29.

He’s the king!

Dominic had left a bit before the operation could officially begin, making his way back to the arena, following the directions Aster had provided after tracking him the first day he went. He didn’t mean to upend any of Thelo or Yana’s plans—he just needed to make his own preparations.

The entrance he ended up at was an inconspicuous doorway in the bad part of Maylia’s capital, a staircase leading downwards once he drew the curtain acting as a door to one side. He followed it, the air cooling as it took him deeper underground. The scent of blood and damp earth surrounded everything.

He withdrew his mana, slipped past the guards, and followed his nose even further down.

Dominic was not going towards the stadium floor. He was going to meet someone.

A long corridor opened up before him, leading into a labyrinth of cells. Each held only the bare minimum to keep a person alive, separated from each other with thick mud walls inscribed with strengthening magic. A transparent barrier, like the one he’d seen in the holding pen, kept anyone from escaping into the hallway.

Countless cautious eyes fixed on him as he made his way through the maze. Nobody who wandered around so freely was someone they wanted to meet. Dominic kept his hood up and continued walking.

He approached one cell in particular—slightly larger and better kept than the others, perhaps from his continued successes. Ian looked up, seated as if hiding in the furthest corner of his bed alcove, his green eyes scrutinizing the stranger piercingly through the barrier.

He didn’t recognize Dominic. His face hadn’t changed, but they had only met up close once. Every other defining feature of Lio’s had either drastically been altered or was missing altogether.

Ian didn’t speak, but his mana made it clear what he was thinking, even with the thick barrier between them—a scathing, unwelcoming “Who are you?”

That was an easy question to answer.

Dominic raised his hand and put it against the barrier. The magic parted for him, rippling red around his fingers. The boy’s eyes widened.

“Come here, Ian,” he said.

Only one person knew his name. He quickly scrambled over, stopping in front of Dominic and looking up, eyes scanning his face, making sure his assumption had been correct. This really was the demon that had freed him.

“You said you wouldn't come back,” the boy said.

“I lied,” he replied. “Give me your hand.”

Ian held out his hand. Dominic took it and put the tip of his index finger to the boy’s palm. He hesitated for a moment, then drew a diamond shape, white mana appearing from underneath his touch. It glowed faintly.

“…Uliana?” Ian said, looking down at it.

“Yes.”

The little white moon was shaped a bit like an uneven diamond. Dominic touched the boy’s palm, feeling the mana attached to his skin.

“Today’s the last day,” he said. “When this disappears…”

He lifted his fingers.

“…Run to the arena. Lead every slave here up to the ring.”

Dominic retracted his hand, the barrier returning to normal without his interference.

“And after that, you can run wherever you want to go.”

Ian stared at the diamond, then clenched his hand into a fist.

“Okay,” he replied.

Dominic nodded, then stepped back.

“I’ll see you later then,” he said.

“Wait!”

Just as he was starting to walk away, Ian reached out to stop him, his hand hitting the barrier. It reacted and blew him backwards. He landed on his butt, fingertips singed.

“Your name,” he said, looking up, not even acknowledging the pain that had to be traveling up through his shivering arms. “Tell me your name.”

The mana that came off the boy unsettled Dominic momentarily. It burned and sparked like lightning—furious, passionate, in contrast to the calm look on his face. There was no memory of an orchard or of warm sunlight left in it. Blood and bone. A dry wind. The light of the white moon over a cold desert. The signature that defined him had changed completely over the course of just a couple weeks. He had only done the bare minimum by freeing the boy, and yet Ian couldn’t seem to let him go. He didn’t deserve the trust in those eyes.

Dominic crouched down and reached through the barrier again, touching Ian’s hand lightly. A gold glow trickled down over his skin, and when it retreated, his burned fingertips had returned to normal.

“It’s Dominic,” he answered, standing up.

Ian stared for a moment, then nodded, clenching his hand.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll wait for your signal, Dominic.”

He looked down at him a moment longer, then turned and headed away.

It wasn’t hard to find the path to the ring. It stank more than anything else. He passed by a couple sets of guards, twisting through the halls until he reached one that finally had a light at the end. He walked forward until the stands came into view through the doorway onto the arena floor, his figure still shaded by the ceiling above.

He stood there, and just watched. The crowd spoke loudly, a constant buzz of activity rippling through the air and echoing into the tunnel. The ring was empty for the time being, cleaners on the floor scraping up the remnants of the last game. The countess sat in her usual front row seat, halfway down the stadium, accompanied by Kilan Gela, who seemed eager to please her.

Dominic touched his earring and waited. It wasn’t long before a familiar voice responded to his call.

“You took longer than I expected,” Midi said.

Dominic smiled as his mana came through, blocking out the scents of the arena by a fraction.

“You told me you didn’t want me to call,” he replied.

The owl huffed, then proceeded to ignore his comment.

“What do you want?” he asked. “I doubt this is just casual greetings. I can feel some unsavory things coming from your side.”

“I’m working on something,” Dominic answered vaguely. Midi probably didn’t care about the details anyway. “I had a question for you before I go any further.”

“Go on.”

“I’ve heard the king is 1500 years old,” he said. “Did you know him?”

