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Chapter 39 - The culling

The first round began not with a trumpet, nor a call, but with the thunder of twenty hearts colliding at once.

The instant the Herald's staff struck stone, chaos bloomed.

Twenty warriors surged forward like wild flame, no formation, no mercy, no plan but survival. The ground shuddered under their boots, sand bursting upward as steel met steel. Blades screamed. Shields shattered. The noise was less battle and more a storm of bodies, a dozen wars compressed into one inferno.

A mountain of a man from House Azareth, a brute wielding a warhammer that could crush a man in half charged into the fray. His first swing was reckless, devastating. It caught a boy half his size in the ribs with a sound like breaking wood.

The boy folded, blood spraying from his mouth before he even hit the ground. The crowd's gasp turned to savage delight.

"FIRST FALL TO HOUSE ZAHAR!" roared someone draped in the red of that House, face streaked with ash and pride.

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