CHAPTER 185: ENTERING THE BLOOD VALLEY!

Vellarin’s crimson cloak fluttered in the wind as he stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over the gathering of warriors, nobles, and spectators. The sunlight above the arena seemed almost dimmer when his shadow stretched across the stage.

His eyes—sharp and unblinking—fixed on the horizon, as though he could see beyond the mountains that hemmed in the royal grounds. Then, without looking at the crowd, he spoke.

"Our first round will begin in the Blood Valley."

A murmur rippled through the competitors—some bristling with excitement, others tightening their grips on weapons.

Vellarin’s tone never wavered.

"From here, you will make your way to the valley. Once there... you must survive for three days."

His words hung in the air like a decree carved in stone.

"King Zalmic has already told you this much," he continued, tilting his head slightly, his long hair catching the wind. "But let me make something very clear—be careful."

He took a slow step forward, and though his voice lowered, it seemed to echo louder.

"Beasts aren’t the only enemies you’ll face."

The implication struck harder than any roar from the stands. Competitors glanced sideways at one another, already sensing the unspoken truth—treachery, sabotage, and bloodshed between participants was not only possible... it was expected.

Somewhere in the crowd, a werewolf champion’s grin widened. Across from him, one of the vampire champions licked her lips slowly, as if savoring the thought.

Vellarin’s gaze moved over the group, lingering for the briefest moment on each of the six champions—three vampires, three werewolves—before he turned away.

"You have one hour to prepare. When the horns sound... your trial begins."

Aamir tilted his head back, eyes catching the pale, silver coin of the moon hanging above the arena’s open sky. The light poured down like a silent witness, cool and ancient.

A faint smirk tugged at his lips.

"Hmph... a moon like this doesn’t just watch the hunt—it remembers it."

For a moment, the noise of the crowd faded from his mind. He exhaled slowly.

"Man... I miss the tournament in Valtania. That was... fun." His voice dropped, almost a murmur. "At least until it turned into a war."

He leaned against the railing, gaze sliding toward the werewolf champions gathering in the distance.

"Hey, Luman," he said in his mind, "these so-called champions from previous years... they aren’t that strong. I could take all three down without breaking a sweat. So why is the King acting like he’s worried?"

Luman’s voice resonated in his thoughts, calm but edged with warning.

[Host, I don’t think King Zalmic fears the champions—or any of the other werewolf competitors. This feels... deeper. Maybe they’re plotting something far more devastating than it appears.]

Aamir’s smirk returned, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

"Maybe they are. Who knows? For now..." He straightened, rolling his shoulders as the moonlight glinted in his golden eyes. "...let’s just focus on the tournament."

While Aamir was lost in his own thoughts, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed nearby.

From the shadowed corridor, Fenric Bloodfang emerged — towering, broad-shouldered, his crimson eyes gleaming like fresh blood under moonlight. The faint scent of iron and fur filled the air as he approached.

"What happened, King of Beasts? Feeling scared?" Fenric’s deep voice carried a mocking edge, his sharp canines showing in a half-smirk.

Aamir didn’t flinch. His gaze was calm, steady — almost bored.

"Again, as I told you before... I don’t get scared of people who are weaker than me."

Fenric’s smirk twitched into a glare. "We’ll see about that."

Aamir’s lips curled into a faint grin. "Well... let’s see then."

The tension between them was thick enough to choke the air. Every competitor nearby felt it — a silent clash of pride before the actual battle.

Then — DING!

The great bell above the arena rang, its deep toll echoing through the stone walls. The signal.

The gates to the arena groaned open.

Aamir, Fenric, and the rest of the werewolf and vampire contenders stepped forward in unison. Their footsteps pounded against the ground, each step carrying them closer to the Blood Valley — the place where victory and death walked hand in hand.

The great bell’s final toll faded, and in an instant, the arena floor erupted in motion.

WHOOM—

The three werewolf champions moved first.

Fenric Bloodfang shot forward like a living missile, each stride tearing chunks of stone from the ground. Beside him, Ralkor the Ironhide thundered forward, the earth groaning under his weight. Vexa Moonscar blurred into a streak of silver and shadow, claws raking sparks from the stone as she launched herself ahead.

The sheer force of their acceleration left a visible shockwave rippling behind them.

Aamir watched, arms crossed, eyes tracking their movements. A small smirk tugged at his lips.

"Not bad, Fenric... but still too slow."

Just like the wolves, the vampire champions reacted.

