Chapter 109: The Pretender’s Game

The arena buzzed with anticipation as Sara stepped into the ring, her famous lightning blade catching the sunlight. She moved with the fluid grace of a master swordswoman, each step precise and measured. Her silver hair danced in the wind as she took her position, hand resting casually on her sword hilt.

“Look at her stance!” someone shouted from the crowd. “She is not messing around today!”

“That rookie is about to learn what real speed looks like!”

Across from her, Vell shuffled into the arena with his now-familiar awkward gait. His cheap sword hung loosely at his side, and his armor looked even more worn than yesterday.

Sara raised an eyebrow at his appearance. “You should have quit while you were ahead, rookie. Yesterday’s luck will not save you from my blade.”

“Ah… maybe,” he scratched his head, looking nervous. “But I will try my best!”

Laughter rippled through the crowd at his response. Even Sara’s lips twitched in amusement.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” the announcer’s voice boomed. “In the red corner, ranked forty-seventh in the realm, with over three hundred confirmed victories, the unstoppable ’Lightning Blade’ Sara!”

The crowd erupted in cheers as Sara gave a graceful bow.

“And in the blue corner, yesterday’s surprise victor, the rookie swordsman—Vell!”

Sara drew her blade in one smooth motion, its edge gleaming with a faint blue light—her signature enhancement technique. Vell pulled out his sword with considerably less grace, nearly dropping it in the process.

Henry spotted the beast girl from the bar in her usual spot, her eyes fixed on the arena with that same knowing smile.

“Begin!”

Sara vanished, reappearing behind Vell with her blade already in motion. He stumbled forward, barely avoiding the strike.

“Oh? Good reflexes,” she said, her blade becoming a blur. “But not good enough!”

He yelped as he awkwardly parried her strikes, his movements looking more like lucky accidents than skill. “Wow, you are really fast!” he exclaimed, somehow managing to sound both impressed and terrified.

“Stop moving!” Her attacks grew faster, more intense. Each strike should have been lethal, yet somehow his clumsy movements kept him just out of reach. “This is not possible!”

“What is wrong with her?” someone in the crowd shouted. “Just finish him already!”

“Maybe she is going easy on him?”

Vell stumbled again, but this time his sword accidentally caught Sara’s sleeve, tearing it.

The crowd gasped.

“You…” Her eyes narrowed. Her blade began to glow with a brilliant blue light. “Now you have done it. Thousand Lightning Strikes!”

The air crackled with energy as her sword became a storm of strikes. Yet Vell continued his awkward dance, each near-fall and clumsy dodge somehow placing him exactly where her blade was not.

“Stop. Moving! Dammit!” Her composure finally cracked. Sweat dripped down her face as her attacks grew wilder. “Fight properly, damn you!”

“I am trying!” he protested, his voice squeaking as he barely avoided another strike. But this time, his flailing sword arm caught her shoulder, drawing blood.

“Impossible!” she snarled, jumping back. “That was… you…” Her eyes widened as she finally began to notice something was not right.

“Sorry!” he called out, looking genuinely distressed. “I did not mean to—”

“Shut up!” She charged forward, her pride wounded. “I will show you what happens when you mock me!”

But as she launched her fastest attack yet, Vell tripped again. His sword caught her blade at the perfect angle, and with a sound like breaking glass, her famous weapon shattered.

The arena fell silent as Sara stared at her broken blade. Blood trickled from several small cuts on her arms and face—when had those happened?

“I… what…” she stumbled backward, looking at Vell with new eyes. “What are you?”

He straightened up slightly, and for just a moment, his eyes met hers. She felt her blood run cold at what she saw in them. Then he was back to his awkward self, bowing repeatedly.

The announcer’s voice cut through the tension. “Lightning Blade Sara, given your… current situation, would you like to forfeit the match?”

The crowd held their breath. Sara’s face flushed red with humiliation. She was ranked forty-seventh in the tournament, known for her unbeatable speed. To forfeit to a nobody…

“Never!” she spat, dropping into a fighting stance despite her broken blade. “I would rather die than surrender to—”

Her words cut off as Vell suddenly appeared in front of her, his movement too fast for anyone to follow. His sword rested gently against her throat, and for just a moment, she saw the bloodlust coming from them.

