CHAPTER 234: CHAPTER 234: PREDETERMINED FUTURES

As Bone Crusher’s body was dragged out of the arena by two attendants, the murmurs in the crowd began to die down. Noel remained standing, chest rising and falling, blood soaking the side of his green uniform. The pain in his ribs throbbed with each breath, but he didn’t show it.

From the stairwell near the arena’s edge, Torwan descended—still wearing the same mask as before. His steps were calm, unhurried.

He approached without theatrics, stopping just a few feet from Noel.

"You held up better than I expected," he said. "Not many accept that kind of invitation and walk out."

Noel didn’t answer immediately. He stood tall, gaze steady.

"You said I had to prove myself. I did."

Torwan gave a small nod.

"You did."

Balthor entered from the stands a few seconds later, his pace slower, more measured. When he spotted Torwan, his eyes lingered just a second too long. Something flickered in his expression—quiet, restrained, something not quite spoken.

Torwan glanced between them, then refocused on Noel.

"You mentioned you’re here on Estermont business."

Noel nodded. "That’s right. The family’s looking to expand in certain... overlooked territories. They’re moving capital away from public investments. Quiet growth. Long-term returns."

Torwan tilted his head slightly.

"Interesting. I’ve spent ten years trying to get the atention of the Estermont."

"Well, they’ve shifted perspective," Noel said smoothly. "Your name came up. They’re looking to re-establish ties—with people who can deliver results."

Torwan was silent for a moment, then gave a soft, amused exhale.

"Smart move."

He gestured toward the hallway leading out of the pit.

"Come on. You’ve earned a proper conversation."

The private chamber they were led into was smaller than Noel expected—more tactical than luxurious. A round table occupied the center, surrounded by cushioned seats, and a tray of fresh food had already been laid out. Two dwarven healers stood waiting near the wall.

"Sit," Torwan said, waving off the formality. "You’ll need the rest."

Noel lowered himself onto the nearest chair with care. The adrenaline had kept him upright, but now that it was fading, the pain settled in.

One of the healers approached quietly and knelt beside him. "Do I have permission?"

Noel gave a curt nod.

The healer peeled back the edge of the torn uniform and began cleaning the wound. A faint stinging followed as salve met broken skin, but Noel didn’t flinch. Soon, a soft glow pulsed from the dwarf’s palm as a low-tier healing spell activated.

Across the table, Balthor accepted a drink silently, sitting with a composed look. He hadn’t spoken much since they left the arena.

Torwan, still masked, poured himself a glass of deep red wine and leaned back.

"You handled yourself well," he said. "Most people just try to survive that fight. You turned it into a performance."

"I wasn’t trying to perform," Noel replied, eyes forward. "I was trying to win."

Torwan chuckled lightly. "Same thing, when you’re smart about it."

He set the glass down and leaned slightly forward, his tone shifting to something closer to curiosity than small talk.

"So, the Estermonts have decided to take an interest in the tournament now? That surprises me. They’ve kept their hands clean of these events for years."

Noel kept his expression neutral, letting the pause stretch before answering. "They’ve realized that keeping their distance doesn’t buy them leverage. Right now, the academy circuit is more than just prestige—it’s influence, narrative control. Eyes are watching from every capital, and the Estermonts don’t intend to be on the sidelines."

Torwan let out a short hum of amusement and nodded slowly as he swirled the wine in his glass. "Then they’ve timed it well. The attention around this year’s tournament is bigger than usual since the Imperial Academy is participating, and it’s only going to grow once the brackets progress."

He took a measured sip, then added with a more conspiratorial tone, "As a gesture of goodwill, and perhaps to help your ’clients’ prepare... I’ll give you something useful. A preview of tomorrow."

Noel turned his gaze to him, quiet but alert. "I’m listening."

Torwan nodded, setting the glass aside. "I have four students entering the arena tomorrow—handpicked, all under my personal oversight. Two will lose their matches, cleanly and convincingly, just enough to blend with the expected variance of the event. The other two will win decisively. It’s all laid out."

He tapped the tabletop twice with two fingers, deliberate.

"Win, lose, win, lose. A natural rhythm. Enough to pass as coincidence to anyone not looking closely. But those who know how to read a bracket will recognize the shaping hand."

Noel narrowed his eyes slightly. "And shaping results like that... it takes more than preparation. It takes deep control."

Torwan’s voice didn’t change, but the calmness in it sharpened. "Control, yes. But also leverage, timing, and trust. The kind that isn’t written down, doesn’t leave fingerprints, and only flows through the right people. That’s the real value—predictability without exposure."

He lifted his glass again, giving Noel a small toast across the table.

"To systems that run quiet... and always pay back double."

He let a breath pass before speaking again, his voice calm but deliberate.

"And what happens if one of your students doesn’t follow the script? Decides to throw the plan off for pride, or fear, or a better offer?"

Torwan didn’t answer right away. He leaned back in his seat, resting an arm across the top of the chair, the faint clink of his rings tapping the wood.

"They usually don’t," he said finally. "Most of them understand what’s expected when they’re brought under my wing. But if one does stray..." —he glanced briefly toward the arena, now empty— "well, you saw the consequences for yourself."

Noel nodded slowly, though his gaze didn’t soften. "So the kid from earlier... he wasn’t just fighting for survival. He was making an example."

"Exactly," Torwan replied. "He broke an agreement. Made it harder for the others to trust the process. If I’d let that slide, it would have rippled through the dormitories by morning."

He reached for the wine again but didn’t drink this time.

"Now, they’ll talk. Whisper about what happens when you try to back out. And the next group will be twice as obedient."

Across the table, Balthor finally spoke, his tone quieter than usual.

"Efficient. Cold... but efficient."

Torwan gave a short shrug. "I don’t ask for loyalty. Just cooperation. And results."

Noel folded his arms, leaning back in his seat slightly. "And how far does this go? Are we talking about just the next round? Or the entire bracket?"

"The ones under my control are staggered throughout the schedule," Torwan said. "Some will rise early. Others will fall where it’s most useful. The goal isn’t to win every fight—it’s to control where the attention flows, where the wagers land, and which names hold weight when it’s over."

He paused, then added more quietly, "Victory doesn’t always look like standing on a podium. Sometimes it’s just knowing who’s standing next to it... and how much they owe you."

Noel studied him for a moment longer, then gave the faintest nod.

He understood the rules now.

The room had settled into a quieter rhythm. The food remained mostly untouched, and the wine half-drunk, but something had already shifted—an unspoken agreement hung in the air, tentative but forming.

Noel stood, rolling his shoulder slightly now that the pain had dulled to a background throb. The healer had done good work—quick, clean, efficient.

He adjusted his suit and looked toward Torwan, his voice measured but clear.

"I’ll return. After tomorrow’s matches," he said. "If the results line up with what you told me... we’ll move forward with the Estermont business."

Torwan, still seated, tilted his head slightly and gave what might’ve been a smile beneath the mask.

"I’ll be here," he replied. "This office doesn’t move. And neither do my terms."

He paused, then added with calm assurance, "Wear the same attire next time—same masks, and suits. My staff will recognize you immediately and bring you straight to me. No need to wait in line."

Balthor stood up beside Noel, adjusting his collar and keeping his expression carefully neutral.

Torwan gave them one final nod. "It’s good doing business with people who understand structure. Makes things easier."

Noel didn’t respond at first. He held the dwarf’s gaze for a moment longer, then gave a small nod of his own.

"Let’s hope it stays that way."

He turned toward the door without another word, Balthor following close behind. The guards opened the chamber for them as they stepped back into the dim corridors of the underground halls.