Chapter 27: Ripples of Threat
The crowd's excitement still lingered in the air long after Kai's latest match had ended.
But not everyone was cheering.
Deep within a private chamber of the obsidian-walled pavilion reserved for the Veyron Dynasty, Auron Veyron stood with his fists clenched, watching a projection of Kai's fight on a floating screen of compressed light.
He said nothing, even as Kai disappeared and reappeared across the battlefield, cutting through Naela like she was standing still.
Behind him, a tall figure stood with arms folded behind his back. High Lord Ardran Veyron—elder of the Veyron bloodline, Council-level martialist, and Auron's direct sponsor—watched in silence, lips pursed.
"He wasn't supposed to be this strong," Auron said finally, voice tight. "Even you didn't foresee this."
Ardran raised one brow slightly. "He was meant to show potential. Not mastery."
He walked forward slowly, his presence bending the room with a suffocating stillness.
Then he reached into his robe and pulled out a small black container no bigger than a coin pouch. With a flick, he dropped it into Auron's hand. A single onyx pill lay inside, encased in a protective crystal sheath.
"If you fight him," Ardran said calmly, "and if things go poorly… take it. It will correct the balance."
Auron stared at the pill, unblinking. "What does it do?"
Ardran's voice dropped to a near whisper. "Enough."
He turned away, walking toward the edge of the private chamber.
"But know this," he added without looking back, "if you take it, there's no returning to the path you're on now."
⸻
Elsewhere, in the high pavilion of the Thornspire Sect, a silver-haired girl sat cross-legged on a balcony with her sect leader kneeling behind her.
"I've watched all his matches," she said, eyes still fixed on the arena below. "He's not just fast. He's… disjointed. Like he doesn't belong to the tempo of our world."
Her name was Lysa Thorn, one of the strongest prodigies of her generation, known for her Thornpierce techniques and the uncanny way she could read her opponent's intent.
"Your perception is your greatest weapon, Lysa," her sect master replied. "And if it's telling you something's wrong, trust it."
She frowned slightly. "He's holding back. Badly. Every win feels like he's cutting down weeds, not warriors."
"Then don't engage him directly," her master said. "Study him. Let others test the storm first."
⸻
That evening, back in the Emberlight encampment beneath their pavilion banners, Ren flopped onto the grass outside the resting quarters with a groan.
"Three fights in one day." he muttered. "And you haven't broken a sweat once. What the hell are you?"
Kai smirked slightly and handed him a chilled flask of fruit tonic.
Instructor Vale stood nearby, arms crossed, though her expression was more amused than strict.
"You've made a lot of noise," she said, walking a slow circle around him. "Enough that even the other sects are whispering your name now."
Kai remained quiet.
Vale stopped in front of him. "You've painted a target on your back, Kai."
Ren leaned forward, tone suddenly serious. "We heard from the Pavilion stewards—your next opponent tomorrow might be one of the top five seeded fighters. Auron or Lysa."
Kai raised an eyebrow. "Good."
Vale's eyes narrowed, not out of concern—but consideration. "Don't get arrogant. This stage isn't like the trials back home. Some of these kids were fed legacy pills before they learned how to stand. Others grew up killing."
Kai's voice was calm. "Then let them come."
The wind rustled the tournament flags high above the night tents, their fabric dancing in the dark.
Far across the encampment, under shadows and murmurs, other eyes watched him now.
Not with curiosity.
But with fear.