There was no way a random thug like him had just stumbled upon the bracer. No, two possibilities immediately came to mind: either someone wanted to ensure I lost the match, or someone disliked me enough to provide him with the means to kill me. The former seemed more likely—it was exactly the kind of underhanded move they’d pull. There must have been an enormous amount of gold riding on this match. But it was also risky. He didn’t just want to win; he wanted to kill me. Then again, the referees had probably been paid off too. Why would they risk it, though? Just to make sure I lost? I almost chuckled. Would they really go this far just to avoid paying me the second half of what they owed?

  That was low, even for the secret police moonlighting as double-crossing bookies. The referee’s whistle snapped me out of my thoughts, and as expected, my opponent didn’t waste any time.

  He had a shield strapped to his back, but so far had only attacked with his sword drawn, clearly confident in his abilities. I didn’t blame him—even Isla had been like a kid with a new toy when she got her hands on the bracer, and elves weren’t exactly known for big displays of emotion. The power that came with wearing the bracer had to be intoxicating.

  So far, he seemed to rely on his speed, and I did my best to stay one step ahead. I fired off a few spells, making it look convincing, fully expecting him to dodge them easily. We kept this up for a few minutes, and I even let him land a free hit on me. I didn’t want to go down from the first blow he connected with, but that proved unwise. The hit rattled me good. Without the Mana Shield, I’d have been missing a limb.

  Of course, he became even more insufferably smug after that. But we’d been dancing around for nearly ten minutes now, and I figured it was time to wrap things up.

  I pretended to be caught off guard by one of his attacks and deliberately didn’t activate Slow Time. His strike hit me square in the chest, sending me to the ground. I didn’t have to fake the pain—the blow knocked the wind out of me, and I struggled to breathe. I managed to rise to my knees, but he hit me again, this time sending me flat on my back. This was it. I didn’t even try to get up, waiting for the referee to start the count.

  But as I’d feared, the referee was bought. My opponent came at me again, sword raised, and struck me while I was down. No warning from the referee. Even the crowd booed the cheap shot.

  All I got from my attempt to honor the deal were two nasty bruises and trouble breathing. Well, if they wanted to play dirty, so be it.

  His speed was impressive—almost on par with Alira’s when we’d dueled—but still slower than mine. On his next attack, I retaliated with everything I had, sending a Lightning Bolt at him from point-blank range.

  He was the one on the ground now, struggling to get up. His tunic was shredded, and underneath, I could see pieces of what looked like a new armor, probably made of adamantite or some other enchanted material. Though it hadn’t been as helpful as he might have hoped. The crowd roared at this sudden turn of events—they’d been pretty quiet while I was on the ropes.

  That brief glance at the crowd was all it took for him to regroup and get back on his feet. He even pulled out his shield. At least he was taking me seriously now.

  Instead of endless slashes, I now had to deal with shield slams and charges. It made him a little slower and easier to anticipate since his charges were always in a straight line.

  The downside was that he was now absorbing my offensive spells, and any Quicksand spell would be too slow to catch him off guard.

  We fell into a new rhythm- me dodging his shield strikes, him effortlessly parrying my spells with his adamantite-lined shield. The problem was, I couldn’t keep this up forever. But he? He just might. I’d have to talk to Isla later to see if there were any negative side effects to wearing the bracelets. There had to be. Otherwise, I was in trouble.

  I still had Chaos Bolt, but using it now would cost me the element of surprise later. Then there was Black Hole, but that would instantly be recognized by the man I had run from at the gallows. And that’s when it hit me—no matter what spell I used, winning this fight would make me a fugitive.

  I actually smiled. At least that meant I could try my latest spell.

  I had been practicing it when the riot plan seemed inevitable, though it was hard to get proper practice in with all the noise it made. I could only hope it worked to its full potential.

  My eyes flicked toward the arena’s edges, scanning the soldiers stationed there. Fortunately, there weren’t many, and most were focused on watching the crowd. I doubted they’d move against me right away. That gave me—what? Maybe a minute before reinforcements arrived? Once I made my move, there’d be no turning back.

  If I was going to be a fugitive, I might as well go out with a bang.

