throat. The Champion gagged violently. The heavy broadsword slipped from his grasp, clattering loudly against the marble. Blinded by grease and actively choking on a regurgitated quail, Klauss stumbled blindly forward, his momentum completely broken.
Lexel didn't waste a single millisecond. He dropped low, sweeping his leg in a brutal, lightning-fast arc that completely completely shattered Klauss's stance.
As the choking Champion tipped backward, Lexel leaped high into the air above him.
[Tiger Stomp]
Lexel drove his heel downward with terrifying, accelerated velocity. His foot slammed directly into Klauss's chest. A massive, concussive shockwave exploded outward, instantly cracking the polished marble floorboards. The sheer force of the impact violently expelled the air and the vomit from Klauss's lungs. Blood splattered across the ruined floor, and the Champion's eyes rolled backward into his skull. He was out cold before his head even bounced off the stone.
Lexel let out a long, exhausted sigh, rolling his shoulders. His stomach felt infinitely better.
Amidst the absolute chaos of screaming merchants and shattered marble, Mera seized her golden opportunity.
She slipped behind the deserted head table, her trembling hands quickly retrieving two small, concealed vials of powder from her silk bodice. One powder was a deep, wine-red. The other was completely transparent. She hid the red vial away and uncorked the transparent one, tapping the odorless, colorless powder directly into a fresh crystal goblet of vintage red wine. The substance dissolved instantly, blending perfectly into the alcohol.
Smoothing her dress and pasting on a look of deep, perfectly feigned concern, Mera glided through the dust toward Lexel.
"Gods above, Lexel!" Mera cried out, offering the spiked goblet with a trembling hand. "Are you alright? You must be parched after... whatever that was."
Lexel wiped a stray drop of broth from his chin. Having just completely emptied his stomach, his throat was burning.
"Thanks," Lexel muttered.
He took the crystal goblet and downed the entire glass of spiked wine in three massive, thirsty gulps.
Mera watched his throat bob. A slow, deeply wicked smile spread across her beautiful face. The beast was officially leashed.
Up at the head table, the Baron of Einjaar was trembling with volcanic rage. His grand ballroom was entirely destroyed, covered in cracked marble, blood, and half-digested boar. He glared at the unconscious Champion bleeding on his floor.
"Guards!" the Baron bellowed, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling. "Throw this useless trash into the alley! Maids, clean this catastrophic mess immediately! The banquet is completely ruined!"
He took a heavy, steadying breath, his greedy eyes locking onto Lexel. He still needed to extract the identity of the betting backer, and his daughter's confident smile told him the trap was finally set.
"However," the Baron announced, forcing a strained, diplomatic tone. "Given the late hour and the sheer exhaustion of tonight's unfortunate events, Mera and I absolutely insist that our esteemed victor and his companion stay the night. We have prepared our finest guest chambers for you both."
Gemini said
Anthierin leaned close to Lexel, her hand firmly gripping his elbow. She lowered her voice to a harsh, urgent whisper, completely ignoring the Baron's feigned hospitality.
"Lexel, we need to go home," Anthierin hissed. "Right now. We have the money. You just assaulted a Champion and ruined a grand banquet in front of the city's entire elite class. Staying here is absolute suicide."
Before Lexel could agree, Kain stepped forward. The Champion's face was incredibly pale, and his blue eyes locked intensely onto Anthierin.
"Stay," Kain insisted, his voice tight with suppressed emotion. "Stay the night, Anthierin. If you want the answer to the question you've been burning to ask me for years... I will give it to you."
Anthierin froze. Her breath hitched in her throat, and her iron grip on Lexel's arm faltered. The ghost of her past was dangling the exact closure she desperately craved right in front of her face.
Beside her, Lexel blinked. A sudden, violent wave of dizziness crashed through his skull. The crystal chandeliers blurred into blinding, spinning streaks of light. The transparent powder Mera had slipped into his vintage wine was incredibly potent, meticulously crafted to instantly paralyze a grown man's nervous system.
A second later, the sensation vanished entirely.
His monstrous biology incinerated the lethal toxin without breaking a sweat. His vision snapped perfectly back into focus. Lexel rolled his broad shoulders, feeling completely normal.
Well, that was weird, Lexel thought, casually rubbing the back of his neck.
The sheer, unrelenting chaos of the evening, combined with his massive dinner and the sudden bout of violent indigestion, was finally catching up to him. He felt genuinely exhausted.
"Fine," Lexel announced, letting out a loud, jaw-cracking yawn that echoed across the ruined ballroom. "I could use a bed."
Mera's painted silk fan snapped open. Her eyes gleamed with triumphant, venomous malice. She had watched him drink the poison, and she fully believed the trap was set.
"Great!" Mera beamed, her artificial smile returning in full force. "The servants will escort you to your quarters immediately."