"For our sakes... please die."
While Uno's explosion rocked the arena, long-standing hierarchical tensions—festering for over a decade—were boiling over in the prestige booth.
"Well, Henry," a tall, lanky man with a thick moustache remarked. "Isn't this much better than your brute of a slave?"
"It certainly is flashier—more entertaining, dare I say," he added, a pompous glint in his eye.
"Is that so, Willian?" Baron Fernand replied, his voice laced thick with fake pleasantness. "Remind me again—how many times has your little explosive performer won against Gewalt?"
One could have sworn they heard the taller man's jaw clench hard enough to snap. The two barons—Henry Fernand and Willian Tigris—shared a long history, dating back to their time in the Imperial army. They were often seen together, but it was no secret that they utterly detested one another.
"Do you forget who it was that held the dominating record before you came across that brat of yours?" Baron Tigris retorted, veins standing out along his temple.
"Hmm, and that was… ten years ago?" Fernand shot back, laughing in his contemporary's face.
"Actually… it's nine…" another noble meekly corrected.
Henry flashed the man a sharp look of annoyance, and he shrank back at once.
Fernand composed himself. "Is that so? I don't really keep count," he said dryly. "So it could be."
'Vain bastards…' Gavis thought, forcing himself to tune out that side of the booth as best he could.
His amber eyes tracked Uno, still detonating bubbles where Astelle had stood, the area now shrouded in thick smoke. The men around him saw it as overkill, but Gavis silently approved. It was better to make certain an opponent stayed down.
More pressing, though, was the revelation of just how many surprises this day held. Three other Gifted had been residing in Lukaria Haven, and he was only learning of them now, all because they were combat slaves.
The mix of excited roars and disapproving jeers from the crowd drew his attention back to the field, where Dreer and Felkist carried out a coordinated attack on Uno.
"You're a former rogue, right, Balroc?" Henry Fernand's voice drew his attention to his side.
The question drew a myriad of reactions from those among them who understood the connotation of that label. Gavis maintained his composure—something that seemed to irritate the Baron—but Fernand held himself together.
"Ah, right. I meant sellsword," he corrected himself mildly, smiling thinly at the man. "An honest mistake."
The golden-eyed merchant barely cast him a look. This was their first proper direct interaction, but men like the Baron weren't unfamiliar to him—people who derived pleasure from provocation and the leveraging of their authority.
"…What about it?" Gavis finally responded.
"Nothing at all," Fernand replied lightly. "Did you know? The three slaves down there were all just like you once."
"Knowing that…" he continued, a questionable glint in his eye, "I thought you might offer us some expert insight on the fight."
The suggestion drew startled looks from those present. Henry Fernand inviting the opinion of a commoner was akin to the sun burning black. That he would so casually lump Balroc in with the combat slaves below did not go unnoticed by the Merchantry faction, however.
Balroc relaxed slightly, choosing to maintain cordiality. He turned his face fully toward the brunet noble.
"I'm surprised," he said evenly. "I never imagined you'd be interested in my opinion."
He shifted his weight in his seat. "What would you like to know?"
Baron Fernand laughed.
"Oh, you misunderstood me," he said between chuckles, his gaze sliding back to the arena before flicking coldly to the ex-mercenary. "I didn't say I wanted to talk to you."
His smile sharpened.
"I was saying you should commentate for us—add to our entertainment."
Gordon, having had enough, shot up from his seat, his face flushed with rage.
"He doesn't work for yo—"
"Gordon!" Gavis snapped, cutting him off. He gave a small shake of his head, his expression steady. "There's no need. It's not worth it."
A silence spread through the merchantry faction's section of the booth; in contrast, the nobles resumed their empty conversations as though nothing had happened.
Gavis's eyes lingered on Baron Fernand, subtly analysing him. He had expected the man to ride the moment, revel in the merchant's humiliation, and bask in the shallow praise that followed. Instead, Fernand sat straight-faced, cheek resting against his hand atop the chair's armrest. He looked bored. Entirely indifferent to those around him.
The disparity unsettled Gavis.
He figured it was because he hadn't given Fernand the reaction he wanted.One look into the man's eyes—dead and hollow—made that assumption dissolve.
'No…' The thought arose uninvited. 'Right now, he reminds me of Pallen...'
The comparison alone sent a chill through him.
Gavis adjusted his assessment of the Baron—quietly, and with far more caution than before.
A blinding flash of light and a wave of heat wrenched his attention back to the fight below. Squinting, he raised a hand to shield his eyes as he tried to make out what was happening.
The pillar of light collapsed inward around the ability's user, restoring visibility to the arena. They all took in the sight of Astelle cloaked in that transcendental power, expressions failing to contain their awe.
"What is that?" a noble whispered, his breath catching.
Willian Tigris rose from his seat. Fernand's gaze followed as the man stepped toward the booth's railing, fingers clamping around the bars until his knuckles blanched.
"A legendary Gift," Tigris muttered, eyes wide. "The kind that once shook the old world."
