The wind inside the Coliseum of Dawn grew heavier.

  Each breath drawn by the audience carried anticipation — and fear. The once roaring cheers dulled to a collective murmur as the chained creature before Lucien rose again, its fangs glinting under the sunlight that barely reached the arena floor.

  Lucien Callus tightened his grip on his sword hilt.

  The mixblood vampire — a Starved-Royal hybrid — stared back with feral intelligence, its red eyes flickering like embers dancing in madness. For a heartbeat, Lucien could almost feel its hunger gnawing at the air itself.

  He steadied his stance.

  This was the moment — the culmination of his training, his pride, his purpose.

  Sarville’s voice echoed through his mind — “A hunter must be patient. Read your prey, not with your eyes, but your soul.”

  The creature lunged again, claws raking the dust. Lucien parried and sidestepped, his blade slashing across its forearm, drawing dark, sluggish blood. The crowd cheered briefly — but it was cut short when the creature’s wound began to close, the flesh knitting back together before their eyes.

  Lucien’s heartbeat quickened.

  Regeneration? Even with its mana sealed?

  He retreated a few steps, eyeing the glowing runes still faintly pulsing along its body. Something was wrong — the creature shouldn’t be this strong.

  The hybrid snarled, its voice guttural but clear. “Blood… Callus blood…”

  Lucien froze.

  It could speak.

  Before he could respond, the creature burst forward again — its movement unnatural, almost teleporting in its erratic speed. Lucien barely blocked the strike, sparks flying as its claws scraped against his blade. The impact sent a tremor up his arm.

  He was strong — but this was no ordinary test.

  From the main podium, Elric Callus leaned forward slightly, his expression unreadable.

  Armia placed a hand over her mouth, concern etching across her face.

  “Is this truly necessary, Sarville?” she whispered. “It’s too dangerous—”

  Sarville remained stoic, his eyes never leaving the field. “If he is to lead hunters… he must face what hunts them.”

  Across the arena, the silver-haired lady watched in silence. Her expression was calm, yet her eyes shimmered faintly with a strange light. Her guards beside her whispered uneasily.

  “Lady Seraphine,” one said softly, “that thing… it doesn’t look ordinary.”

  Seraphine narrowed her gaze, her fingers brushing her chin in thought. “It isn’t. The aura it carries… is twisted — restrained yet unstable. Whoever sealed it underestimated the Royal blood within.”

  Her other guard frowned. “Should we warn the overseer?”

  “No,” Seraphine replied quietly, eyes still fixed on the fight. “Let’s see how the heir of Callus handles true fear.”

  The hybrid roared again and charged. Lucien rolled under its arm, his sword slashing upward across its chest. The blade glowed with faint mana, enhanced by his inner focus. The strike connected — deep and sure — and for a moment, the hybrid stumbled back, shrieking as black mist spilled from the wound.

  Lucien panted, sweat dripping down his temple. His mana pulsed through his limbs — his training taking over instinctively. He remembered Sarville’s words from years ago:

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  “A hunter who fears his prey dies before his first strike. But a hunter who respects it, learns how to kill it twice.”

  He stood tall again, raising his sword into a guard stance.

  “Come, beast. Let me end this.”

  The hybrid tilted its head, eyes narrowing. Then, for the first time, it smiled — a wicked, knowing grin. “Your blood… familiar. Callus…”

  Lucien frowned, but before he could react, the creature’s body flared with red light. The sealing runes cracked, shattering in a burst of smoke and energy.

  Gasps erupted across the arena. The host Veritas stumbled back, shouting over the sound system.

  “The seal—it’s breaking! Someone—!”

  Sarville’s eyes widened for the first time in years. “Impossible… it should’ve held!”

  The creature’s aura surged violently, a wave of oppressive malice washing over the crowd. Nobles and civilians alike shuddered, their souls instinctively recoiling from the ancient fear only vampires could conjure.

  Lucien shielded his eyes as the light exploded outward. When the dust settled, the hybrid’s form had changed — larger, sharper, veins pulsing dark crimson under its pale skin. Its voice echoed like a thousand whispers overlapping.

  “Hunter… you reek of him… the other Callus…”

  Lucien’s blood ran cold.

  “The other…?”

  The creature let out a guttural laugh, its fangs glinting. “The one who disappeared… his scent lingers on your bloodline…”

  Lucien hesitated — confusion flashing briefly — before forcing his focus back. “You talk too much!”

  He surged forward, channeling his mana into the sword. Flames of crimson light trailed behind his slash.

  The two collided — steel against claw, will against instinct. The shockwave sent dust spiraling, shaking the coliseum pillars.

  Up above, Sarville’s eyes sharpened. Something stirred deep inside him — an unease he couldn’t explain.

  The other Callus… could he mean—?

  He dismissed the thought for now.

  Lucien needed his focus — and his faith.

  Meanwhile, the black-cloaked man remained still among the shadowed audience rows. His eyes gleamed faintly beneath the hood as he watched the chaos unfold.

  The crowd’s panic, the cracking of stones, the clash of willpower — none of it drew his attention away from the hybrid’s every move.

  So… that’s what they’ve become. Hunters parading monsters before the crowd…

  The man’s gloved fingers twitched slightly. His aura rippled faintly — unseen by most, but enough that the silver-haired lady on the opposite side turned her head sharply.

  Their eyes met again — his calm and veiled, hers calculating and aware.

  Seraphine’s lips parted slightly as if realizing something. That presence… it’s not human… nor vampire. What are you?

  Before she could pursue the thought, the hybrid let out a deafening roar, and Lucien was sent flying across the field, his armor cracked. Gasps filled the arena as he crashed against the outer barrier, coughing blood.

  “Lucien!” Armia screamed, gripping Elric’s arm.

  Elric clenched his jaw, torn between pride and fear. “Stand up, my son…”

  Lucien rose shakily, wiping blood from his lip. His sword trembled, but his spirit didn’t. He stared down the hybrid, now circling him like a predator playing with its prey.

  He smirked faintly. “You think I’m done already? Sorry, beast. Callus hunters don’t break that easily.”

  He steadied his breath, focused, and let his mana flow. Golden light pulsed from his core, enveloping his sword. The air shimmered. His next move came swift and sharp — a flurry of strikes faster than the eye could see.

  Each slash carved into the hybrid’s flesh, cutting off its momentum, forcing it backward. The creature howled, swinging wildly. Lucien ducked and countered, landing a final upward cut that split the vampire’s chest open.

  The crowd erupted — a wave of cheers shaking the very stands.

  “Lucien! Lucien! The heir of Callus!”

  The hybrid staggered back, collapsing onto one knee, dark mist leaking from its wound. Lucien stood, panting but victorious, raising his blade high.

  Sarville exhaled softly, nodding. “He’s done it…”

  But the black-cloaked man didn’t move. His voice whispered beneath the roar, too soft for anyone to hear:

  “Still reckless as ever, brother.”

  The faintest smirk touched his lips as he turned to leave, fading into the crowd before anyone could notice.

  Across the arena, Seraphine’s gaze followed him, her silver eyes narrowing. Brother? she thought. So the shadow of the Callus line… still lingers.

  As Lucien stood triumphant under the sun, the faintest whisper brushed the air — unheard, unseen, but heavy with omen.

  Far away beyond the city walls, in the deep reaches of the world untouched by light, the shadows stirred in answer.

  The balance between blood and fate had begun to shift once more.