With every time Mattiew entered the arena, his armor weighted heavier on his shoulders. If this trend kept up, he’d be crushed under his lamellar three trials in.

It was midday in the Great Gridiron and the heat of the Veyshtari sun beat down on him.

The weapons at his hips were restraints more than tools for killing.

String musicians and drummers heralded the arrival of himself and other contestants from Tiamat’s Gullet, though they were nearly drowned out by the unofficial welcome from thousands of roaring spectators.

Mattiew’s eyes kept shifting to the Sunkiller, through the crowd of contestants. After his confrontation with her and her spymaster’s breaking and entering, he was wary of the massive and inevitable problem that she posed.

“Here they are! Your Bellirex Competitors! Your Princes and Princesses!” a magically amplified voice announced, originating from a man standing on the edge of the giant, cliff-like podium near the top of the arena.

Mattiew frowned. Kalai had called him a prince the other day. Perhaps that was just the term for a competitor, though the title didn’t hold as much dignity as it seemed the organizers wanted.

The Trial of Passion would take place today. There were a few theories going around Mattiew’s head. If he were to look at Acerno, the nation that took the Oath of Passion in the Eightfold Pact, perhaps he would be forced to fight the first few rounds of the tournament under the effects of a lot of drugs and aphrodisiacs.

“Welcome! To the Trial of Passion!” The announcer was enjoying his job too much. “Are you ready for your first Trial?”

The competitors around Mattiew let out cheers and battle-hungry cries. He didn’t let himself get caught up in the excitement.

“Then allow me to introduce the great queen of Acerno to introduce our grand bout! Queen Caetronia!”

People applauded for one of their empresses as a young woman with golden hair and olive skin, dressed in the most expensive silks, stepped out onto the stone podium that jutted out from the rows of seats.

The queen waited for the Gridiron to quiet itself before speaking.

“Today, your capabilities in Passion will be tested.” Caetronia’s voice flitted like a butterfly, high pitched and soft. “Your ability to feel. Your ability to connect with others. A good leader uses every emotion they have to their advantage. But a great leader takes those emotions and imbues them into each of their subjects, making them believe in your ambitions. So today, each of you will test your passion.

“We will see if yours is great enough to fuel the hearts of your subjects by pitting your generals against one another in duels. The use of sorcery is not permitted. Mana should not fuel these battles. Passion should.”

With that, the queen walked back to an unseen shaded area where the other monarchs were likely seated.

The announcer started speaking again. “Those of you whose generals perform well will win immunity in today’s bracket. Win and you will be guaranteed a spot in the Trial of Cooperation. Lose, and you will have to fight a duel yourself for your spot. Twenty five will move on. Twenty five will go home. With that, let us officially start our Bellirex!”

Immunity? A bye. Mattiew’s heart pounded with anticipation. Not only would he be able to skip out of the fighting, but he could watch his opponents’ matches and figure out their sorcery before he even entered the ring with them.

On papyrus, this Trial was a test of the effects of one’s charisma. Something he had in spades. But there was the fact that Dakkar was an older man. He was far more experienced, but was he still spry enough to outmaneuver a younger fighter? Not to mention the other million factors that go into determining the outcome of a duel.

But none of them would be allowed to use sorcery. Dakkar was still a Sea Scourger, no matter how old.

“Let us begin our first matches!”

***

Mattiew watched duels all through the morning on the benches along the walls of the arena. It seemed contestants were free to act as coaches for their generals, but beyond that, he could offer no assistance.

Many of the generals were sorcerers and not used to fighting battles without it.

Some kind of poisonous tree sap was being administered in small doses to deprive sorcerers of access to mana.

Mattiew would have to investigate where that sap came from. If he ever faced the Sunkiller again, it’d really come in handy.

He thought about using it on Reina to get rid of Adriana’s curse, but if that was how the curse worked, they could just kill her mother and leave.

“You shouldn’t look so worried, friend.”

Mattiew’s gaze snapped to his right. It was Khemti Sett. And friends. From just a quick glance, he could see a slender woman in blue who appeared to like knives, a masked man cloaked in shadows, and a blind woman with shamanic paints anointing her face as they all took seats near him.