There was a pause on the other end.

“I knew of him,” he replied. “But we weren’t close.”

“Can I ask you some things about him?”

“You can ask, but the person I knew was a young man,” he said. “That likely isn’t who he is anymore.”

“How young was he then?”

“Oh, I don’t remember. 400? 450?”

Dominic chuckled dryly to himself. That was almost twice as old as the former viscount had been, and yet that was still considered young.

“Tell me about him,” he said.

The bloodied sand was slowly being cleared from the center of the arena. Midi hummed as he thought.

“Do you know how the monarchy works in Hesia, Dominic?” the owl asked.

“Is it not by bloodline?”

“No. The sovereign of Hesia is selected by strength,” Midi said. “The strongest demon—or human, as it was possible before the Rift—would rule everything.”

Dominic frowned.

“That seems like a system doomed to eventually fail,” he remarked.

“It manages because their definition of strength is not brute force,” Midi replied. “Strength as a monarch is what is sought after. Regardless, you understand what I mean. The king is the strongest on the continent, and has always been. That’s the kind of person he is.”

There was a pause on the other end, and the distant sound of a page flipping. Perhaps he had been reading a book before Dominic interrupted with his call.

“He is undisputed, so it’s easy to guess that he probably felt the effects of the Rift more than anyone else on the continent,” Midi continued. “That would have been the first time things were out of his control. The first time that he’d been looked down upon.”

A hazy idea of what the king was like, or had been like, began to form in Dominic’s head.

“He undoubtedly would have been extremely passionate when it came to breaking the barrier,” Midi said, “so I can see why you’re seeking him out. But you should know that a thousand years can change a person.”

There was the sound of another page being flipped. It seemed that Midi had easily guessed why he was calling about the king.

“Perhaps he doesn’t want to hear about it anymore.”

Dominic had considered that possibility. The barrier would obviously be a sore spot for the ruler of Hesia. They were effectively caged inside. It would be hard to judge whether or not the king still wanted to acknowledge it.

He let out a small sigh.

“I’ll see when I talk to him,” he said.

“Don’t get your head blown off on your first meeting.”

“I’m flattered that you’re worried for me, Midi.”

The owl snorted. Dominic stared out at the arena. The cleaners were hauling off their cart of flesh and bloodied sludge, leaving so the new round could begin.

“The king,” he said, “was he a just person?”

“You’re going to have to elaborate on what you think ‘justice’ is,” Midi replied.

He was quiet for a moment as he thought about it. Perhaps ‘justice’ wasn’t even what he had meant.

The ring was empty now without the cleaners. Blood was still soaking through the layer of sand they’d dumped and raked over the old stains. He could feel slaves being summoned from their chambers, several presences rising from the holding pens and into the halls.

“If I made a couple of his enemies bleed,” Dominic said, “would he label me a barbarian?”

There was silence for a moment, as if Midi was surprised by the question, and then a loud, sharp laugh.

“Of course not, Dominic!” he shouted.

His voice was jovial, and it pierced through Dominic’s ears as he spoke.

“He’s the king!”

He’s the king. He understood with that one line. This was what it meant to be a sovereign determined by strength.

“No one qualified to rule Hesia has ever been soft,” Midi said. “To take a position like that, you cannot be swayed by anything.”

That was all the confirmation he needed.

“Thanks, Midi,” Dominic said.

“Are you done with me already?” the owl replied jokingly.

“For your sake, I’ll keep this short.”

“Sure.” He chuckled. “Don’t get yourself killed by the king too quickly.”

“I’ll see if I can.”

The connection between them fizzled out as the mana was disconnected. In the ring, a huge combat slave had appeared from a corridor opposite to him, and he stomped to the center, the club in his hands reminiscent of a tree trunk. Slowly, one by one, challengers began appearing from hallways around the arena, walking warily out into the light. One even emerged from behind Dominic, passed him by without noticing his presence, and stepped onto the ring.

A hush fell over the crowd, and as Dominic gazed out at the show, he felt the mana around him thicken—every sound falling back into a muted, incoherent murmur. As if water had flooded the stadium and filled his ears, separating him from the violence that was happening out on the sand and the stands that were filled with cheers of celebration at the sight of blood.

The remaining slaves who had not yet been smashed by the giant man’s club retreated and held each other, huddling just outside of the hall Dominic was standing in. Perhaps it was only a coincidence that they had ended up here. But perhaps they instinctively had felt it—that something about the mana in that direction was different. They trusted their backs to him and waited for their turn to come.

Dominic stepped out onto the arena floor, the light falling onto his black cloak and shading his face. He didn’t bother to hide his mana anymore. Everyone could look if they wanted to. They wouldn’t be seeing him for much longer.

A lean man who looked to be around 40 shielded the others, glancing between Dominic and the giant approaching them.

“…Who are you?” he asked, trying to keep his shaking voice from betraying his fear.

Dominic slowly raised a hand and put his palm on the man’s head. The man tried to pry his wrist off, but it wouldn’t budge.

“See for yourself,” Dominic said.

The mana around him gathered in an instant, sending dust from the floor billowing upwards in a tempest.

A gold glow began to seep out from his fingertips.