CHAPTER 231: CHAPTER 232: BLOOD ON VELVET

Noel walked a few steps behind Balthor, careful not to brush against the shoulders of the masked guests crowding the hall. The space was filled with round tables covered in crimson velvet, golden candelabras casting flickering light across crystal glasses and overflowing platters of food.

Every person wore a mask. Some simple, others extravagant—bejeweled, feathered, or carved from dark metal. The air smelled of incense, wine, and something faintly spiced.

Waitresses moved through the crowd with trays in hand, dressed in minimal, elegant clothing that drew the eyes of many. Laughter, clinking glasses, and murmured conversation blended into a background hum.

Balthor stopped by a table near the edge of the room and poured himself a dark amber drink from a crystal decanter.

"Well, kid, what exactly do you want to do here?" he asked, swirling the drink lazily in his glass.

Noel didn’t answer immediately. His gaze scanned the room.

"Don’t you think your brother should be here?" he said at last. "Noniel told us he’s the director of the Tharvaldur Institute and that some of these fights are rigged. If he’s involved in the betting, this seems like the perfect place to make deals, that’s why I asked you to bring me."

Balthor raised an eyebrow, then nodded slightly.

"You’ve got a point. He probably is around. But as you can see, there are a lot of dwarves here... and if he’s wearing a proper suit, the tattoo would be hidden. Might be hard to spot him."

Noel leaned a little closer, voice low. "Not really. If he’s the one handling the bets, wouldn’t that make him the center of attention? I doubt someone like that could blend in—even here."

"Hah," Balthor chuckled. "You’re right again. When he shows up, there’ll probably be some kind of shift in the room. People will flock to him."

"For now, we wait?" Noel asked.

Balthor lifted his glass. "And enjoy the show."

Noel tilted his head. "Show?"

Balthor gestured toward the far end of the hall.

"Sometimes they have singers or dancers, pretty girls really, but the main attraction here is the fighting. Look over there."

Noel followed his gesture and saw a wide stairway leading down into what looked like another level. Faint cheering echoed upward.

"That’s the arena," Balthor said. "Most nights, they have fighters go at it until someone gets knocked out—or worse."

"Is that the kind of entertainment powerful people enjoy?" Noel asked quietly.

Balthor gave a short laugh. "Who’s going to stop them? Out there, maybe they play by the rules... but in here? People want something different. If you earn the owner’s trust, you might get invited to deeper circles of business. But the arena’s the place most people come for."

"I see."

A sudden wave of cheering echoed from below.

Noel didn’t move, but his eyes narrowed.

’Something feels wrong about all this... I wonder when the Fifth Pillar will appear. And if I’ll be able to get close.’

A smooth, amplified voice rang out from the lower level, drawing the attention of many guests nearby.

"Ladies and gentlemen... tonight’s first match is about to begin."

Noel and Balthor moved toward the balcony overlooking the arena. From there, the full view of the lower floor came into focus: a circular pit surrounded by elegant railings, rows of cushioned seating, and private booths set along the walls. Torches glowed in metal sconces, casting sharp shadows across the sand-covered floor of the arena.

At its center stood a woman—an elven announcer dressed in a deep violet gown that shimmered under the lights. Her mask was made of silver and shaped like delicate wings. She raised one arm gracefully, signaling the crowd to quiet.

"Our first contender," she announced, "is a young warrior from one of our very own esteemed academies. Let’s welcome him back to the stage..."

A dwarf stepped into the arena.

Noel’s eyes narrowed. ’Wait... I know him.’

It was the same dwarf who had opened the tournament between the academies—the one who had fought in the very first match.

"He fought in the tournament," Noel said aloud.

"Yeah?" Balthor leaned on the railing. "Let’s see who he’s up against."

The elf’s voice rang again. "And facing him tonight, the crowd favorite... a mountain of muscle and might... the undefeated Bone Crusher!"

The opposite gate opened. A massive dwarf lumbered into the arena. His skin was pale and scarred, his body almost unnaturally wide. Each step he took made the wooden boards beneath the sand creak. His mask was minimal, more like a metal jaw guard.

’That can’t be fair,’ Noel thought. ’This isn’t a fight. It’s a setup.’

He turned to Balthor. "Why does this look so one-sided?"

