Paigo laughed between strikes, a deep guttural sound that echoed like a beast's growl. The sound of his fists slamming against flesh and stone drowned out everything else. Each punch smeared his face with more of the boy's blood until Paigos looked less like a man and more like some monstrous butcher lost in the joy of slaughter.

The boy's body twitched weakly, no longer able to fight back. His wooden sword had rolled away, forgotten, as he gurgled on his own blood. Paigos showed no sign of stopping. If anything, his pace quickened, his fists pistoning downward with merciless rhythm.

The students around the circle trembled openly, their eyes wide with horror. Some bit their lips until they bled, others covered their mouths to stifle their gasps, but none dared to intervene. To interrupt would be to share the same fate.

Paigos's breathing grew louder, heavier. His muscles bulged with every strike, veins standing out across his arms and neck. He felt alive in that moment, more alive than any duel or challenge could ever make him feel. The Tyrant skill sang in his veins, urging him on, demanding he break everything before him until nothing remained.

Finally, Paigos paused, his fist hovering in the air. The boy beneath him was barely recognizable, his face a swollen, bloodied ruin pressed into the stone floor. Paigos lifted his hand slowly, studying the crimson coating his knuckles. He licked the blood from his lip where it had splattered across his face, his eyes wild and gleaming.

He rose to his feet, leaving the broken body crumpled at his feet. The boy did not move. Paigos turned to the circle of trembling students, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.

"Let this be a lesson," he said, his voice low but carrying across the silent field. "This is what happens to anyone who thinks they can stand against me. Remember this sight. Remember the fear you feel right now. And spread my word."

Not a single student spoke. They only bowed their heads quickly, some nodding furiously, others too paralyzed to do more than tremble.

Paigos's lips curved again into that cordial smile, but his eyes still burned with the same violent hunger as before.

"Good," he said softly, almost kindly. "You understand."

He left the training ground then, each step slow and deliberate. His boots left bloody smears across the stone, a trail that none dared follow. Behind him, the boy lay motionless, and the circle of students remained frozen, staring in horror at what their Lord had become.

From the far end of the training ground, four figures stood apart. They had been watching all along, unmoved by the chaos Paigos left behind. While the crowd shrank in terror, these four lingered openly. They were not loyal followers but opportunists who thrived in his shadow, knowing the scraps of a Tyrant could make them powerful.

The first to speak was the girl. Her black hair framed her sharp face, her eyes glistening with feverish delight. She clasped her hands at her chest and smiled far too wide. "Beautiful," she whispered, shuddering. "The way he crushed that boy, the way he did not stop even after the body gave out. Every strike was art. I could live forever in that sound."

The second was a boy with golden hair who looked at nothing but himself. He angled a shard of broken steel until it caught his reflection and smirked. "If the Boss had not done it, I would have. That pale Cain-lookalike was an insult. And Cain himself is no better. I do not allow anyone to be more attractive than I, Hans L Sommelier." He tilted his head, admiring the way the light caught his cheekbones.

The third was a brute with shoulders like boulders and fists still clenched tight. His grin was wild. "The Boss has grown stronger. I felt it from here. It makes my blood burn. I want to fight him, even if it kills me. That kind of power is worth standing against." His eyes glistened with reckless hunger.

The fourth had not spoken at all. Their dark hair hung low, shadowing sharp but soft features that made it impossible to place them cleanly as man or woman. A jet-black sword rested across their arms as if it weighed nothing. At last they stepped forward, their voice calm and flat.

"Bianca. Hans. Darius. Enough."

The names landed with a chill that silenced the others. "Get back to training."

The three stiffened. Bianca's smile twitched, her nails digging into her palms. Hans's perfect expression soured as though someone had spat in his wine. Darius clicked his tongue, shoulders rolling with irritation.

Yet none of them argued. Zil's command carried Paigos's weight. Zil was the right hand of their Boss, and even the favored had no choice but to follow.

Bianca turned first, muttering softly to herself, her smile refusing to fade. Hans fixed his collar and brushed his hair back into place, scoffing in Zil's direction. Darius growled low but trudged away, grinning despite his frustration.

Zil stayed where they were, steady as stone, their eyes unreadable beneath the dark fringe. Their silence lingered long after the others had gone, watching the blood that still stained the ground.

Zil stood still, the weight of their sword resting easily in their arms, as the circle of trembling students began to stir at last. Their eyes, hidden beneath a veil of dark hair, lingered on the blood pooled against the stone. The crimson mark glistened in the fading light, seared into the ground like a brand of Paigos's will.

Only after the silence had stretched thin did Zil finally move. Their head tilted slightly, the motion slow, deliberate, before they turned away from the stain.

"How long will this last?" the words left their lips in a hushed murmur, too quiet for any ear but their own.

Behind them, the other students broke from their paralysis. First a hesitant step, then another, until one of them darted forward. The dam of fear cracked, and suddenly three rushed to the broken boy's side. Their hands trembled as they reached for him, as if expecting Paigos to materialize again and punish them for touching his victim.

The boy groaned weakly, blood bubbling from his mouth. Relief flashed across their faces, though it was tempered with dread. His survival was not a gift, only a delay. They pressed cloths to his wounds, lifted his battered frame with shaking arms, and whispered frantic words of comfort that sounded more like pleas.

Zil's gaze lingered for only a moment longer. Then they turned fully, the soft drag of their boots barely audible over the panicked voices behind them. Their expression betrayed nothing, not joy, not disgust, not pity. Only stillness.

As the others struggled to carry the boy from the training ground, their eyes kept flicking toward the door Paigos had left through. None of them said it aloud, but the thought was carved in all their minds.

He could do it again.

And if he did, none of them would be able to stop him.

Zil moved ahead, the black sword gleaming faintly under the light. Their thoughts remained locked behind that unreadable mask, but the quiet question still hung in the air like a shadow.

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