CHAPTER 204: A BLOODY MATCH(2)

Aria couldn’t help but feel a ripple of unease when the carriage finally lurched to a stop. The moment she stepped out, the noise hit her first—an unrelenting roar that seemed to shake the very ground beneath her boots. The arena loomed ahead, its towering stone walls encircling a mass of bodies crammed shoulder to shoulder. The air was thick with heat, sweat, and the metallic tang of anticipation, the scent of it almost as sharp as the weapons she knew waited inside.

Her breath caught. The sheer number of faces staring down from the stands was overwhelming, a sight that made her wonder how Zyren had managed to summon so many spectators in such a short time. It was as if every pair of eyes in the kingdom had been drawn here, hungry for blood.

Almost as though she had read Aria’s thoughts, Vioni, walking just a step behind, leaned in and gestured for her to move forward. Rumora trailed them both, her gaze darting about in equal parts awe and suspicion.

"There’s nothing the people love more than watching a fight," Vioni murmured, her voice steady but tinged with something like excitement. "And this one... this decides who stands beside the king. To be honest, you should think of it like the queen being chosen."

Aria gave a short, humorless scoff, shaking her head as she adjusted to the unfamiliar weight of the armor. The Adanite plates were lighter than she’d expected but still constricting, hugging her ribs and shoulders until every movement felt deliberate.

"Me? Queen?" she said aloud, her voice carrying more derision than she intended. "They’d never accept me, no matter what Zyren says." And she knew—without question—that she would rather die than sit beside him in that gilded cage.

Being king with his head under my boot... now that, I could live with.

The pace quickened, their steps echoing down a narrow passage. Instead of leading her toward Zyren, they brought her to a low, shadowed gate beneath the stands. The smell of the crowd was stronger here—heat, dust, and the acrid scent of spilled ale. Through the iron bars ahead, Aria caught sight of Harriet. The other woman was clad in nearly identical armor, the muted silver of Adanite gleaming faintly under the wan light. Yet her eyes—once so vacant and hollow—were fixed forward, unblinking, her expression flat and cold.

But Aria’s newly sharpened senses caught something else. Beneath the armor, beneath the rigid stance, Harriet’s body still radiated weakness—her movements too deliberate, her weight subtly shifted to one side.

"One smooth downward thrust should do it," Vioni murmured beside her, pointing toward Harriet with a faint smile that suggested the outcome was inevitable. Aria didn’t answer, merely stepping toward the gate, the roar of the crowd pressing down on her like a wave.

Just as she was about to pass through, a gentle tug stopped her. She turned to find Rumora standing close, her wide eyes locking onto Aria’s with a sincerity that startled her.

"It’s only right that you defend yourself," Rumora whispered. Her voice trembled, yet her gaze was steady, full of trust. The message was clear—if Aria took the first swing, she’d carry the guilt of killing Harriet for the rest of her life.

Aria nodded once, slowly getting over the shock of hearing Rymora actually confirm that she could speak as she stepped away.

The gate groaned open. The light hit her first—muted sunlight filtered through a thin veil of clouds. The arena floor stretched wide and barren, the ground churned to dust by countless battles before hers. She could feel the stares from every seat, the weight of expectation pressing against her armor. Across the expanse, Harriet entered with measured steps, a short blade in her grip and a gaze as frigid as steel.

"I can figure out a way where you don’t have to die if you refuse to fight," Aria called out, her voice carrying just enough to reach Harriet. The crowd’s cheers blurred the edges of her words, but she saw in Harriet’s eyes that she’d heard.

There was no reply. No hesitation.

Instead of waiting for the king’s signal, Harriet moved. She screamed—an animal, ragged sound—and rushed Aria with startling speed. Aria barely had time to raise her blade, steel ringing against steel as their swords met in a forceful clash. The shock of it rattled her bones.

She staggered back, breath quickening, her brows drawing tight in disbelief. Harriet’s movements were sharper, heavier, faster than they had any right to be. This was not the woman Aria had assessed moments ago, not the frail opponent her senses had marked as an easy win.

Fear slid cold into her chest. Her heartbeat surged, loud in her ears. This was wrong—impossibly wrong.

’She’s human. She shouldn’t feel this strong.’

Another blow came, harder than the first, and Aria had to grit her teeth to keep from being forced to her knees. The vibrations from the strike burned up her arms, her grip tightening until her knuckles whitened. Harriet pressed forward, relentless, her eyes alive now—not with rage, but with grim, unyielding purpose.

It was the look of someone who had nothing left to lose.

’Was she pretending to be weak all along?’ The thought barely had time to form before the truth hit her—there was only one explanation for this kind of strength.

Aria darted back, boots kicking up dust, and shouted over the din, "She took something! That’s against the rules!"

Her voice cracked, desperation sharpening the edges. The crowd faltered, noise dipping into murmurs, confusion rippling through the stands. For a fleeting moment she thought—Zyren will hear. He’ll stop this.

A low chuckle cut through the air instead, silencing the rest. It was smooth and mocking, the kind of sound that slid like a blade under the skin.

A woman’s voice—rich, amused—rose above them. "There’s no rule against it, Lady Aria."

Aria’s stomach dropped at the sound. Vivian.

"I’d watch my front if I were you," Vivian added, her tone dripping with pleasure at the unfolding spectacle.

Aria’s focus flickered, just for a second, toward the stands. That second was all it took. A mistake she had no choice but to pay for.