“I don’t know what constitutes being worried to you, Sett, but I assure you I’m fine.” Mattiew replied.

“Then quit staring at the sandpit like you’re paying attention. The only duel that really matters is yours. But only if you’re weak.”

Mattiew raised an eyebrow.

“That came out wrong. I mean that people who are strong enough don’t really care about this Trial. They don’t need the immunity, no matter how vital to them the announcer insists it is. And this whole thing is more for entertainment value than testing us.” Khemti said.

“It’s all just a dramatic show.” the woman blue sighed.

“Show or not, the Trial is still vital.” the blind woman said.

“Isn’t this whole thing supposed to be a sacred ritual of determining who’s the most fit to lead?’ Mattiew asked.

“Yes, but the committee can’t see any harm in making a profit off the event as well.” the masked man muttered, “I can understand it, but I would argue this is going a tad too far.”

“Do you wanna introduce me to your little following, Sett?” Mattiew asked.

“Oh, yes. This here is Yasha.” Sett patted the woman in blue on her head of long, golden hair, “The masked one is Alpheos. And the girl that gives you a constant feeling of eeriness is Hannaneh.” He pointed to the blind woman. “Everyone, this is Mattiew. He won’t tell me what kind of sorcerer he is. I figured that if I was going to spend all day waiting for duels, I’d do well to make some friends.”

“We aren’t friends, Sett.” Mattiew said, “We’re supposed to be looking to kill each other.”

“Accidentally kill each other.” Yasha corrected, “All acceptable deaths have to be labeled as accidents.”

“A death is a death.” Mattiew shrugged.

“We don’t have to go at each other’s throats just yet.” Khemti said, “I heard your wife’s a Callione. Are you a Cursemaker?”

Mattiew pinched the bridge of his nose, “If I tell you, will you promise never to nag me about something ever again? And also never to tell anyone.”

“Promise.” Sett swore.

Mattiew sighed, “I’m not.”

“You’re not what?”

“A sorcerer, Khemti.” Hannaneh said, “I sense no mana entwined with his being.”

Khemti’s eyes shot open, as the other three sorcerers muttered to each other.

“You must either be incredibly brave or suicidal, my friend.” Khemti said.

“I’m not your friend.” Mattiew repeated, “And I’m neither, for the record. I just want something really really bad. And this is how I get it.”

“Khempti. You’re up.” Alpheos pointed with a black, metal-encased hand to the sandpit.

“Oh, shit.” Khemti hissed. “Good talk, Mattiew. We oughta meet up again some time!”

Khemti stumbled down the benches, trying to get to his general. Mattiew scoffed.

When time drew close to Dakkar’s duel, he returned to Tiamat’s Gullet to find the old man sharpening a thin bronze axe blade, barely longer than his middle finger was long.

He’d also armed himself with a wooden cudgel and a sling. Dakkar was too frail to string a bow now, but his aim with a sling was always true. He had a small round shield strapped to his arm, much like Mattiew’s.

Dakkar had opted for scale mail and hardened linen for armor. Mattiew thought it a shame that he couldn’t break out Dakkar’s behemoth set of full bronze plate armor. It was both intimidating and hilarious at the same time. Though, it was also probably heavier than Dakkar now.

“You’re up soon.” Mattiew said. “Need help with anything?”

Dakkar glanced up from his whetstone. “I’m good, but thanks.”

Mattiew leaned against the wall of the tunnel and huffed. “If I’d know they were-”

“Don't apologize, Matty.” Dakkar grinned. “You couldn’t have known. Besides, it wouldn’t really be our dream if you did all the work. If you wanna do something, drink a Bog Brew to make sure my opponent’s not cheating somehow.”

“Ugh, pass.” Mattiew scrunched up his nose.

Dakkar tsked and lightly kicked Mattiew in the shin. “Either drink up or stop moping.”

“Fine.” Mattiew rolled his eyes and grabbed a small canteen at his hip. He pinched his nose and downed its contents, cringing once the vile concoction was down his throat.

