Names began to flash across the linen screens, each one paired with a bright highlight.
The participants who had readied arguments and retorts froze with them still in their throats.
Those glowing scenes were proof they had been watched the whole way through.
God Eldric might not kill them for a sharp tongue, but most of them still needed to do business in the Goldkeep Crownmarkets.
So they swallowed every complaint and shut up completely.
The stone floor opened into deep holes for those not destined to participate.
One by one, people dropped through. As they fell, a warm pulse washed over their bodies, mending bruises and knitting cuts.
It did not cure old diseases. It did not grant miracles.
It only returned them to the state they had been in before the tournament began, as if the whole ordeal had been a harsh dream that left no broken bones behind.
Then the arena spat them out.
Bodies launched a meter high, tumbling onto the ground outside in awkward heaps.
