Chapter 665: Small disagreement.
The line moved slowly forward, like a lazy river trying to find the sea. Inside the large circular hall, guards controlled the flow, registering names, handing out registration medallions, and expelling the most excitable.
Strax and Samira stood in the middle of the crowd, surrounded by warriors of all ages. The air smelled of leather, iron, and sweat. Conversations drifted through the space in a constant hum, punctuated by the metallic clink of weapons each candidate displayed like trophies.
Samira, though seemingly relaxed, had that predatory glint in her amber eyes. She enjoyed observing the others: their posture, the way they held their weapons, the way they breathed. To her, every detail revealed a weakness.
Strax, however, remained silent, leaning lightly against the wall at the side of the line, his hands in his pockets, as if he were not the least bit impressed. His golden eyes scanned the room, not seeking spectacle, but assessing risks. He looked bored, but behind that lazy air, he was ready to react to any change in pressure.
And then, the change happened.
A murmur began at the front of the line. A group of young men, well-dressed, in polished armor and capes embroidered with golden crests, approached with the arrogant confidence of those who believe the whole world must make way.
And the world, indeed, opened.
“Make way,” said one of them, a young man with light brown hair tied in a ponytail, his gaze full of disdain. “The tournament can’t begin without us.”
The common warriors, silent and courageless, moved aside. None dared to protest. Some even lowered their eyes, muttering among themselves. This kind of behavior seemed routine.
Samira watched the scene with a wry smile, resting her arm on the scabbard of her sword. “What a pathetic spectacle,” she muttered, only for Strax to hear. “Spoiled children who never learned to wait in line.”
Strax let out a weary sigh, tilting his head back as if he didn’t even have the patience to comment. “Leave them alone,” he said quietly. “The world loves to bow to peacocks.”
But Samira’s voice didn’t go unnoticed.
One of the young nobles—a young man in golden armor, with an athletic build and an arrogant expression—turned toward her, his eyes narrowing as if he’d heard a blasphemy.
“What did you say?” he asked, loud enough to draw glances from the line.
Samira didn’t show a hint of regret. Instead, she lifted her chin and smiled mockingly. “I said they look like ill-mannered children.”
A silence spread around them, as if everyone was waiting to see what would happen. The group of nobles stopped. Six young men, all dressed too clean, with smiles full of superiority and looks that didn’t hide their contempt for those they considered inferior.
The leader of the group, the one in golden armor, took two steps forward, stopping in front of Samira. He looked her up and down, as if she were just a cheeky peasant girl.
“Do you know who you’re talking to?” His voice carried that venomous tone only young men from wealthy families can muster. “I am Kairon Veldros, heir to House Veldros, and a future champion of this tournament.”
Samira arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. “And I should care… why?”
Some of those in line held their breath. It was unthinkable to challenge someone like him.
Kairon’s friends laughed, but there was tension in their laughter. One of them, with spiky black hair, pointed an accusing finger at Samira. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. She must be some lost soul who shouldn’t even be here.”
“Maybe he’s trying to get attention,” another added, smirking. “Many commoners do that when they see real nobles.”
Samira tilted her head, the smile on her lips growing even more dangerous. “Real nobles?” She let out a low laugh. “All I see are boys who’ve never been punched hard in the face.”
The provocation was like pouring oil on the fire.
“How dare you?!” Kairon took a step closer, now less than a hand’s breadth away from her. His hand moved to the sword strapped to his waist.
Strax sighed again, pulling his hands from his pockets. His expression hadn’t changed, but his golden eyes sparkled with a lethal calm.
He placed himself lightly between Samira and the young noble, unhurriedly, merely shifting his weight.
“Don’t do that,” he said, his tone almost disinterested, but firm as stone.
Kairon frowned, looking at Strax for the first time. “And who are you? Her lapdog?”
Strax tilted his head to the side, as if debating whether or not to waste his energy. “I’m someone who doesn’t like to wait too long for blood.” His voice carried a strange weight, a vibration that sent chills down the spines of some in the audience.
One of the organization’s guards rushed over, trying to control the commotion. “Enough!” he shouted. “Any fight out here will result in immediate disqualification!”
Kairon raised his hands theatrically, smiling arrogantly. “Of course, of course. I don’t want to waste energy on…” He looked Samira up and down once more. “…anyone irrelevant.”
His friends laughed with him, and together they began walking toward the entrance, cutting in line without further resistance. But before they disappeared from view, Kairon turned his head and gave one last look filled with contempt.
“At the tournament, I hope to meet you. Then everyone will see the difference between a Veldros and a…” He paused deliberately. “…anyone.”
Samira maintained her smile, but her amber eyes shone with the promise of something deadly. “I hope the same,” she said softly.
Strax placed a light hand on her shoulder, pulling her back into line. He didn’t seem angry; In fact, he seemed almost bored.
“Don’t waste time with bugs,” he murmured to her. “We’ll play with him later. Let’s sign up first.”
Samira smirked, her anger turning to anticipation. “Then it’s settled. He’ll be my food when we enter combat.”
The line started moving again, and the murmur grew louder. The other warriors whispered, some astonished by Samira’s boldness, others predicting she would be quickly crushed in the tournament. But everyone, without exception, was now curious.
No one forgot when someone dared to challenge the nobles.