The crowd was still buzzing from the last match, half-drunk on adrenaline and disbelief.
Whispers rippled like waves across the courtyard—everyone talking about the mysterious silver-haired fighter who'd just knocked out the reigning champion after deliberately throwing the first round.
Some called him a tactician.
Others called him a lunatic.
Damien didn't seem to care about either opinion.
He dusted off his sleeves, stepped down from the pit, and gave Lyone a subtle nod. Cerbe, still in his tall and imposing human form, fell into step behind them without a word.
Lyone was beaming.
"I can't believe that worked," he whispered, his coin pouch visibly heavier now. "I mean—I can, because it's you, but still. That's three thousand gold coins. I could buy a whole street!"
Damien said nothing. Just a slight smirk as he turned toward the edge of the courtyard.
He was ready to leave.
And then—
CLANG.
A heavy, deliberate footstep echoed across the pit floor.
