"So, let me get this straight," Lexel said, tossing a fresh green apple into the air and catching it. "If I win, they pay out ten times the bet?"
Anthierin nodded, holding up a crumpled betting flyer she had grabbed from the plaza. "The odds for a Level 15 winning the Einjaar Battle Royal are exactly one to ten. You are at the absolute bottom of the betting pool. People are throwing copper coins at your name just as a joke."
Lexel threw his head back and laughed, taking a loud bite of the apple. "That's not an insult, Rin. That's a golden opportunity. We're going to bankrupt whoever is running this pool. Put it all in."
"What?!" Anthierin's jaw dropped. "All 8,000G?!"
"Every last coin."
"Are you insane?!" Anthierin slammed her hands on the wooden table. "That is all the money we have! If you lose, we have no safety net. We won't even be able to buy bread, let alone help Uncle Daren pay off the baron!"
Lexel stopped chewing. He looked at her, his golden eyes completely calm, carrying an unwavering confidence that almost felt suffocating.
"I won't lose," Lexel said simply. He leaned closer, a wicked smirk returning to his face. "Trust me, Rin. If you hold back now, you're going to spend the rest of your life regretting that you missed out on eighty thousand G's."
Anthierin wanted to argue. She opened her mouth to yell at him, but the words died in her throat. Her mind flashed back to the crushed steel halberd at the city gates. She remembered the shattered cobblestones in the alleyway. She remembered the sheer, unnatural terror that had gripped the Level 19 veterans when Lexel let his aura slip.
He's a monster, she realized, not for the first time.
Anthierin let out a long, defeated sigh and massaged her temples. "Fine. But you better win this at all costs, Lexel. If we go broke because of you, I'm forging my next hammer out of your skull."
"Deal," Lexel grinned.
—
The atmosphere around the Einjaar Arena was absolute madness.
Banners of various noble houses fluttered in the morning wind. The roar of the crowd inside the colossal stone coliseum shook the ground beneath their boots. Merchants were shouting, swords were clashing in the practice rings, and the smell of roasted meat and cheap ale filled the air.
"Alright, this is where we split," Daren shouted over the noise, pointing toward the grand staircases. "I'll go secure us a pair of good seats in the lower stands!"
"And I need to go to the betting lockers," Anthierin said, clutching the heavy leather pouch of coins to her chest.
"See you both from the winner's podium," Lexel waved lazily without looking back, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he strolled casually toward the dark tunnel marked 'Competitors Only.'
Anthierin watched him disappear into the shadows before turning toward the betting area.
It was a chaotic scramble of shouting gamblers pushing against barred windows. She elbowed her way to an open locket, slapping the heavy pouch onto the counter.
The tired-looking woman behind the iron bars blinked at the sheer size of the bag.
"I want to place a bet," Anthierin said firmly. "All in. 8,000G."
The woman choked on her own spit. The clerks at the neighboring lockets actually stopped counting their coins, turning their heads to stare at the massive pile of wealth.
"E-Eight thousand?!" the clerk stammered, her eyes wide. "By the Gods, miss... who are you backing? Klauss? Sir Vance the Heavy Shield? The Twin Blades of Arvan?"
"No," Anthierin said flatly. "I'm betting on Lexel."
The clerk froze. She blinked slowly, as if her brain was struggling to process the word. "Lexel? You mean... the Level 15?"
"Yes."
"Miss, are you sure? That is a guaranteed loss. He's going to be slaughtered in the opening—"
"Just stamp the parchment," Anthierin interrupted, crossing her arms.
The clerk swallowed a heavy lump in her throat. With a trembling hand, she pulled out a blank betting slip, dipped her stamp in red ink, and slammed it down. She slid the official parchment of agreement through the bars.
Anthierin took it, nodded her thanks, and turned to walk away.
As she pushed through the crowd, her enhanced blacksmith hearing caught the clerk muttering to her coworker behind the bars.
"By the heavens... that's the second crazy person to drop a fortune on that Level 15 today. Just who the heck is he?"
Anthierin's boots stopped dead on the dirt path.
Second?
She looked back at the booth, her heart skipping a beat. Who else in Einjaar would be crazy enough to bet on a Level 15 nobody?
Before she could dwell on it, the massive war horns of the arena blew, signaling the start of the festival. She shook her head and hurried toward the stands.
The inside of the coliseum was breathtaking. The wide, sandy arena floor was surrounded by towering walls of stone, packed with thousands of screaming spectators.
Anthierin found Daren sitting near the front, right above the arena wall. She took the seat beside him, her eyes immediately scanning the massive crowd.
It didn't take long to find them.
High above the regular stands, seated in the shaded luxury of the baron's VIP box, was Kain. He looked like a king looking down at his peasants, a smug smile on his face. Sitting right beside him, feeding him grapes, was the Baron's daughter.