Gordan burst forward in a blur of crimson, the sunlight glinting off his armor like molten blood. Syran, shadow-cloaked, almost seemed to melt into the air before reappearing several paces ahead with each step — a predator slipping between dimensions.

One by one, the rest of the competitors surged toward the Blood Valley, their forms turning into a chaotic blur of claws, steel, and dust. The sound of hundreds of feet pounding the ground thundered through the arena.

Soon, the gates were empty... except for Aamir.

Up in the stands, murmurs began to ripple.

"What is he doing?"

"Why isn’t he moving?"

A werewolf spectator snorted. "Maybe he got scared after seeing the werewolf champions’ speed."

A vampire noble smirked coldly. "So much for the ’King of Beasts’."

But then... Aamir tilted his head toward the moon, a faint gleam in his golden eyes.

"Let’s hunt, shall we?"

And he vanished.

No running. No blur of motion. Just gone.

Gasps erupted across the stadium.

"Where—?!"

"He disappeared!"

On one of the massive floating screens, a spectator suddenly pointed.

"Hai! Look! Over there!"

The camera crystal zoomed in — and there he was. Aamir stood in the middle of the Blood Valley, hands in his pockets, the wind ruffling his hair as if he’d been waiting there all along.

"How... how fast is he?!" a werewolf muttered, disbelief in his voice.

Inside the Blood Valley

A sprawling wasteland stretched under a sky washed in crimson light. Jagged black cliffs jutted out like fangs from the earth, rivers of dark water glinting under the blood moon’s glow. In the distance, guttural roars of beasts shook the air.

Aamir’s sharp gaze swept over the terrain.

"Nice place... feels like home."

A few seconds later, the werewolf champions burst into the valley.

Fenric’s eyes immediately found him — and narrowed.

He didn’t run... so how in the hell did he—?

Ralkor growled under his breath. No scent trail... nothing. This is wrong.

Vexa didn’t even speak. She simply crouched low, watching him like a predator studying something dangerous.

Then, Gordan and Syran arrived, stepping out from the shadowed cliffs almost at the same time as the wolves.

Gordan’s armored boots crunched against the gravel as he eyed Aamir. Teleportation? No... I didn’t feel any mana surge. Then how—?

Syran’s expression was hidden in the folds of his cloak, but his mind was sharp. Either he’s hiding his movement technique... or what I just saw was something far beyond normal speed.

The five champions stood there for a brief moment, each sizing up the others in tense silence.

And Aamir... simply smiled.

The crowd shifted uneasily as Vellarin’s words sank in. "Beasts aren’t the only enemy you’ll face." His voice hung in the air like the edge of a drawn blade. The competitors looked at each other — some with determination, others with thinly veiled fear.

Aamir stood calmly, arms folded, his eyes scanning the jagged horizon of Blood Valley. The place lived up to its name — crimson cliffs, a faint mist that seemed to move like breathing smoke, and distant roars echoing through the valley walls.

Then, without warning, the ground beneath them shuddered. Pebbles danced at their feet. From the warped treeline to their right, a dark shape burst into the clearing — a hulking beast, all matted fur and jagged bone plates protruding from its back. Its yellow eyes locked onto the group like a predator spotting prey.

Gasps erupted from the crowd. The creature roared, a sound so deep it rattled the ribs, and charged forward. The competitors scattered instinctively, weapons raised, adrenaline surging.

But Aamir didn’t move. He watched it come, his expression unreadable, as if the beast was nothing more than an impatient child rushing at him.

The monster lunged, claws wide, breath foul and hot.

Aamir sighed. "Too slow."

In a single fluid motion, he stepped forward and swung his fist.

It wasn’t a dramatic wind-up. There was no glowing aura, no explosion of energy — just a casual, almost lazy punch. Yet the moment it connected with the beast’s skull, a shockwave cracked through the air.

The creature’s massive frame froze mid-attack, its momentum shattered. For a split second, silence swallowed the world — then the beast collapsed with a thunderous boom, the ground trembling under its weight. Its skull was caved in, eyes wide with the disbelief of a predator that never had the chance to strike.

The dust settled.

Everyone stared at Aamir.

He adjusted his sleeve like nothing had happened. "If that’s the kind of threat you’re worried about," he said, glancing at Vellarin, "you can relax. It won’t slow me down."

Vellarin’s lips twitched — not quite a smile, not quite disapproval. "Blood Valley will test more than your fists, Aamir. Don’t get careless."

Aamir simply shrugged and turned back toward the valley, the faintest glint of a challenge in his eyes.

Somewhere deep within Blood Valley, another roar answered.