The sound of the bronze bell echoed through the plaza, announcing the start of the next trial. Lukas was still standing still, but the crowd moved like a living river, pushing him back into the flow of the festival.

  At the center of the improvised arena, a stone circle had been marked. Several moving targets spun in irregular patterns, while enchanted ropes pulled training mannequins armed with wooden swords. The trial was simple — at least for someone with superhuman reflexes: cross the field and touch the golden flag without being struck even once.

  The announcer called the next competitor.

  — Selene Fernandes, of the House of the Shadowed Eye!

  The audience murmured. Many didn’t know her face, but everyone knew the name. Most of the Houses of the South paraded their warriors like trophies, but the Shadowed Eye preferred to work in silence. And when one of its members appeared in public, it meant they had something to prove — or to intimidate.

  Selene stepped into the circle with feline grace. The daggers were already in her hands, but their glow wasn’t ordinary. They were thin blades, almost translucent, with runes so tiny they looked like spiderwebs. Black gloves covered her palms, leaving only the fingertips exposed, while a white scarf rippled in the wind like a ghost.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  The judge raised his hand.

  — Ready?

  Selene only tilted her head, eyes locked on the targets.

  The gong sounded.

  In the next instant, she vanished. There was no step, no run, no visible movement — only a whisper of cold wind. The first mannequin was sliced into three pieces before its wooden sword could even rise. The second had its “weapon” ripped from its grip and pinned to the ground. A third swung its blade at her, but Selene tilted her head and turned her body with such precision that the tip of the sword passed less than a centimeter from her neck.

  From above, Lukas watched, and even he — used to insane battle rhythm — had to admit: Selene wasn’t just fast. She was bending the weight around her.

  He noticed the stone beneath her foot sink slightly, as if pressed by an invisible hand.

  “Black gravitational magic…” Lukas thought. “Straight from the Tower of the Shadowed Eye.”

  César, in his mind, commented with respect:

  “She knows exactly what she’s doing. Keeps her stance low, cuts at angles most don’t see. An assassin who thinks like a general.”

  Morgana laughed, her tone sweet and mocking:

  “And she’s gorgeous… You Southerners are lucky, Lukas. Even your assassins come wrapped like gifts.”

  Selene touched the golden flag before the last mannequin had even completed its spin. When she stopped, she cleaned her blades in a single motion and raised her hand to the crowd. The applause wasn’t deafening, but the respectful silence that followed spoke louder than cheers.

  As she left the arena, she passed by Lukas and, without stopping, whispered:

  — When you need me… call. I don’t fail.

  Lukas felt the Seal of Silent Heritage in his chest pulse once, as if recognizing the same kind of darkness within her — but in his case, it remained asleep.

  End of chapter 11