'What the hell did I just pull...?'

His fingers tightened around the card as stellar light began building toward revelation.

***

Meanwhile, Legendor's market district buzzed with afternoon energy.

Merchants hawked wares from stalls crammed with everything from enchanted trinkets to suspicious-looking meat skewers that probably violated several health codes.

The celebration preparations were everywhere.

Banners hung between buildings, fluttering with images of holy symbols and royal crests that screamed "important people are visiting, please behave."

"..."

William Fordsmith walked with perfect posture through the chaos.

His suit remained immaculate despite the dust and crowd, pince-nez catching sunlight as he sidestepped a running child with movements so precise they looked choreographed.

Behind him, floating approximately three feet off the ground in her signature hard hat and overalls, Heena Min-Jeowon munched on a skewer of grilled mystery meat.

Her expression suggested the food was either amazing or she had stopped caring about standards days ago.

"You know, Will..."

She spoke through a mouthful, completely unbothered by manners.

"For someone who insisted we needed to investigate corruption patterns methodically, you sure picked the loudest possible district to walk through."

She took another bite, chewing loudly enough to be heard over the street noise.

"The market provides excellent reconnaissance opportunities."

William's tone stayed perfectly polite despite the accusation.

"Civilians gossip freely in commercial spaces. Information flows more naturally than official channels."

"Translation: you wanted street food and needed an excuse."

"I do not require excuses for tactical decisions."

William adjusted his cuffs, refusing to make eye contact with the floating woman.

"You bought three bags of candied nuts."

"For emergency rations."

"You ate two already."

"Tactical energy management."

Heena snorted, tossing her empty skewer toward a trash bin without looking.

Gravity caught it mid-flight, redirecting the trajectory with casual precision until it landed perfectly inside.

She was just showing off.

William pretended not to notice, though his eye twitched slightly.

***

They moved deeper into the market, weaving between stalls selling everything from "authentic" hero memorabilia to questionable potions that claimed to cure baldness and existential dread simultaneously.

The air smelled like roasted spices and unwashed bodies, a combination that William was trying very hard to ignore.

"Any news from your contacts?"

Heena asked, her playful tone dropping into something more serious.

William's expression tightened fractionally.

The only visible tell that the question hit heavier topics than skewers and candy.

He paused at a weapons stall, inspecting a dagger with professional interest before setting it down.

"The Obsidian Covenant's operations exceed initial threat assessments… This is continental-scale planning, not isolated incidents."

"Yeah, and they are getting bolder."

Heena's floating chair dipped slightly, unconscious reaction to frustration bleeding through her gravity control.

"The corrupted dungeons near my territory are spreading faster now. Like something accelerated the timeline."

"The approaching Second Trial likely factors into their strategy."

William resumed walking, hands clasped behind his back as he navigated through a group of tourists.

"Dimensional instability during Trial activation provides cover for larger operations. Every major faction will focus attention on participants and threats."

"Perfect distraction while cultists do whatever nightmare ritual they are building toward."

"Precisely."

They walked in silence for several steps, processing implications that made optimism look stupid.

It was hard to enjoy the festival atmosphere when you knew the world was sitting on a powder keg.

Then Heena grinned, breaking the tension with characteristic bluntness.

"Speaking of weird stuff, that guy we met yesterday was something else."

"Nero Walker."

William's tone carried careful neutrality that suggested he had been thinking about their restaurant encounter more than he would admit.

"His combat efficiency during that restaurant incident was... noteworthy."

William paused to let a cart full of barrels roll past them.

"The way he dispatched those bandits showed training beyond casual adventuring. Precise spell execution, minimal wasted movement, no hesitation."

"Yeah, and did you catch how he did not even look worried?"

Heena finished her skewer, wiping her hands on her overalls.

"Most people would have at least flinched when armed thugs started threatening everyone. He just... handled it. Like swatting flies."

"His magic integration was particularly unusual."

William adjusted his pince-nez, analytical mind reviewing observations.

"It's like fusion casting of that caliber typically requires years of dedicated study. Yet he appeared to be in his mid-twenties at most."

"And that lady with him?"

Heena's expression shifted slightly, curiosity mixing with something approaching respect.

"The one with the half-closed eyes and that weird old-timey speech pattern?"

"Celis, if memory serves."

"Yeah, her. She did not fight, but I felt something when she passed by our table. Like reality bent around her without asking permission first."

William nodded slowly.

"An SSR-tier individual at minimum. Possibly higher. Her presence carried weight that suggested significant historical context we lack information about."

"So we randomly had dinner near people who could probably conquer small countries if they got bored enough."

"It appears so."

"Cool. Want to recruit them?"

"That depends entirely on whether their goals align with preventing apocalyptic rituals or causing them."

Heena laughed, the sound bright and sharp against market noise.

"Fair point. Though Nero seemed pretty chill for someone who fights like that. Most people with serious combat skills act like assholes about it."

"An encouraging sign, though insufficient for complete trust."

William's agedly refined eyes scanned the crowd with practiced efficiency.

"We should maintain contact. If they are active in Legendor, we will likely cross paths again. Their capabilities could prove valuable against Covenant operations."

"Or we could just ask them to join our weird little monster-hunting duo and see what happens."

"That is not how professional alliances form."

"You are boring."

"I prefer pragmatism."

***

They turned a corner, heading toward the inn district where rumors suggested corrupted leyline readings had spiked recently.

Their banter continued with easy rhythm born from months of partnership, comfortable silence mixing with sharp observations about everything from suspicious vendor behavior to architectural weak points in nearby buildings.

Then voices drifted from a nearby tavern.

Loud, excited, carrying the kind of energy that suggested something interesting was happening and people wanted everyone to know about it.