Strands of gold appeared to him before he unfocused, causing them to vanish.

“You don’t gotta worry ‘bout a thing, Matty.” Dakkar slapped Mattiew’s arm. “I wanna be here. And I may be old, but like that golden-haired cutie said, what matters is the passion.”

“‘Golden-haired cutie’? Would you like to rephrase?” Mattiew stifled a laugh. “That’s the empress of Acerno you’re talking about.”

“I think Emmita would’ve wanted me to be a bit of a perverted old man after all this time.” Dakkar shrugged, smiling.

“I think Emmita would roll in her grave if she could.” Mattiew scoffed.

He glanced at one of Dakkar’s pauldrons. On its black leather surface was painted in gold, a double headed axe blade with a pair of bull’s horns behind it, bordered by an oceanic pattern that circled the glyph. He hadn’t seen it before, but the crest of the Sea Scourgers was sitting bold and emblazoned on Dakkar’s shoulder.

Mattiew frowned. “You sure you wanna wear that thing out in public?”

Dakkar looked at the crest. “They won’t let me carry a flag, so this was the next best thing.”

Mattiew grimaced. “I feel like announcing that we’re Sea Scourgers is inviting scrutiny. Remember, we have a fake Kingmaker.”

“If we beat the people with real Kingmakers, it won’t make an ounce of difference.” Dakkar said. “Plus, it makes you exciting to the public. Admirable, maybe not. But definitely exciting. The organizers know better than to kick such a character out of the tournament.”

“Nikoliades. You’re up!” an organizer from beyond the barred door of Tiamat’s Gullet barked.

Mattiew patted Dakkar on the shoulder. “Looks like it’s time. You got this.”

“You don’t gotta tell me twice.” Dakkar cracked his neck before standing and sliding the axe into his belt loop.

The organizer opened the door of the tunnel and the two of them stepped out into the blazing sun.

“Next up,” the announcer started hyping up the crowd. “We have Mattiew Nikoliades and his general, Dakkar Nevin, fighting on behalf of the prosperous House Callione, faci- What’s this?”

Mattiew kept his gaze forward.

“It seems Mattiew Nikoliades’ general is wearing the crest of the infamous Sea Scourger mercenary band! Now that I think about it, I think I’ve heard that name somewhere before too!”

Murmurs and mutterings spread like wildfire as the people recounted the terrible things one of his men had likely done to a friend of a friend.

Mattiew gulped as all eyes in the arena shifted to him.

“Sea Scourger?”

“Pirates?”

“What are they doing here?”

“Alright, maybe it was a little shortsighted of me.” Dakkar admitted with a whisper. “I kinda forgot how much crowds suck.”

Mattiew huffed. “Nothing we can do about it now. Might as well own it.”

“He’s a criminal! Why is he even allowed to be here?” someone shouted.

“Now, now. Lord Nikoliades made it through the Preliminaries without breaking any rules.” the announcer said.

“Yeah, with dumb luck!”

“Lord? This peasant?”

Mattiew let the hecklers’ comment roll off him. His real fear lay in the reactions of his fellow contestants.

But they were unreadable. Their eyes were glued to him, but he couldn’t tell if they saw him as a hidden threat or an easy kill. And Mattiew didn’t even know which one he wanted them to think.

“W-Well...that is certainly interesting. Given that Mattiew is a competitor in the Bellirex, his and his followers’ criminal record in any of the Eight Empires will be considered non-existent until he is eliminated from the tournament or wiped completely if he wins.” the announcer said. “But isn’t this a show? A nonsorcerer trying to win the Bellirex? Their opposition is the general of the Sunkiller, Suhlamu! Let’s see if the Vagabond Prince’s general can earn back some honor from Nikoliades’ performance in the preliminaries!”

“You’re fucking with me…” he muttered under his breath.

Hopefully the Sunkiller’s followers weren’t proportionally powerful to their mistress.

A silhouette stepped out onto the sandpit, their features obscured by harsh lighting of the sun. As their details became more visible, nothing made Mattiew feel any better.

