The Elf Queen's voice cut through the tension like a knife through silk. Calm. Musical. A stream of cool water in a river of boiling rage.

Her offer wasn't peace. It wasn't surrender. It was a different, more interesting kind of war.

Dante looked at her carefully. Studying her. At the ancient, amused wisdom showing in her forest-green eyes. Eyes that had seen centuries pass. Maybe millennia.

He had no need for their sympathy. No desire for their offers of protection or alliance. His path was already set in his mind. Already decided.

But to walk that path successfully, he needed time. And he needed to avoid making enemies of all the most powerful beings in this world at once. Avoid them all trying to kill him simultaneously.

To be a king, one must first learn to be a side character. A player moving in the shadows, building power, waiting for the right moment. Until the time comes to step into the light and seize the throne.

Her bet wasn't a solution to his problems.

It was an opportunity. A chance to buy time.

"What about that bet?" he asked. His voice was calm. The raging tyrant within him was once again chained and hidden behind a mask of cold, practical curiosity.

Queen Elyndra's smile was slow. Beautiful. Very clever.

She lowered her fan. Revealing lips that had probably inspired poems and started wars.

"It's simple, dear Dante," she said. Her voice was soft. Musical. But it carried clearly to every corner of the silent amphitheater. Everyone could hear.

"Prove your worth."

She paused. Let the words hang in the air.

"And save yourself from death."

He let out a short, sharp laugh. Completely humorless. The sound was jarring in the tense silence. Unexpected.

"An execution?" he repeated. His voice dripped with cold judgment. Contempt. "I think you weren't listening to the old man from the north. Or to me for that matter."

He gestured toward Rowan.

"His threat was to get rid of a tool. To dispose of a weapon that wouldn't obey."

He pointed at himself.

"My defiance was a declaration that I cannot be gotten rid of. That I'm not something you can just throw away when convenient."

He looked directly at her. Meeting those ancient eyes.

"You cannot kill what is already immortal, Queen Elyndra."

He let that sink in. Watched her expression.

"Survival is not the prize here. It's not the goal. It's the starting point. The baseline."

He took a step forward. His gaze swept over the gallery of stunned, angry leaders.

"Your bet has no reward for us," he stated. His voice was cold. Hard. The language of a negotiator who wouldn't be cheated. "It's your win-win situation."

"If you win, you get what you want. An amusing new toy for your collection, I assume."

"And if we win, what do we get? We get to avoid a pointless battle that you would have lost anyway?"

He shook his head.

"That's not a wager. That's an insult to my power."

A flicker of genuine surprise crossed the Elf Queen's face. Then deep, profound amusement sparkled in her eyes.

"Confident, are we?" she said. Her smile widened. "Very well. You can add your own terms to the wager. We don't mind."

"We?"

A cold, silken voice cut in.

The Vampire King, Valtheris, rose from his shadowed seat. His crimson eyes burned with cold, furious light.

"You cannot make decisions on your own, Elyndra," he said. His voice was a low, dangerous whisper. Like it was sucking warmth from the air. "You're offering a chance to a heretic who has openly defied the will of the gods."

He stepped forward. Threatening.

"Trying to save this bastard will grant you one thing. And one thing only."

His eyes blazed.

"Remember the price of defiance."

He was threatening her with death. With war.

Elyndra didn't even flinch. Didn't react at all.

She turned her calm, ancient gaze upon the Vampire King. Slowly. Deliberately. The amusement in her eyes was replaced by a cold, hard light that was far more terrifying than his rage. Far more dangerous.

"And who, pray tell, will deliver this price?" she asked. Her voice was soft. Deadly. Like poisoned honey. "You, Valtheris?"

She tilted her head slightly. Almost mocking.

"The king of a kingdom that has never once won against my people in The Eternal Clash?"

She let the question hang. Let it cut.

The Vampire King's handsome face tightened. Muscles tensing. Genuine anger flickered in his crimson eyes. A nerve had been struck. A wound reopened.

She'd hit him where it hurt most. His pride.

"Our kingdom is the most powerful among you all," she continued. Her voice was still soft. Still gentle. But now it rang with absolute authority. The authority of someone who'd ruled for longer than most kingdoms had existed. "Therefore, I have the right to do whatever I want in the case of these heroes."

Clap.

A single, slow, completely mocking clap echoed through the amphitheater.

Lord Rowan of Thalric was on his feet. A cruel, triumphant smile on his face.

"You're missing something, Queen Elyndra," he said. His voice was a low, rumbling growl. "You're no longer the rank one kingdom."

He looked smug. Satisfied.

"Remember the hero my kingdom acquired fifty years ago? The one who made all your proud elven warriors kneel?"

He pointed at her.

"Yes, you may be powerful because of your ancient bloodline. Your long history."

"But things have changed. And as you said, the rank one power can make the decision."

He spread his arms.

"So I believe I'm the better choice here."