Fernand's eyes narrowed. "I thought most of those were still missing in the Haze."
The question snapped Tigris out of his trance. 'Damn it.' Of all people, Henry Fernand had to be the one to hear it.
Willian came back to his seat beside Fernand, whose eyes still stayed on him.
"There are still madmen who wander the Haze," Tigris said dismissively, collecting himself. "One of them might have stumbled across it and brought it back."
"Hmm, true," Fernand replied with casual detachment. "She doesn't look like she has what it takes to survive out there. Her luck must've run out the moment she got that power, considering she's just a slave now."
The fight below was ramping up as the structural decay began to be noticeable even in the audience stands, prompting some to already start panicking and exiting the arena. Majority stayed, however, their eyes glued to the destructive spectacle.
Through the smoke, the Baron caught sight of the glowing figure.
His eyes followed Astelle as she moved, captivated by every moment. Attacks thrown at her accomplished nothing, making her form seem inviolable.
'An absolute power,' he thought, something tightening in his chest. 'What Gift could it be?'
In the current era, humanity maintained a compendium of Gifts. Most of it was drawn from knowledge of the past, but it did decent in cataloguing those that were actively being wielded, those contained within the Havens but still unclaimed, and those missing in the lost lands of the Haze. Fernand had studied it obsessively, staying up-to-date on every revision.
No Gift in that record matched the feats he was witnessing.
His eyes drifted from the arena to the booth around him, subtly gauging posture and expression. He lingered on Gavis Balroc and Willian Tigris in turn. He had heard the merchant harboured a distaste for slavery; that alone made him predictable, perhaps even exploitable. Still, Fernand marked him as a variable.
'As for Willian...' he watched the man fail miserably to conceal his greed for the Gifted woman that fought below them. 'He already possesses the explosive Gifted, but that could never satisfy someone like him. He's set his sights on this one, too.'
Tigris wasn't a problem for him. If he truly wanted to pass him over and acquire this slave, he could. The issue was the man with whom Tigris was allied. Henry was a fervent believer that commoners were lesser, but that person was an exception to this ideology.
A thin smile touched his lips.
'When was the last time I had to invest actual thought into besting my opponents?'
The tremors rocking the building were starting to make even the nobles and merchants uneasy. In that time when the atmosphere reeked of tension and schemes, Bell Selene came rushing into the booth, making a beeline to her master.
"Lord Fernand!" she called, breathless as she hurried to his side.
He looked up, irritation flickering. "What is it?"
Selene leaned in, whispering something hurriedly that caused the man to immediately straighten up.
"...Is that true?"
"Yes, my lord," she said, pale and shaking. "I saw him myself."
Everyone looked on in confusion at the interaction and especially at Fernand's reaction. The man usually wore an expression of disinterest, contempt, or arrogance. To see him caught off guard actually seemed to serve as a treat to some, overshadowed however, by their curiosity.
"You said they shared a master?" Henry asked evenly.
"Correct," Bell Selene responded. "A man named Patrick Inford."
Some figures among the merchants immediately tensed at the name. Patrick himself stiffened, eyes darting around incredulously at being brought up in the Baron's conversation.
A bad feeling crept up in Gavis's gut.
"I see," Henry said, standing up slowly and retrieving his cane that had been leaning against his chair. Only Tigris noticed the expression that crossed his face as he rose.
Nobles and merchants alike watched as the man made his way towards the merchants, his face plain as his eyes scanned the wealthy commoners' faces. He came to a pause in front of the small man, who seemed to draw all the merchants' nervous, worried gazes towards him.
"So it's you." He said mildly.
Gavis moved—but too late.
The ornate handle of Fernand's cane collided against Patrick's skull with a sickening crack. As he raised it again, Balroc seized his wrist. The Baron levied a cold glare at the man obstructing him, Gavis meeting his eyes with an enraged look of his own.
"What do you think you're doing?" The merchant demanded through gritted teeth.
"Relieving my anger," Henry replied casually. "Though what I intended to do to him isn't remotely enough to satisfy me."
Gavis shoved the man back. "And what exactly did he do to elicit such anger?"
Fernand glanced down at the bloodied man.
"Pendrick and Astelle," he said. "Are they not your slaves?"
"What about it?!" Patrick yelled, his delirium clouding whatever fear he would've felt in his normal state. "What does that have to do with you assaulting me?!"
"They touched what belongs to me," Henry responded, a vein popping on his forehead. "Your incompetence cost me."
Murmurs broke out in the booth. They tried to make sense of what was being said.
"Stop spinning your words," Gavis said, steadying himself. "What happened?"
Exhaling slowly, the Baron looked at Balroc.
"Gewalt was stabbed."
Tapping his cane against his shoulder, he continued. "In an ambush by this man's slaves. They say he'll need extensive treatment."
The blood drained from several of their faces as they understood the depth of the situation. Balroc stumbled backwards, clutching his head, realising that the noble had all the justification to murder Patrick where he stood.
"Still!" Gordon stepped forward, placing himself squarely in front of Patrick. "There are better ways to handle this!"
