Time soon passed, and the horn blasted a deep, resonant vibration carved from the hollowed tusk of a Mammoth that rattled the very bones of the spectators.

DOOOOOM.

The heavy iron gates of Block C ground open, screeching against the permafrost like a dying beast.

A roar from fifty thousand throats hit the competitors like a physical wave.

The Arena of Fangs was a pit of white ice and frozen blood, surrounded by tiered seating carved directly into the sheer glacier walls.

"Fighters!" The announcer, a scrawny Fox-kin perched safely on a floating platform, grinned with too many teeth, his magically amplified voice cutting through the wind.

"Welcome to culling games!"

Below, fifty warriors stood in a loose, chaotic circle.

Massive Polar Bear-kin hefted stone pillars like twigs, Wolf-kin packs coordinated their breathing in sync, and Boar-kin sharpened their tusks against the ice.

And in the corner, a solitary island of calm in a sea of aggression, stood

"Leo."

Leona pulled her white cloak tighter. The wind here was fierce, swirling snow into blinding vortices, yet she stood perfectly still, her breath misting in the freezing air.

"Rules are simple!" The Fox-kin cackled.

"Last one standing moves to the Quarter-Finals! No mercy! No surrender!"

"BEGIN!"

The arena exploded into violence.

A massive Walrus-kin swung a flail, crushing the skull of a nearby goblin instantly.

Two Wolf-kin teamed up to hamstring a Minotaur, blood spraying onto the pristine ice and freezing within seconds.

"Hey, Runt!"

A shadow eclipsed Leona.

A Grizzly Bear-kin, easily nine feet tall and a tapestry of tribal scars, loomed over her. He wielded two crude iron axes, his breath reeking of rotten meat.

"You look soft," the Bear growled, stepping closer to crowd her space. "Go home before I—"

He swung.

However, for his moves, Leona didn't even bother dodging..

She stepped in.

Using her good hand, she gripped the thick fur of the Bear's chest.

"Move."

She twisted her hips. Leveraging her low center of gravity and the explosive torque of her Lion-kin muscles, she turned his own mass against him.

WHOOSH.

The nine-foot-tall Bear went airborne. He soared over the heads of the fighting crowd, cleared the spiked barricades, and crashed into the stone wall of the spectator stands thirty feet away.

CRACK.

He hit the wall and slid down, unconscious, his axes clattering uselessly to the floor.

The spectators near the impact zone went dead silent. Then, they roared.

"Did you see that?!"

"The runt threw a Grizzly!"

In the arena, Leona didn't celebrate. She turned, her eyes already scanning for the next threat.

A pack of three Wolf-kin saw the throw. They exchanged glances, dropping their current targets to circle her like liquid shadows.

"Fast," one Wolf yipped, drool dripping from his maw.

"Flank him!"

They lunged simultaneously, one high, two low.

Leona dropped to one knee. She swept her leg in a brutal arc, catching the two lower wolves in the ankles.

CRUNCH.

Bones shattered. The wolves collapsed, howling in the snow.

The third wolf, airborne, brought his daggers down toward her neck.

Leona didn't panic. She raised her left arm, the one wrapped in heavy, oil-stained bandages.

Easily backhanding him out of the air.

BANG.

The bandaged limb hit the wolf like a battering ram.

There was a sickening sound of metal hitting flesh, muffled by heavy cloth.

The wolf spun violently in the air, crashing into the ice with enough force to bounce. He didn't get up.

Leona stood, shaking the snow off her cloak.

No sword. No magic. No aura. She was simply walking through the battlefield, dismantling anyone foolish enough to approach her with efficient, brutal strikes.

.....

[The High Lodge]

King Scar swirled his wine, resting his chin on a clawed fist.

"Boring," he grumbled, watching the chaos below with half-lidded eyes.

"Just brute strength. No technique. No elegance."

Next to him sat Prince Gorn. The golden-furred prince was cleaning his greataxe with a silk cloth, looking equally unimpressed.

"Block C has a strong one," Gorn noted, pointing a claw at Leona.

"That white-cloaked one. He fights like a slave gladiator. Efficient but ugly."

"A thug from the border," Scar dismissed with a wave of his hand.

"Look at his left arm. It's crippled. Bound in rags. He probably can't even use auraproperly."

Scar leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he tried to sense the warrior's aura.

Usually, a Lion-kin's aura was bright and aggressive, burning like a sun.

But this warrior's aura was... muffled. Dark. Heavy.

It felt less like a lion and more like a void.

"Strange," Scar muttered.

"But ultimately meaningless. Physical strength hits a wall when it meets true magic. Wait until the Shamans enter the fray."

.....

[The Arena Floor]

Ten minutes later, the herd had been thinned.

Out of fifty warriors in Block C, only two remained standing.

Leona stood on one side of the ice, breathing steadily.

On the other side stood a Serpent-kin Shaman. He was draped in blue robes, holding a staff topped with a glowing sapphire. The air around him crackled with static electricity.

"I have watched you, brute," the Shaman hissed, his tongue flickering.

"You have strong muscles. But muscles cannot punch lightning."

The Shaman slammed his staff into the ice.

"Storm Totem: Chain Lightning!"

ZAP!

A bolt of blue lightning, thick as a tree trunk, erupted from the staff.

It arced across the arena, tearing up the ice, moving faster than the eye could follow.

The crowd gasped. This was 4th Order Magic. A physical fighter couldn't dodge that.

But Leona didn't try to dodge.

She took a step forward.

She raised her left arm, the bandaged, bulky limb she had kept hidden by her side the entire tournament.

She opened her hand.

VOOOM.

The air in the arena suddenly grew heavy. The static electricity vanished, sucked into a vacuum.

Leona caught the lightning.

CRACK-FIZZ.

The bolt of magical energy hit her bandaged palm. In the face of her void arm, all magic was null.

The lightning writhed like a trapped snake, then collapsed in on itself, absorbed into the bandages.

"What?" The Shaman's eyes bulged.

"Impossible! That was a direct hit!"

Leona squeezed her fist.

The bandages smoked. A faint, ominous purple light glowed through the gaps in the fabric.

"Is that all?" Leona asked, her voice distorted by her mask.

She pointed her bandaged fist at the Shaman.

"Return."

BOOM.

Releasing the kinetic energy stored from the attack, she launched it back! A move she learnt during these past two years.

A shockwave of purple-tinged force blasted across the arena.

It hit the Shaman, shattering his staff and launching him clear out of the ring.

In a flash he slammed into the barrier wall, sliding down in a heap.

Silence.

Absolute silence fell over the Arena of Fangs.

Fifty thousand Beast-kin stared in disbelief.

Catching magic with a bare hand? That wasn't a warrior's skill. That was a monster's skill.

In the Council Box, the Elders, the ancient leaders of the tribes, sat up straight.

"Did you see that?" an old Wolf Elder whispered, his ears perked.

"That wasn't an artifact," a Bear Elder rumbled.

"Or was it?. Who is that warrior?"

Leona lowered her arm. The purple glow faded beneath the bandages.

She looked up at the High Lodge, directly at Prince Gorn.

The announcer, shaking off his shock, stammered into his horn.

"W-Winner of Block C! The Freelancer... LEO!"

The crowd erupted, chanting the name.

"LEO! LEO! LEO!"

Leona turned and walked toward the exit tunnel. Neither waving nor bowing.

She walked with the steady, terrifying rhythm of a predator who had just marked her prey.

One down, she thought, clutching the hidden Void Gauntlet. The Prince is next.

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