"...heard the brackets are already filling up!"

"King Arthur himself is sponsoring it! And the Priestess representative will be there too!"

"The grand prize is insane. A personal audience with both of them, plus whatever reward they decide to grant!"

"..."

William's steps slowed.

Heena's chair drifted lower, interest piqued despite herself.

They exchanged glances.

The kind that communicated entire conversations without words, honed through shared experiences of stumbling into situations that started as reconnaissance and ended with property damage.

"Are you thinking what I am thinking?"

Heena asked, grin widening.

"That depends on whether your thoughts involve infiltrating a combat tournament to gain direct access to key political figures while simultaneously gathering intelligence on potential Covenant infiltration among participants."

"I was gonna say 'free fights and maybe some prize money,' but sure, your version sounds smarter."

William sighed, though his expression carried faint approval beneath professional disapproval.

"The Colosseum then."

"Hell yeah."

***

The arena loomed ahead.

A massive stone structure that looked like it had been built by people who thought subtlety was for cowards, rising above surrounding buildings with architectural presence that demanded attention.

Banners hung from every surface, advertising the celebration tournament with enough enthusiasm to make quiet dignity look weak by comparison.

Crowds streamed toward entrances, mixing excited civilians with obvious fighters carrying weapons that suggested they took winning very seriously.

The preliminary rounds had already started.

Distant roars echoed from inside, thousands of voices creating wall of sound that made conversation require raised volume.

William and Heena joined the flow, slipping through checkpoints with practiced ease.

Security barely glanced at them.

Just another pair of participants among hundreds hoping for glory and reward.

Inside, the Colosseum opened into organized chaos.

Multiple arenas ran simultaneously, each one hosting matches while crowds screamed support or insults depending on which fighter they had bet on.

The air tasted like sweat, excitement, and the particular brand of tension that came from watching people hit each other professionally.

Heena's eyes lit up.

"Oh, this is gonna be fun."

William said nothing, already analyzing crowd patterns and identifying potential persons of interest among the fighters.

***

Arena Three hosted a preliminary match that had drawn decent-sized crowd.

Nothing massive, but enough people to create proper atmosphere.

Two fighters circled each other on sand-covered ground.

One was a broad-shouldered man wielding a war hammer that looked like it weighed more than most furniture.

His stance suggested he planned to solve problems through overwhelming force and was not interested in Plan B.

The other was a wiry woman with twin daggers, moving with coiled energy that made predators look sluggish.

"Place your bets!"

A vendor shouted nearby, waving odds on torn parchment.

"Bruford the Crusher at two-to-one! Silent Edge at three-to-one!"

The crowd buzzed with anticipation.

*CLANG!*

The bell rang.

Bruford charged immediately.

No strategy, no hesitation.

Just pure momentum compressed into three hundred pounds of angry muscle swinging a hammer with enough force to crater stone.

*WHOOSH!*

The weapon carved through air where Silent Edge had been standing approximately half a second ago.

She had already moved, blades flashing as they found gaps in his defense.

*Slash! Slash!*

Two quick cuts across his arm, precise and shallow.

Testing durability, looking for weak points.

Bruford roared, pivoting faster than his size suggested.

The hammer's backswing came horizontal, aiming to catch her mid-dodge.

*CLANG!*

Steel met steel as she blocked with crossed daggers, absorbing impact that sent her skidding backward across sand.

The crowd leaned forward.

This was getting good.

Bruford pressed his advantage, hammer strikes coming in rapid succession.

Overhead. Horizontal. Upward sweep.

Each one carried enough force to pulverize bone, and his technique showed experience beyond simple brute strength.

But Silent Edge danced through the assault.

Footwork carrying her around attacks with minimal wasted movement, daggers deflecting when dodging was not enough.

She was faster, more technical.

Waiting for the opening.

*CRACK!*

Bruford's hammer cratered arena floor, missing her by inches.

The weapon stuck briefly, momentum working against him.

That was the window.

Silent Edge lunged.

Blades aimed for exposed neck, trajectory perfect for ending the match.

Should have worked.

Would have worked against most opponents.

But Bruford twisted.

Released the hammer entirely, body rotating as his fist came up in brutal uppercut.

*WHAM!*

Knuckles met chin with sound like meat hitting pavement.

Silent Edge's head snapped back.

Her body went airborne, consciousness fleeing before she hit the ground.

*Thud.*

The crowd exploded.

Half cheering, half groaning depending on whose money had just evaporated.

Bruford retrieved his hammer with satisfied grunt, raising it toward the stands in victory gesture that lacked any grace whatsoever.

The announcer's voice boomed across arena.

"Winner! Bruford the Crusher advances to..."

*CRACK!*

Bruford's knees buckled.

Not from exhaustion or injury.

From sudden crushing pressure that made standing feel like negotiating with angry physics.

He collapsed.

Face-first into sand, confusion written across his features because nothing had hit him.

"..."

The crowd went silent.

Confusion rippling through thousands of spectators who had just watched their victor crumble for no visible reason.

Then she stepped into the arena.

Casual stride, hands in overall pockets.

Hard hat slightly crooked.

Heena Min-Jeowon cracked a smug grin as her boot came down.

*SLAM!*

Gravity compressed around Bruford's prone form with enough force to make sand crater beneath him.

"Sorry, big guy."

Her voice carried across suddenly quiet arena.

"But I am registering for this tournament, and standing over defeated opponents is way more dramatic than filling out paperwork."

William appeared at arena's edge, adjusting his pince-nez with long-suffering expression.

"Must you always make an entrance?"

"Absolutely."

The crowd processed what just happened.

"WAHHHHHH—!!!"

Then erupted into noise that made previous cheering sound polite by comparison.

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