The entire festival seemed to hold its breath.
— The Seventh Trial of the Eleven! In honor of the House of the Trêvo! — his voice echoed through the stands. — Tonight, those who dare will face the Valkyries. Win, and you advance… but remember: here, there is no choice. Fate alone decides your opponent. Destiny will draw the board.
A roar swept across the arena. Nobles raised their goblets, merchants shouted odds, and commoners clapped in rhythm, hungry for blood.
The gates on the northern side opened. No gallop. No rush. Only measured steps.
Seven Valkyries emerged — each wielding her weapon:
- Two curved daggers, fast as serpents.
- A short rune spear, steady as judgment.
- A long black steel sword.
- A whip of chains, cracking like caged thunder.
- A short enchanted bow, its string gleaming like moonlight.
- A rune staff, flowing between attack and defense.
- And a monk — bare-fisted, body built to break bones.
High above, seated like judge and executioner, was Valquíria Fernandes.
The black hammer rested on her shoulder. Beside her, Freya Lumpa — small yet terrifying — held her club like gravity itself.
The herald raised the staff again:
— Victory grants the right to continue. Defeat… teaches humility.
The crowd erupted. Green banners of clover swayed like waves in a sea of voices.
Then the herald brought forth a crystal urn, placing it at the arena’s center. Inside, engraved stones shimmered blue.
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— The duels will be decided by draw, — he announced. — Let destiny speak!
Lukas thought: She’s here? Of course… the Trêvos wouldn’t come without her.
He stepped in without haste. No pose, only presence.
The small leather keychain — the cangaceiro hat — tapped softly against his belt, subtle but constant.
From the stands came the venomous whispers:
— Look, the failure! Can’t even hit a target, who’s he gonna fight?
— Still wearing that silly keychain.
— He really believed Tinbell’s story, huh?
— King of the Lumpas? What a joke. And now he’s using a bow? Maybe he thinks it’s a shotgun!
He didn’t reply.
From the shadows, Sarya tilted her head just slightly, watching.
Beside her, Valen clenched his fists without realizing it.
The herald plunged his hand into the urn and drew a stone — glowing red.
— First draw! Lukas Fernandes… versus Valkyrie Alenna Fonseca!
Lukas sighed inwardly: Of course… her. Same bad luck as before. But it’ll be good to see you again, Alenna.
Morgana: — Oh, chocolatinho… that blonde girl from the Path of Summer, right? Gorgeous. Tell me, why didn’t you lose your virginity to her in the past life? You died pure as snow!
César, horrified: — Close your mouth, shameless witch! — he covered Lukas’s mental ears. — My legionary is honorable! He would never disgrace himself so!
— If anything, — he continued furiously, — it was that Queen Valquíria — the goddess sitting up there now — who set that honey trap in the first place!
Morgana, laughing: — Sweet trap, soldier… sweet and dangerous.
A ripple ran through the stands.
Alenna, blonde and bright-eyed, her light sword in hand, stepped forward. She smiled faintly — no words needed.
Morgana purred inside his mind: — Fate’s crooked… and look at that beautiful warrior. Delicious.
César, stern as ever: — Focus, young legionary. You know her style. Use your head.
From above, Valquíria Fernandes lifted her chin, voice cold as iron:
— Sound the bell.
The bronze rang deep and loud.
The Seventh Trial had begun.
End of Chapter 13