The Sunkiller’s general was a man covered head to toe in orange fur with stripes like a tiger. His facial features resembled big cats, at first leading Mattiew to believe that this was some Nightborn fathered by a Rakshasa demon.

If only it were that.

The Nightborn’s chitin-encrusted scorpion tail slinked around his waist from behind as he glared at Dakkar.

Born of a Manticore.

Fighting a sorcerer without access to sorcery was easy. Fighting an experienced human blademaster was challenging, but rewarding. Fighting a Nightborn, whose abilities were not hindered by the prevention of sorcery? Different story entirely.

“Are you still sure about this?” Mattiew asked.

“Just shut your hole and let me fight.” Dakkar tilted his head, cracking his neck, something he’d been doing a lot since he was bailed out of prison. “I’m not gonna bitch about it.”

Mattiew took a deep breath, but let it go.

“You know about manticores, right?”

“Don’t let the claws touch you. Watch out for the tail. That’s all you can really do.” Dakkar murmured.

Mattiew nodded.

Living away from the Eight Empires forced the Sea Scourgers to learn how to fight different kinds of Nightdwellers, though it was seldom actually needed.

Dakkar flourished his cudgel, flexing his agility, before resting it on his shoulder.

“Right! Let’s get this over and done with.” Dakkar called to the manticore with supreme confidence.

The Sunkiller followed her general out and eyed Mattiew. He decided that maintaining a stoic facade was better than letting the shaking of his bones in his chest reach his face.

“Go forth, child of the Scale.” Semiramis said. “Make these apes prostrate before me, as is their place.”

“You’re the perfect caricature for our cause, Semiramis. Not sure if I should thank you.” Mattiew said.

“Generals!” the announcer shouted. “Ready yourselves for combat!”

Dakkar raised his shield and took up a fighting stance.

Suhlamu drew a fan axe off his back, a long polearm with a flat blade sprouting from the top, and lowered into an agile, aggressive stance befitting of his feline biology.

“Ready…” The announcer counted. “Fight!”

Suhlamu slapped his tail against the ground, launching himself into the air. He readied his weapon to strike before falling towards Dakkar. If Mattiew were fighting, he would’ve risked letting Suhlamu hit him to catch the manticore in close range.

But Dakkar instead tried to put more distance between them as Suhlamu hurtled into the sand. Dakkar dropped his cudgel and drew his sling, loading it before Suhlamu could get his bearings again. Dakkar twirled the leather pouch and the stone inside, waiting for the Nightborn to make a move.

“Don’t let him build momentum, Dak.” Mattiew said.

“End him, Suhlamu.” Semiramis ordered.

The manticore whirled around, sending a concentrated volley of spikes hurtling off the end of his tail. Dakkar loosed his sling before dropping to the ground with a grunt.

The spikes soared over Dakkar, while the stone would have hit Suhlamu in the eye, were it not for his armored tail slapping it away.

Dakkar loaded his sling with another stone and launched it as he stood. While Suhlamu was distracted, Dakkar grabbed his cudgel and closed the distance.

The old man swung his weapon into a brutal uppercut. A nasty crack from Suhlamu’s jaw echoed through the arena.

The crowd cheered at not being bored.

Suhlamu’s tail shot out and tore right through Dakkar’s right pauldron with a sharp screech of metal.

Dakkar tumbled backwards, but landed on his feet.

“You good?” Mattiew asked. A manticore’s strike was corrosive and poisonous. He would have to call some kind of timeout if that attack pierced flesh.

“I don’t think it hit me!” Dakkar replied as he started a chain of exchanging blows with the Nightborn.

If Dakkar wanted any chance at winning, he needed to somehow disable that tail. The chitin was strong enough to eat shots from slings, so there was no maiming it.

But even if Mattiew managed to devise a plan, how would he get it to Dakkar without letting Suhlamu know?

What the fuck are talking about, Nikoliades? Dakkar’s a warrior worth his weight in gold. He should be able to figure a plan out on his own.

But the concept of leaving Dakkar to fend for himself wasn’t something Mattiew was willing to entertain.