Balthor shrugged. "Beats me. The other day there were two guys just like this. Brutal mismatch. No magic, no tricks. Just fists. I don’t know what people enjoy about watching someone get flattened."

Noel didn’t respond right away. His eyes locked onto the young dwarf standing alone in the pit, trying to keep his hands steady.

’This can’t be normal. Is this punishment? Could it be tied to his performance in the tournament?’

"The big one’s been here before," Balthor said. "They call him Bone Crusher for a reason."

Noel looked up. "Why?"

"Just watch. You’ll see. Poor kid... I wonder what he did to end up here."

The announcer raised her hand. A bell chimed, clear and sharp.

"Let the match... begin!"

The bell’s echo faded, replaced by the dull thud of fists hitting flesh.

Bone Crusher didn’t hesitate. He charged forward like a battering ram, one arm raised, the other low to the ground. The younger dwarf barely had time to raise his guard before the first blow landed—heavy, blunt, and loud enough to make several guests flinch.

The smaller dwarf staggered back, already bleeding from the nose.

"Come on, move!" Noel muttered under his breath. But it was clear—this wasn’t a fight. It was an execution.

Bone Crusher grabbed his opponent by the shoulder and slammed him into the arena wall. The crowd roared in approval. Drinks were lifted in celebration. Coins clinked as new bets were placed mid-fight.

Noel turned away from the arena for a second... and froze.

A figure had entered the hall above them—well-dressed, confident, surrounded by a group of attendants and sharply dressed bodyguards. His suit was dark, tailored, lined with bronze threads. Even behind the mask, his presence was undeniable.

People began to stir, some rising to greet him, others leaning in to whisper. A cluster formed around him like moths to flame.

’That’s him,’ Noel thought. ’That has to be the Fifth Pillar. The one behind this.’

Balthor noticed the shift too.

"Don’t stare too long, kid," he muttered. "Let’s not draw attention."

But Noel’s eyes were pulled back to the arena by a new round of cheering. The smaller dwarf had tried to punch back—but Bone Crusher caught his wrist mid-swing.

"Uh-oh," Balthor murmured. "This is where it ends."

Bone Crusher yanked him in and wrapped both massive arms around him.

A brutal bearhug.

Noel gritted his teeth.

’Come on... someone stop it.’

But no one did.

The crowd screamed louder:

"Crush him!"

"Break him!"

"Let him pop!"

Noel clenched his fists. ’I could stop this. I could jump in. But... that’s not why I’m here. I need to get closer to the Pillar. If I act now, I’ll blow everything.’

He watched, jaw tight, as the smaller dwarf’s arms fell limp. His body sagged inside the crushing grip, bones cracking audibly. His eyes rolled back.

"Shit," Noel whispered, looking away just as the final squeeze turned the boy into a lifeless ragdoll.

The crowd erupted into thunderous applause as Bone Crusher let the dwarf’s body slump to the ground.

The boy didn’t move.

His limbs were twisted unnaturally, his chest barely rising. Blood trickled from the side of his mouth, and his eyes remained open, unfocused.

A moment later, a group of medics rushed into the arena from a side gate—three dwarves in white coats and gloves, moving quickly with a stretcher between them. One knelt beside the body, checking for a pulse. Another shook his head grimly and began casting a basic healing spell, just enough to stabilize.

Bone Crusher raised both arms to the audience, flexing with a wide grin on his face. The crowd responded with wild cheers and chants.

"Bone Crusher! Bone Crusher!"

He pounded a fist against his chest and let out a roar, savoring the attention.

Noel stood still, jaw clenched.

The boy was carefully lifted onto the stretcher, his body limp like wet cloth. The medics carried him out swiftly, avoiding the center of the arena where blood had stained the sand.

"Disgusting," Noel muttered under his breath.

Balthor exhaled beside him. "They love a show, even if it’s twisted."

Noel didn’t respond. His gaze shifted back toward the man in the crowd—the one surrounded by guards, now laughing with a pair of masked merchants.

’That’s the target. That’s the reason I’m here.’

His eyes narrowed.

’Twenty-four days left. If I want answers, I need to act. I can’t waste tonight.’

Without another word, Noel began walking toward the far side of the room, weaving through groups of nobles and guild leaders.

The crowd was still cheering. But for him, the real fight hadn’t even begun.