The battlefield, once roaring with cheers and ceremonial declarations, now lay wrapped in a heavy silence. The scent of blood had not yet tainted the air, but something equally sharp hung above - anticipation.
Fires crackled quietly across the field, their flames casting long, dancing shadows over tents and armor. Warriors whispered, weapons rested, and all eyes occasionally drifted to the center, where eight names burned brighter than any torch.
Inside one of the more refined tents, lined with navy blue velvet and silver embroidery, sat Noelle Lanis - daughter of Neptune Lanis, King of the Kingdom of Novels. Her presence was calm, elegant, effortless. She sat with grace, unbothered by the looming threat of death.
A soft voice broke the quiet hum of her space.
"My lady, your food is here..." said a young maid, bowing slightly as she entered with a silver tray.
Noelle turned, her voice like music on still water. "Thank you. You may leave now. And please, protect the tent if you can."
The maid stood still for a heartbeat too long, mesmerized. In her heart, she whispered: That's why they call her Madam Noelle... The most beautiful woman alive. Her voice alone could kill a thousand men. But it's not just beauty - she carries a sword too, and legend says it dances like wind in her hands. She's refused every prince across the world... and when you look at her, why wouldn't she? No man alive can match her grace.
Noelle began to eat, poised, silent, thoughtful. Yet beyond the silk of her tent, the air began to stir.
---
Not far to the north - only a few dozen paces from Noelle's camp - a different kind of energy pulsed in the ground. Tense. Dangerous.
A tall figure approached with the ease of someone used to being obeyed, and the arrogance of someone used to being feared.
"So you're Robert," said Nyros Varkari, his voice smooth but laced with malice. His eyes glinted beneath the firelight, and his mouth curved into a devilish grin. "I've always wanted to know if the stories were true... that you, of all people, could kill a member of the Varkari family."
Robert sat by his own fire, one massive hand gripping a roasted leg of meat. He didn't rise. He didn't even blink.
"I was told since childhood," Nyros continued, "that only a handful in this world could challenge our bloodline. And your name... it was whispered among those few. So, I've waited - waited for the chance to taste your strength. To test how your blood feels on my hands."
Robert looked up slowly, chewing, eyes cool. "Nyros, right?" he said, licking grease from his thumb. "Why so aggressive? You really think you can beat me?"
Nyros said nothing, only watching with burning red eyes.
Robert stood, dusting crumbs from his hands. His body was thick with muscle, his posture relaxed yet terrifying.
"Alright," he said at last, stepping forward. "From now till the end of the battlefield, if you can touch me even once - just once - I'll accept defeat."
Then, his voice dropped lower, sharper. "But if you can't... what then?"
Nyros's grin faltered for a second. Then, regaining composure, he offered a mocking bow. "Then I'll follow whatever you say."
Both men stood in silence, the fire casting flickers of gold between them. Warriors nearby pretended not to watch, but their eyes were fixed, breaths held.
A few paces away, emerging quietly from her tent, Noelle stepped into the night. She gazed toward the two men with mild amusement.
Men, she thought with a sigh. So arrogant and disgusting. In the face of real danger, they still cling to their egos like children to toys.
She turned back toward her tent, her silhouette briefly caught in the firelight - radiant, mysterious, unreadable.
The night deepened. The ground, like the hearts of its warriors, waited - still and quiet - before the storm.
--