Then again, under the assumption that his lie was the truth, if Dakkar did something stupid, was that really on him?

What was he thinking? No matter what, all consequences of this tournament would be on him.

Still, it was probably better to trust in Dakkar’s ability. The man wasn’t senile yet. And he was holding his own rather well against a five-limbed opponent.

Until the shaft of Suhlamu’s weapon cracked against Dakkar’s neck. The man collapsed in a heap.

Suhlamu backed off, but Dakkar wasn’t stirring.

“Time! I call time!” Mattiew shouted.

“Nikoliades is calling time! And it’s approved. Three minute break!” The announcer said.

Mattiew ran into the middle of the sandpit and hefted Dakkar up.

“Fuck…” Dakkar groaned. “Matty...I need you to...crack my neck.”

Mattiew jerked Dakkar’s head slightly, trying his best not to hurt him. A soft crack led to Dakkar gasping and being able to move properly again.

“What in Irkalla was that?” Mattiew asked.

“Damn Alazarites fucked up my spine. It’ll sometimes lock up for no reason.” Dakkar huffed.

“I’m taking you out-”

“Damn it, Mattiew, will you shut your maw?” Dakkar snapped. “I’m here trying to prove how passionate you are and all you can muster is ‘oh, are you sure you wanna fight?’ ‘Oh, you’re not too weak are you?’ Gimme some fuckin’ words of encouragement. Or just stop talking. Okay?”

Mattiew hung his head. “Right. Sorry. You have a plan to deal with that tail yet?”

“Can’t be cut or shot.” Dakkar muttered. “But it’s his go-to defense technique, meaning it’ll be easily distracted. I got the whole cerebral part of this fight locked down. You just be the heart of it.”

Mattiew gave a small nod. “Go get ‘im.”

Dakkar rolled his shoulder as Suhlamu returned to the sandpit at the same time.

Mattiew cleared his throat as the announcer started the match again.

Suhlamu went right for the same spot the moment the announcer said “fight.”

“Oh fuck off!” Mattiew cried. He gritted his teeth, but nothing he could do from here would influence the fight. Dakkar was already chock-full of motivation. Insults were no more than just that.

The only way his words could sway anyone would if…

Mattiew swiveled around to face the stands full of spectators.

“You all see this bullshit?” Mattiew asked as loudly as he could, but only managed to grab the attention of ten or so people.

He looked to his left and found one of the masked organizers guarding a tunnel entrance.

“Hey, can you lend me one of those magic speaker things like the announcer has?” Mattiew asked.

“What?” the organizer asked, tilting her head.

“Get me a damn echo thing.” Mattiew demanded. “It’ll be great entertainment.”

The organizer stared at him for a moment before grabbing a small smooth rock with a sigil painted in red on it and handing it to him.

Mattiew couldn’t see a discernible way to activate the rock, so he just spoke into it.

“Hey, do any of you see this bullshit?” Mattiew’s voice echoed through the arena, much to the surprise of just about everyone. “Do you see the fight happening in front of you right now? A sixty year old commoner holding his own against a spry manticore under the direct command of one of the world’s most powerful sorcerers. Just look at the strength of our passion!”

Dakkar threw his cudgel at Suhlamu before drawing his axe and slamming it into the ground beneath, pinning the manticore’s tail by a segmented joint.

“The Sea Scourgers are not criminals because we want to be.” Mattiew declared. “Our creed is simple: Judge all as equals, sorcerer or commoner! It may not have been the intention, but without armed conflict, it’s been notoriously difficult for the common people to make change in a world of sorcerers! I intend to be the exception and create a nation that stands for the rights of all humans and Nightborn!”

With each lie, the next became easier. He didn't know if that was a thing to feel relieved or panicked about.

He watched the duel with bated breath as Dakkar continued to persevere under his numerous disadvantages.

“Observe this naive mongrel and take it as a lesson in realism.” Semiramis’s voice boomed through her own sigil. “When humankind killed the gods, we invited disorder and chaos, even more than what had flourished under the rule of the divine. But those who killed the gods were soon named the successors of this world. It is the nature of fate to demand order. Us humans are unruly and selfish. We must be controlled, lest we destroy ourselves. And this impetuous child wishes to destroy that order.”