The air was thick with clashing egos. This wasn't about Dante and his team anymore. It was about their own ancient rivalries. Power struggles that had existed for centuries.

"Alright."

A calm, practical voice cut in.

"Don't make this more complex than it needs to be."

Damien von Crestia stood up. His expression was patient. Like a merchant trying to mediate a fight between children.

"We can vote for the conclusion."

He looked around at all the leaders.

"Either the heroes face the consequences for their insolence, as is our right. Or we grant them the chance to prove their worth, as Queen Elyndra has so... entertainingly proposed."

He raised his eyebrows.

"Is that all right with everyone?"

There was a low murmur of disagreement. The kings and lords weren't used to democracy. Being told what to do. But Damien's logic was sound.

It was the cleanest, most efficient way to resolve the stalemate. Without resorting to a war none of them truly wanted.

One by one, they gave their reluctant, grumbling approval.

The voting began.

Dante and his team stood on the stage. Exposed. Vulnerable. Their fates being decided by a show of hands. Like they were items on a ballot. Issues to be voted on rather than people.

Talia moved closer to Jin. Her hand found his. Squeezed tight. Seeking comfort.

"What have you done, Dante?" she whispered. Her voice was trembling. Barely controlled. "Now we really are in a great mess. A mess we might not survive."

Dante didn't answer immediately. Didn't turn to look at her.

He turned slightly to Lana instead. Her face showed pure, happy excitement. Like this was the best entertainment she'd had in weeks.

"Don't worry," she whispered. Her eyes sparkled with dangerous light. "I won't scold you for this. I'm ready to fight."

She grinned wider.

"This is so much more fun than a boring auction would have been. I was getting tired of standing around."

Erica, her own fear burning like competitive fire inside her, moved to his other side. Protective. Ready.

"I'll burn this whole damn place to the ground if anything goes wrong," she murmured. Her promise was a low, dangerous growl. Completely serious. She meant every word.

Masha, however, was looking at him differently. Her eyes showed sharp, analytical curiosity. Trying to figure out his angle.

"So this was your plan all along? To force a fight?" she asked quietly. "To make them give us terms instead of just accepting theirs?"

She leaned closer.

"And what is it you want from them? What are your terms for this bet?"

"It's a secret," he said. A slow, cold smile touched his lips. "You'll know when we win."

"Oh, god," she sighed. Rolling her eyes. "Which means I'll never know."

"Don't be so negative, Masha," he replied.

On the gallery above, the votes were being cast.

"For punishment," the announcer called out. His voice echoed in the tense silence.

Lord Rowan's hand shot up immediately. Fast. Decisive.

Then the Vampire King's. His movements smooth. Elegant.

And finally, Lucien von Dravien's. A cruel, satisfied smirk on his face. Like he was looking forward to the execution.

Three votes for punishment.

"For a chance," the announcer continued.

Elira the Sage raised her hand immediately. A warm, hopeful smile on her face. She wanted them to live.

Then King Adrian. His expression showed weary reluctance. Like he didn't really want to do this but felt he should.

And finally, the Elf Queen. Her vote was a single, elegant gesture. Graceful. Deliberate.

Three votes for a chance.

A perfect tie.

The announcer wiped his brow. Nervous sweat beading on his forehead.

"Well now," he said. His voice was strained. "It seems the decision rests entirely on the vote of Lord Damien von Crestia."

Every eye in the amphitheater turned to the master merchant. Every head swiveled. Every breath held.

He stood there for a long, dramatic moment. His face was thoughtful. Considering carefully. Weighing options. Calculating outcomes. Enjoying his position as the kingmaker. The one who held all the power in this moment. The one who would decide if six people lived or died.

He looked at the angry, vengeful faces of Rowan and Valtheris. Men who wanted blood. Wanted punishment. Wanted to make an example out of these insolent heroes. Wanted to show the world what happened when you defied the gods' will.

He looked at the hopeful, calm faces of Elira and Adrian. People who wanted mercy. Who wanted to give them a chance. Who saw potential instead of just threat.

Then his gaze settled on Dante. Studied him for a long moment.

He wasn't looking at a hero. He wasn't looking at a heretic or a rebel.

He was looking at an investment. Pure and simple.

A volatile, high-risk investment. Dangerous. Unpredictable. But potentially world-changing. An asset that could pay off massively or explode in his face spectacularly.

The silence stretched. Became almost unbearable. Suffocating.

"I am a businessman," Damien finally said. His voice was calm. Reasonable. Matter-of-fact. Like he was making a simple business decision. Which, in his mind, he was.

"And I have always found that a living, indebted partner is far more profitable than a dead, useless enemy."

He paused. Let everyone absorb that logic. That cold calculation.

He raised his hand slowly. Deliberately. Making sure everyone saw.

"I choose to give them a chance."

A single, collective, deep sigh of relief went through the team behind Dante. Released tension flooding out of them all at once.

The execution had been stayed. For now. They'd bought themselves time.

The game was still on.

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