They watched the Crown Prince turn into a crying, mutated monster. They watched the Golden Sword Saint die. And now, they watched the oldest, strongest Patriarch in the Empire get swatted down like a weak, tired dog. A group of fifty Imperial Guards, wearing shiny silver armor, ran up the stone stairs toward the mercenary section. The captain of the guards looked completely panicked. He was sweating heavily. He pointed his sharp spear at Garet, the huge, scarred leader of the largest mercenary guild in the city. "Garet!" the guard captain shouted, his voice cracking with fear. "In the name of the Emperor! You must order your mercenaries to draw their bows! We must shoot the beggar! We must save the Patriarch!"Garet stood up from his wooden bench. He was a massive man covered in old battle scars. He wore thick brown leather armor. Garet looked down at the sweating, terrified guard captain. Then, Garet looked out at the arena. He looked at Lucien’s tall, dark, proud back. He saw th

Serephina stepped backward off the wooden railing. She landed softly on the dirt floor of the pit. She lowered Winter’s Howl. "Stand down," Seraphina ordered her students. Her voice shook, but she forced herself to sound strong. "Do not jump into the ring."Kai looked at her in total shock. "But Sect Master! They are going to surround him! We have to help!""No," Seraphina said firmly. She wiped a tear from her cheek. "We hold the perimeter. If any guard tries to attack our box, we kill them. But we do not step onto the sand. This is his fight. We must let him finish it."The disciples looked sad and confused, but they obeyed. They lowered their swords and formed a tight circle around the edge of the pit, watching the arena with wide, terrified eyes. Up in the Royal Box, the Emperor was having a complete mental breakdown. The Emperor saw the mercenaries drawing their swords in the stands. He saw the Silver Wolf Clan rebelling. He saw Patriarch Valerius bleeding in the dirt, complet

The giant, circular cage of black iron shields was completely closed. Fifty thousand Imperial Soldiers surrounded the center of the arena. They stood shoulder to shoulder, stacking their heavy metal shields three rows high. Ten thousand sharp silver spears pointed inward. They created a solid, inescapable wall of steel and fear. Inside the cage, the air was incredibly hot. It smelled of old sweat, melted glass, and dark magic. Patriarch Valerius knelt on the ruined floor. His heavy golden armor was cracked. His long white beard was stained with dark red blood. He had dropped his broken battleaxe. He looked at the iron shields around him. He realized that his own grandson, the Emperor, had locked him inside this cage to die. The old man bowed his head. He was ready for the execution. He was ready for the Graveyard King to cut his head off. Lucien stood in the center of the cage. He wore his terrifying, pitch-black [Abyssal Armor State]. The dark, jagged crystals pulsed with glowi

Down in the dirty Coach's Box, Seraphina watched the magical screens. Her pale blue eyes were wide with awe. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest. She saw the exact movements Lucien had taught her in the private courtyard. She saw him sliding into the empty spaces. She saw him relaxing his shoulders just a fraction of a second before dodging. “He is showing me the perfect form,” Seraphina realized, her hands trembling. “Even now, locked in a cage with an army, he is still teaching me.”Out in the center of the arena, Patriarch Valerius was running completely out of breath. His lungs burned. His heavy golden armor felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. The glowing golden fire on his broken axe handle began to flicker and dim. He was bleeding heavily from his mouth. His life-force was almost totally gone. "I will not lose to a shadow!" Valerius screamed wildly. The old man decided to use his very last, desperate attack. He poured every single drop of his remaining magic, his blood,

The Imperial Arena was completely, totally silent. Patriarch Valerius kneeled on the hot, melted black glass. A single drop of bright red blood slowly fell from the shallow cut on his cheek. The blood hit the hot glass and sizzled. To the millions of people watching, it was just a tiny drop of blood. But to the old man, it was the loudest, most terrible sound in the universe. He was bleeding. He, the oldest and greatest master of the Saint-Aurelius Clan, was bleeding because a young boy had cut him. He had spent two hundred years building an invincible legend. He had trained every single day. He had consumed the rarest magical herbs. He had bathed in holy light. And all of it was completely ruined in two minutes by a rogue from the mountains. Valerius heard the millions of people in the stadium holding their breath. He knew they were looking at him. He knew they were seeing his shame. Up in the broken, ruined Royal Box, Valerius heard his grandson, the Emperor, screaming in a co