Mattiew glared at Semiramis across the arena, but couldn’t necessarily come up with a retort, with his attention torn between her and the duel.

“The sorcerous nobility is in power to ensure that the masses do not succumb to sin and anarchy, causing unimaginable suffering.” Semiramis continued. “I alone will ensure that order is maintained if I must. To be a king is to lay down the law. All I see across from me is a petty dissenter and a criminal. Believe in me, people of the empires. I will do my job as king.”

Mattiew opened his mouth to respond just as a thick crack accompanied the impact of Suhlamu’s tail against Dakkar’s head.

Dakkar hit the ground and tumbled through the sand. Mattiew ran to check on him, dropping his sigil.

***

“Shit.” Adriana hissed.

Mattiew was on the bracket for tonight.

He watched anxiously from a wooden bench as a healer worked on Dakkar’s head.

“Curse the Gods!” Adriana said through gritted teeth. She sat next to him, seething with frustration, likely the product of concern.

Mattiew wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close, “Don’t worry. I’ll handle whoever comes my way.” That was an overt lie.

“I’m not worried. Well, not as much as I expected I’d be. I’m pissed because this trial is a sham. It doesn’t actually test how well you inspire your soldiers.” Adriana muttered, “It’s just a stupid duel.”

“Well, whether or not it does its job...I still failed to show that, when Semiramis did.” Mattiew said.

“What, did they expect you to prepare a speech?” Adriana was insistent on pouting.

“No, but still. I thought I had yet to lose my charisma.”

Adriana sighed. “Look, we’ll get through. I just need a few more days to secure my hold over the guard. I don’t like the thought of putting you in further danger, but...you’ll have to win this fight.”

“I’ll give it everything I’ve got.” Mattiew frowned.

Adriana huffed. “We’re in this situation now. Let’s look at your competition.”

Adriana pulled a scroll out from a wooden case on her belt, a copy of the bracket she picked up just before she met with him. She unraveled and scanned the papyrus, reading through the list of twenty-five pairings.

“Son of a whore.” she hissed.

“What?” Mattiew asked.

“Third column is you. You’re fighting Utica the Hunter. Also known as the Apex Predator.” Adriana said, “Know who that is?”

“Never heard of him.”

“Well you’ll get to know him tonight when you’re stuck in a room with him ten minutes before your fight.” Adriana muttered. “Utica has participated in the last three Bellirexes. His career as a competitor has lasted for thirty years.”

“And he’s not immortal?”

Adriana shook her head, “What’s odd is that he has no Kingmaker, no Champion and no general. They let him in anyway since he’s never once gotten to the Intermission. He normally pays the organizers to pit him against what he calls ‘the greatest prey’.”

“So he has no intention to win. Just hunting the contestants he finds interesting.” Mattiew said, “And by hunt, does that mean defeat or…”

“Kill.” Adriana huffed, “Utica has never once spared a contestant.”

“At the very least, he’s on his own outside the tournament.” Mattiew said, “I mean, I have you. He’s probably not very prepared.”

“There’s that and the fact that I’ve made sure to keep a tight hold on any information about you based on how I hear you’ve interacted with other contestants. Well...until today.” Adriana said. “Despite that, I don’t know if it’ll do much. He’s a...go with the flow type of fighter. He’ll try to figure you out while he’s in the sand pit.”

“That’s a big advantage for us. What’s his sorcery like?” Mattiew asked.

“He’s a Tieromancer. A beast mage. His sorcery is...hard to pin down. It may be better if I can show you one of his fights.” Adriana said. “I’ll see if I can ask a maid for a crystal rig from the last Bellirex.”

She broke from Mattiew’s comfortable embrace and stood.

“I have a meeting soon. Study that recording once I get it to you.” She laid a hand on his shoulder before she started to leave the infirmary. “Tell Dakkar he fought well. But his loss isn’t on you.”