The crowd was rowdy with anticipation. The nobles still whispered about Theian's overwhelming display the night before, and the commoners filled the stands, eager for more spectacle. Ari Solen stood silently near the combat gate, cloaked and hooded, unrecognizable save for the weight of presence that clung to him like mist.
Kaien leaned against the wall beside him, arms crossed, smirking faintly. "Try not to make too many jaws drop. You're trying to stay anonymous, remember?"
Ari chuckled, eyes fixed on the arena. "Just enough to be underestimated later."
The announcer's voice rang out, booming. "Next match! A new contender steps into the ring—name not disclosed. His opponent, a seasoned duelist from the southern barracks, Rehnar of the Twin Blades!"
The gates opened.
Ari walked calmly into the sunlight, his cloak fluttering in the dry wind. Rehnar, a tall fighter with dual short swords and bright orange Threads coiling around his arms, bowed once and smirked.
"Hope you're ready to dance."
Ari didn't respond. He just stood there, relaxed, hands at his sides.
The moment the horn blared, Rehnar dashed in like a blur. His blades carved through the air in sharp arcs, Threads bursting with flame enchantments. The crowd roared.
But none of them touched Ari.
He moved like water through gaps in the attack. Not with teleportation or flashy magic—but sheer instinct, step-reading, and minimal Threadwork. A light weave shimmered at his fingertips, adjusting the wind, shifting momentum just slightly—enough to redirect, enough to confuse.
Rehnar staggered. "W-What…?"
Ari placed a hand gently on the man's shoulder. A ripple of invisible Threads spread out—Rehnar's enchantments instantly shorted out. The blades dimmed. He fell to one knee, panting, confused.
"I didn't even see a spell…" someone in the crowd whispered.
Keem, watching from the noble stands with a drink in his hand, leaned forward, eyes wide. "He calculated the recoil vectors and countered the spell before it fired…"
"He didn't even try," Vinny muttered beside him.
Gem simply stared. "That… wasn't strength. That was knowing the exact moment to strike and doing it."
Hooven scratched his beard, a low rumble in his throat. "He made it look like a friendly pat."
But it was Keem—brilliant, trickster Keem—who felt the deepest unease. His mind raced to keep up with what he just witnessed, and for the first time in years, he fell short. "He… saw through it all."
Ari turned away from Rehnar and left the arena without a word.
Back under the gate, Kaien stood waiting, arms now uncrossed, expression unreadable.
"Well," he said after a long pause, "that's one way to introduce yourself."
Ari smirked. "Just enough."
As the match was declared, the arena buzzed—not just with excitement, but with uncertainty. Who was he? What did they just see? Even the seasoned fighters were watching now, not just as competitors—but as if a new predator had entered the ring.
And from their private balconies, high above the crowd, some Batangaran elders exchanged glances.
The Compiler had arrived. But only a flicker of him.