Anthierin's chest tightened, the familiar sting of bitterness rising in her throat.
"Don't look up there, Rin. Look down here," Daren's voice broke her focus. He pointed a thick finger toward the heavy iron gates of the arena floor, where the competitors were beginning to gather. "Lexel is strong, but he's not fighting normal foot soldiers today. He's fighting the apex of the Level 19s."
Anthierin looked down.
"See that man with the massive tower shield?" Daren asked, his tone dead serious as he pointed to the arena floor. "That's Vance. He has a rare defensive skill called [Iron Maiden]. It reflects physical damage back at the attacker. And those two rogues stretching by the wall... The Twin Blades. They share a passive skill that makes their footsteps completely silent. You need to pray Lexel doesn't cross them early."
Anthierin swallowed hard, her eyes scanning the sand. The competitors looked like hardened killers, each one carrying the aura of a veteran who had survived countless battles to reach Level 19.
But then, the atmosphere in the coliseum suddenly shifted.
The cheers from the crowd didn't die down, but they changed pitch. It turned into a collective gasp, followed by an excited, nervous murmur that rippled through the stands.
Down on the arena floor, the sea of Level 19 veterans instinctively parted. They stepped back, giving a wide, respectful berth to a single man walking out of the competitor's tunnel.
He was tall, with sharp features and short silver hair. A massive, jagged broadsword rested casually on his shoulder. He didn't wear heavy armor, just a simple leather vest that showed off the brutal scars crisscrossing his muscular arms.
Anthierin felt a chill run down her spine. The air around him felt heavy, almost suffocating, even from all the way up in the stands.
"Gods above..." Daren muttered, leaning forward, his hands gripping the stone railing tight enough to turn his knuckles white. "I heard the rumors, but I didn't think he would actually show up to a provincial tournament."
"Who is he?" Anthierin asked, her voice tight.
"Klauss," Daren whispered. "He's Level 19, but his base stats are rumored to be twice that of a normal fighter. Do you know why?"
Anthierin shook her head.
"Because he unlocked the Champion job class."
Anthierin's breath hitched. Another Champion?
She instinctively looked up at the VIP box.
Kain wasn't smiling anymore. The smug, king-of-the-peasants look had completely vanished from his face. He pushed his fiancée's hand away, ignoring the grapes she was offering.
Anthierin's gaze drifted just behind Kain, landing on the man occupying the grandest, most heavily cushioned chair in the booth.
The Baron of Einjaar.
He was a repulsive sight—a man whose sheer greed seemed to manifest in the massive, straining pot-belly that threatened to pop the jeweled buttons off his silk doublet. His fingers, thick as sausages and dripping with heavy gold rings, tapped impatiently against the velvet armrests. His beady eyes looked down at the arena floor not with the excitement of a warrior, but with the calculated, hungry gaze of a merchant counting his slaughtered pigs.
So that's the swine who is bleeding Uncle Daren dry, Anthierin thought, her jaw tightening. He looks exactly like the kind of man who would buy a Champion as a son-in-law.
Kain leaned over the velvet railing, his blue eyes locked onto Klauss with an intense, unblinking wariness. Even the arrogant previous winner knew that Klauss was a genuine, terrifying threat.
Down on the sand, the other competitors gripped their weapons tighter. The Twin Blades stopped stretching. Vance raised his tower shield a fraction of an inch. Every single fighter in the arena was hyper-focused on the silver-haired Champion.
The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. The Battle Royal was shaping up to be a bloodbath centered entirely around one man.
And then... the final competitor walked out of the tunnel.
"Haaah..."
A loud, incredibly obnoxious yawn echoed through the tense silence of the arena.
Lexel strolled out onto the sand, stretching his arms high above his head and lazily scratching his belly. He blinked at the blinding sunlight, looking completely disinterested in the heavy atmosphere, the glaring veterans, or the terrifying silver-haired Champion standing in the center of the ring.
The crowd blinked. The competitors blinked.
Then, the whispers erupted.
"Is that him?"
"Yeah, that's the idiot from the registration plaza."
"The suicidal kid. The infamous Level 15."
Hearing the commotion, Klauss slowly turned his head. The Champion's sharp, predatory eyes locked onto Lexel, sizing him up.
Lexel caught the Champion staring at him. He paused mid-stretch, lowered his arms, and offered Klauss a lazy, two-finger salute.
"Morning," Lexel said cheerfully.
Up in the stands, Anthierin buried her face in her hands, groaning into her palms.
We are going to lose all 8,000G.
Ding!
[New Quest Initiated]
[Objective: Kill the Champion Reward: Skill Points: 10]
Lexel's cheerful facade melted away. His molten eyes locked in.