"He's right!" another merchant chimed in. "Murdering the man in cold blood wouldn't even benefit you in the slightest! That's how beasts behave!"
"Killing him wouldn't do anything for me, you say?" Henry smiled.
The unease in Balroc's stomach deepened, crawling up into his chest.
"You're right," the Baron agreed, folding his hands over the head of his cane. "He needs to compensate me in a more meaningful way." A twisted smile played on his lips.
Before anyone could respond, a sudden, unnatural chill swept through the colosseum, drawing every eye in the booth back toward the arena.
"...Flash Freeze"
The words echoed across the field.
Ice surged outward in an instant, swallowing the arena whole.
Panic erupted in the general stands as spectators poured toward the exits in frantic droves.
Moments later, Fyke and his guards burst into the prestige booth, meekly trying to usher the nobles and merchants toward evacuation—utterly unaware of the confrontation that had just been frozen mid-breath.
Unbefitting their stature, the nobles shoved and jostled their way toward the exits, the merchantry close behind once they caught sight of the massive bubble swelling at Uno's lips.
When all but a few had fled, Gavis bent down and hauled the injured Patrick against himself, preparing to leave—only for a cane to plant itself squarely in their path.
"What are you doing?" Gavis snapped. "Do you not see the situation at hand?!"
Fyke blinked, confused, then followed Gavis's line of sight. His gaze landed on Fernand's bloodstained cane… then his hands… then the barely conscious Patrick Inford. He swallowed hard at the implication.
"Um—sir, we really should be leaving," Fyke said, forcing his voice low and deferential despite the panic clawing up his throat.
"I haven't forgotten about you either," Fernand replied coolly. "Hiding Gewalt's condition was your idea, wasn't it?"
Fyke broke into a cold sweat, realising that the man knew everything already.
Before he could stammer out a defence, the blinding light once again erupted in the field, squaring off against Uno's massive bubble.
"We need to go!" Balroc roared, moving to force his way past.
Henry Fernand stepped up right in Gavis's face, defiantly standing his ground.
"And I'm saying we're not leaving," he said flatly. "Until this is settled."
The bubble was released towards the glowing girl.
"You can settle your grievances in a courtroom!" Gavis shouted. "Not here—move!"
The bubble was scorched away as the light then expanded towards them.
Gavis's anger vanished, replaced by pure instinct.
"Everyone get close to me!"
An airy, translucent force erupted from him, enveloping the four men as the building collapsed around them.
---
~ Three Days Later ~
"This doesn't make any sense!" Patrick yelled out, slamming his hands on the table. His head was wrapped in bandages, and his face was pale. He lost his balance, prompting Gavis to support him back into his seat.
"Sir Balroc, I've spent fortunes!" Patrick pleaded. "They can't just take them from me like this!"
Henry Fernand sat, legs crossed, at a table to the left of Gavis and Patrick. He looked pleased, not even turning to acknowledge the small man's outburst.
"Order!" The regional magistrate bellowed. "Hold this place to its proper respect."
The man, dressed in regal robes, looked coldly at Inford. A kind of gaze reserved for the absolute worst kind of trash.
"Conclude this matter," Baron Fernand said. "I have other business to tend to."
"Of course, my lord," the magistrate replied, his tone and expression blatantly reverent.
"The verdict is final," the man said, his expression steeled once more. "As initial compensation, Lord Henry Fernand has mercifully settled for just his seizure of the two assailant slaves."
Patrick moved to argue once more, but Gavis held his shoulder and shook his head. Fernand had rigged it from the start; this had always been the outcome the man was pursuing.
"The court is adjourned."
Henry rose from his seat and made his way out, pausing a couple of steps down the aisle.
"Thank you, Balroc," he said mockingly. "You were oh-so-gracious enough to suggest this place yourself, and even saved my life before that."
"You're a good man," he smiled at the man, not even acknowledging Patrick, whom he had just plundered.
Patrick broke out into an outrage, throwing his chair to the side and storming out. Gavis looked at the man as he left, before turning back toward the stand where the magistrate had stood.
Fernand had allowed him to personally pick out the court to carry out the case proceedings, so he had ensured to pick one that usually held no affiliations to any nobles. The result still came out this way. He knew the magistrate who was supposed to preside here; the man today wasn't him.
'They must have switched him out earlier today so I wouldn't catch wind of it.'
He sighed.
"Is this his way of telling me he can get his way no matter what I do...?" Gavis muttered under his breath.
---
- Fernand Estate -
Arriving at his estate, Henry had been pleased with himself before he was approached by a man who appeared to be an attendant.
"Was it so important that you had to come meet me in the carriage?" He asked, cutting the man off, before he could speak.
"Sir," the man bowed apologetically.
Fernand waved off the bow, getting down from the carriage and walking into his home with the man in tow.
"The slave you brought back—the man—he requested an audience with you."
Henry froze midstep. "Pendrick Dorn did?"
"I already rejected his request, but I felt it necess—"
Fernand held his hand up, silencing him.
"No, I'll go see him."