  Sure, it would require some last-minute adjustments to my plan, but the chaos I was about to unleash would be worth it.

  Fixing my gaze back on my opponent, I exhaled steadily, bracing myself—then sprang into action.

  A few more seconds, and his injuries finally caught up with him. He collapsed, crawling to a stop. His sword was gone, lost somewhere in the sand. In a last-ditch effort, he lunged at me, trying to drag me to the ground.

  It didn’t work.

  Another Lightning Bolt to his chest sent him writhing on the ground, his tunic burned away, revealing gaps in his armor where charred skin peeked through.

  I really hoped it wasn’t fatal. As long as he could hang on for a few more minutes, the arena healers would take care of the rest.

  The crowd erupted in wild cheers.

  Guess they’d won their bets. I’d be just as excited in their place.

  Confident that he was no longer a threat, I reached down and unfastened the bracer from his arm. Up close, it looked slightly different from the ones I’d seen before, but the strange markings were unmistakable.

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  Now, it was time for the real show.

  I had realized early on that no matter how loud I screamed, the crowd would never hear me over their own excitement. So, I had prepared a little workaround—a Megaphone spell. The spell itself was surprisingly simple just like its counterpart. The real challenge wasn’t making it work, but figuring out how far it would carry my voice. Obviously, I couldn’t test it beforehand without drawing suspicion.

  I felt a bit like Isla as I waved my right hand, shaping the Mana Shield into a cone that emerged from my left palm. Taking a deep breath, I spoke into it.

  “People of Meteora!”

  A ripple of shock passed through the crowd. The noise didn’t die completely, but they were listening.

  “Are you not entertained? Are you not entertained?”

  The words rang out, and I couldn’t help but feel a thrill run through me. I knew it had to sound like an admonishment, but damn, it felt good to say it. Who hadn’t dreamed of yelling that at the top of their lungs? I dared anyone to say otherwise.

  The crowd stirred, some laughing, others confused. That was fine—I wasn’t done.

  “Your kingdom is burning. Your people are starving. Yet here you are, cheering for the games of a tyrant.”

  The cheers faltered. A hush rippled through the stands, not total silence, but close. Guilt, or maybe just pure shock, had stolen their voices.

  I pressed forward. “And how does your emperor repay you? By paying me to lose this match. To steal your hard-earned dinari from you.”

  There it was—the shift. The murmurs grew sharper, angrier. If mourning their dead countrymen didn’t stir them, this would. No one took kindly to being cheated, especially not by the very man they were cheering for.

  “They will hunt me down now, chase me to the ends of the continent. But I will not run. I will be here for the final, and I challenge your emperor to face me in the arena.”

  The silence shattered. The arena erupted in murmurs, whispers turning into a wave of disbelief and excitement. Of course, I had no intention of dueling the emperor in this pit, but they didn’t know that.

  Movement from the stands caught my eye—soldiers. They were coming fast, making their way down to the arena.

  I pointed toward them. “Look! The vultures already gather, desperate to silence me. If I do not return for the final, know that I died for you!”

  Okay, that last part came out way more melodramatic than I intended—but hey, it’s not like I planned the speech. Still, as the saying goes, less is more. Time to go.

  I waved my hand, and a portal flared to life beside me. The crowd's gasps rippled into another wave of murmurs, awe and unease mixing at the display of raw power.

  I took a deep breath, then roared, “Death to the tyrant!” and fired a Lightning Bolt into the sky. The crowd, conditioned by my post-match celebrations, cheered instinctively. I did it again.

  The next time, some voices echoed my words. Again. More joined.

  By the last Bolt, the entire arena was swept up in the moment. A deafening “Death to the tyrant!” roared back at me.

  The soldiers were closing in now. There was nothing to gain from fighting them here.

  I stepped into the portal, bracing for the searing pain that always came with it.

  ─── ????? ───

  The past few days had been... eventful, to say the least. News from the capital trickled in slowly, but apparently, my little performance had sparked a full-blown riot. Reprisals followed quickly, and even after three days, the city was still far from pacified.