She fell to her knees, horror stuck on her face, and unable to respond to the announcer’s words. Vell sheathed his sword and began walking towards the exit while bowing to everyone.

The announcer finally found his voice. “V-victory to Vell! In an unprecedented upset, the rookie swordsman has defeated Lightning Blade Sara!”

“This is rigged!” someone shouted from the crowd.

“No way he is just lucky!”

“Sara was going easy on him!”

Henry sat frozen in his seat, watching as Sara continued to stare at nothing, her face pale. She had seen it too—that brief moment when the mask had slipped. But unlike Henry, she did not know just how terrifying the truth behind that mask really was.

The beast girl’s laughter echoed from somewhere in the crowd, barely audible above the chaos.

The chaos in the arena grew louder with every passing second. Spectators yelled accusations, debated fiercely, and clamored for explanations. Some demanded a rematch, others whispered theories about who Vell really was.

In the stands, Henry’s heart pounded as he replayed the scene in his mind. Vell’s speed, precision, and that fleeting aura of killing intent—it was all too deliberate. He knew Sara, had seen her demolish opponents far more skilled than this so-called rookie. There was no way her loss was a coincidence.

The beast girl, ever composed, leaned back in her seat. Her tail swished lazily as she watched Vell exit the arena, her gaze lingering on his retreating form. When Henry caught her eye, she smiled, the kind of smile that said, “I told you so.”

—

Back in the fighters’ quarters, Vell let out a long breath and slumped onto a bench. His hands trembled slightly, and he stared at them as if they belonged to someone else.

“I overdid it,” he muttered, rubbing his face. “They are going to start asking questions.”

From the shadows, the beast girl emerged, her expression a mix of amusement and reproach. “You think?” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “You shattered her blade. You made her doubt everything she has ever trained for. Subtlety, ever heard of it?”

He groaned, leaning back against the wall. “It is not my fault. She is the one who kept pushing.”

“Uh-huh,” she replied, crossing her arms. “And I suppose putting your sword to her throat was a calculated accident too?”

“It worked, did it not?” He gave her a sheepish grin.

She sighed, shaking her head. “You are lucky people will chalk this up to a fluke for now. But if you keep pulling stunts like that, someone dangerous is going to notice—and not in a good way.”

He grinned villainously. “Someone dangerous already has. Soon I will be ranked the highest in this city, it is all a matter of time.”

“I still do not get why we have to go through all this trouble, you could just—”

“Shh, do not spoil the fun, it will come together nicely, just keep doing your part.”

“Well, I will carry out your orders, master.”

—

Meanwhile, Sara sat in the healer’s tent, clutching the shards of her broken blade. The tournament staff had tried to console her, offering reassurances about replacements and repairs, but none of it registered. All she could think about was the look in Vell’s eyes.

It was not anger or arrogance—it was something far colder. Something dangerous and unrelenting.

Her hands clenched into fists. She had spent years building her reputation, perfecting her techniques, and rising through the ranks. To be humiliated like this by a rookie… no, she would not let it stand.

“I will find out what you are hiding,” she whispered to herself. “And I will make you regret it.”

—

Elsewhere, high above the arena, a figure cloaked in shadows watched the aftermath on a crystal display. His fingers tapped rhythmically against the armrest of his chair, the faint glow of his eyes betraying his intrigue.

“Interesting,” he murmured. “Very interesting. A rookie with no record, no history, and yet… such power.”

He leaned forward, a predatory smile curving his lips. “Let us see how far you can go before you break, Vell.”

Many guild masters also began to take interest in him while others were suspicious and wanted nothing to in with him. The vibe he gave off was just too weird for them to overlook.

—

As the second day of the tournament continued, the spotlight lingered on Vell, but the whispers behind the scenes grew louder. Henry, still shaken, could not shake the feeling that he was being drawn into something far bigger than he had ever imagined.

And somewhere in the heart of the city, a storm was beginning to brew—one that would change the course of the tournament, and perhaps the entire city, forever.

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