  From what they gathered, the riot didn’t break out immediately. It all started when people went to collect their winnings. Turns out, betting was more complicated than I had imagined. Thanks to my performances, I had become a heavy favorite, too safe of a bet. So, to keep things interesting, the bookmakers decided to “adjust” the odds, making bets on me far more profitable to encourage more wagers. And it worked. People poured their money in.

  The problem? They now had to pay out absurd amounts of gold—gold they didn’t have. No wonder they risked so much by giving that random guy the enchanted bracelet to fight me.

  That was when the real chaos began. When the bookmakers suspended payouts, people didn’t take it well. Rioting broke out. Figures—the kingdom was already crumbling, but people only revolted when it hit their pockets.

  As for the resistance? Well, they were split on how they felt about my actions. Some believed I had endangered their plan by forcing the army to relocate closer to the capital to control the unrest. Others praised me, claiming I had done more for the cause in one day than they had in months.

  Right now, they were in a meeting discussing how to handle this mess—and I wasn’t invited. Guess that answered which half disapproved of what I’d done.

  The doors finally opened, and Corvin passed by without so much as a glance in my direction. Well, they couldn’t all be fans.

  Bendis was the last to leave. Unlike the others, she didn’t avoid looking at me, which I took as a good sign.

  “That bad?” I asked, watching the others disperse.

  She sighed. “From what we can tell… thousands died in the riots. It’s not looking pretty.”

  That was beyond words.

  “Damn… I didn’t realize it got that bad,” I muttered.

  Thousands of lives. Just like that, on my hands. I knew things could escalate, but I had expected a rowdy crowd, some unrest—maybe the garrison being forced into overtime. But thousands dead? The weight of it hit me all at once, and I had to sit down.

  “Revolutions are always bloody. Anyone who tells you otherwise is fooling themselves,” Bendis said, her tone softer than usual. She was trying to console me, and I appreciated the effort.

  I exhaled sharply. “It might sound crass, but… it’s one thing when a movement is responsible. It’s another when you are.”

  She leaned forward. “Look, they might not see it now, but you just increased our chances of success tenfold.”

  That caught my attention, enough to lift my flatlined spirit, if only slightly. Or maybe I was just desperate to find anything that made this easier to cope.

  “Our plan was solid, sure, but the odds of it going sideways were almost guaranteed,” she continued. “There were too many unknowns. We couldn’t even be sure he’d be at the castle when we made our move.”

  “What changed?” I asked.

  She sat down across from me, her gaze steady, making sure I was actually absorbing her words. “For one, his next campaign is canceled—completely. You just saved thousands of lives from being thrown away on some forgotten battlefield. And that means he will be at the castle, personally overseeing the crackdown.”

  That did make me feel better. Not a lot, but it was something.

  “Then there’s the bracer. It’s going to give us an edge when the time comes,” she added. “And I can’t even imagine how furious he must be about losing another one. He’s going to lash out—probably kill or exile members of his own upper command. If what you told us is correct, the head of the secret police is as good as gone.”

  She leaned back, a glint of satisfaction in her eyes. “And that? That means we can finally recruit new people without looking over our shoulders.”

  “Try not to be too hard on yourself,” she said, rising to her feet before quietly walking away.

  I stared at my hands, willing them to feel heavier, to carry the weight of what I had done. But they didn’t. They were the same hands I’d always had—smooth, steady, capable. And yet, they had set something in motion that killed thousands.

  Thousands.

  The number felt too big to grasp. I tried to picture them, faceless men and women trampled in the streets, cut down by soldiers, burned alive in the chaos. People who had families, lives, dreams—gone because of me. I had thought I was making a statement, shaking the system, not lighting the match that burned the city down.

  I had seen death before. Killed before. But this was different. This was not a battlefield where I could justify it as survival. This was carnage, and I had been the spark.

  My chest tightened, my breath came short. I tried to tell myself it wasn’t my fault, that I couldn’t have known, but the words rang hollow. Excuses wouldn’t bring them back.

  I wanted to scream, to run, to undo it. But there was no undoing this.

  The only thing left was to make it mean something. Otherwise, I was no better than the tyrant I was fighting.