The Red Arena buzzed with murmurs, the spectators still high on adrenaline from the duels they had witnessed. The commentator's voice had shifted to a more casual tone, breaking down the highlights of the matches—the strategies, the techniques, and, of course, the jaw-dropping moments that had left the crowd speechless. Yesdar, having just claimed his victory, climbed the steps back to the preparation room, his thoughts clouded. Danior's fall still played on his mind. The moment he collapsed without answering Yesdar's question about his sister lingered like a shadow.
Why did he pass out right then? Yesdar mused, his eyes cast down as he ascended. The noise of the arena seemed distant, muffled by the weight of his thoughts. There was something more to that, something off...
As he pushed open the door to the preparation room, he was greeted by the usual. The room hummed with the energy of those waiting for the next event. Eyes turned to him, some filled with awe, others simply curious.
"That was an interesting fight to watch, man. Where did you learn to fight?" asked one passerby, his voice dripping with admiration. But Yesdar didn't respond. He moved past without even acknowledging the question, his mind still preoccupied.
"Every winner's like that. They don't say shit, their pride rises." someone else muttered after noticing the lack of a reply. But Yesdar, still oblivious to the chatter around him, walked straight toward Griswa, who, as usual, sat casually in his corner, his hands lazily behind his head, legs stretched out like he had not a single care in the world.
"Congrats," Griswa said nonchalantly, his eyes half-closed, not bothering to look directly at Yesdar. "You did well—not like I expected any less from you. Good job."
Yesdar's expression remained flat as he sat down across from him. "The mass battle begins in an hour," Yesdar said, his voice void of any real emotion.
"I know," Griswa replied, his tone just as casual, barely moving from his reclined position.
"Where's Malaes and Virumi?" Yesdar asked, glancing around the room as he sat down.
"They went to grab something to snack on," Griswa replied, pointing lazily towards the empty seats. "Said they'd check if any seats were still available so they could watch the next fight outside instead of from this device or window."
Yesdar nodded. "I see..." His voice trailed off, but then his thoughts snapped back to the fight. "So, what did you think of the last match?" he asked, finally looking directly at Griswa.
"I didn't see it," Griswa said flatly.
There was a pause—a pause filled with disbelief. Yesdar's jaw dropped, his eyes widening in exaggerated shock.
"You didn't see it?!" Yesdar's voice shot up, the disbelief almost comical. "What the hell were you doing at that time?!"
Griswa, unbothered, barely shifted as he replied in the most indifferent tone possible, "Sleeping."
"SLEEPING?!" Yesdar repeated, his tone now a strange mix of disbelief and irritation, his hands dramatically gesturing toward Griswa, as if trying to make sense of this absurdity.
"Relax," Griswa said, as though the entire conversation was beneath him. "I didn't expect any less of you."
"Yes, but you didn't watch it!" Yesdar shot back, still incredulous. "Why didn't you watch it?!"
Griswa opened one eye lazily, meeting Yesdar's gaze for a brief moment before delivering his answer with maddening calm, "Because I didn't expect any more of you either."
Yesdar's face fell into a comical mix of disappointment and frustration. He sighed, shaking his head. "Yeah, but I didn't need to use my full potential," Yesdar muttered, still trying to justify himself.
"Exactly." Griswa's reply was quick, "That's why I didn't care to watch. I caught some parts when they replayed it here on the device—they called them highlights and moments." He waved dismissively at the TV. "It would've been boring for you too. Anyway, we didn't come here to expect and fight strong people just to show off power. We just came here to have fun."
Yesdar stared at him for a moment, finally understanding Griswa's point, but not completely letting it go. "Well, you still like to fight, don't you?"
"Yeah," Griswa shrugged. "I guess it's simple."
Yesdar leaned back, crossing his arms. "Hey, but forget that. You at least know who my last opponent was, right?"
Griswa blinked, clearly lost on the subject. "No, I don't."
Yesdar facepalmed, letting out a long sigh of exasperation. "It was Miss Somia's brother that she talked about before at her restaurant!"
Griswa's expression shifted slightly, a flicker of recognition crossing his face. "Oh, I see. The last opponent you faced was Miss Somia's brother, so he must've been strong enough to fight through to the final duel."
"Yes, but that's not the point," Yesdar said, his voice carrying a weight that hadn't been there before. "Miss Somia's brother is a gang lord in the underworld, they say. It's more than just fighting. He's involved in criminal activities—murder, gambling, smuggling. Fheniz once mentioned the existence of organizations like this... people who operate outside the law, they are called underworlds."
Griswa's eyes narrowed slightly but his posture remained relaxed. "So, Lady Maayaz's brother is a criminal, while she struggles in poverty. She's dealing with that reality while he makes a name for himself as the black sheep of the family." He paused for a moment. "Still... it's none of our business."
"Don't say that, Griswa," Yesdar retorted, his tone growing sharper. "As a deity, don't you feel anything for how your... underlings face their problems in this world?"
Griswa straightened slightly, his gaze meeting Yesdar's with cold precision. "Don't get confused," he said, his tone icy but measured. "I'm a god, not a deity."
"Huh?" Yesdar's face crumpled in confusion, clearly not following.
Griswa let out a long, exaggerated sigh, as though explaining something to a child. "A deity is a supreme being that is worshipped, often seen as the creator of worlds or the omniverse. A god, on the other hand, can choose whether or not they want to be worshipped. Not all gods are meant to be deities. Not all the gods are worshipped by all the people. To be precise, I am not interested in being a deity who is supposed to be worshipped. I am fine as who I am. I have no interest in being worshipped by anyone."
Yesdar stared blankly, clearly still not grasping the full concept. "All the Gods are not worshipped by all the people until the Gods show themselves. Expose yourself and you'll make a cult for yourself..."
Griswa cut him off, his tone flat and final. "I don't need to be a god to make a cult. By supremacy I never meant godly exposure. We're here for better purposes."
Yesdar opened his mouth to argue but saw the look in Griswa's eyes—an expression that left no room for discussion. He sighed, leaning back in his chair, accepting that the conversation had reached its end. "But..." he started again, only for Griswa to cut him off once more.
"End of discussion, Yesdar. No more," Griswa said, his voice carrying an unmistakable finality.
A silence settled over the room, heavy but not uncomfortable, as both of them sat with their thoughts. The sound of footsteps echoed from the hall, breaking the quiet tension. Malaes and Virumi returned, their faces slightly flushed from the walk.
"Oh dear, we got to walk so much here. It's not a big place, it's an oversized place!" Virumi exclaimed, clearly frustrated by the size of the arena. Then, her eyes locked on Yesdar, her entire expression lighting up.
"YESDAR-SAAAMAAAAAA!!!" she screamed, her voice high-pitched and full of exaggerated adoration. "CONGRATS ON WINNING THE COMPETITION, YOU FOUGHT SO WELL THAT IT SEEMED SO UNREAL NOI, I HAVE NEVER SEEN ANYTHING LIKE THAT IN MY ENTIRE LIFE NOI!!!"
Her eyes sparkled with hearts, her entire demeanor shifting into one of pure admiration. She clasped her hands together, twirling in a dance of joy as if she were floating on a cloud.
Yesdar, caught off guard, managed an awkward smile. "Thank you, Virumi..." he said, his voice strained as a sweatdrop formed at the back of his head, clearly unsure of how to handle her over-the-top enthusiasm.
Meanwhile, Malaes, who had already become used to Virumi's antics, rolled her eyes and spoke in a calm, even tone. "Umm, I don't know if the last opponent you faced was Miss Somia's brother or not."
"Yes, because there can be other families with the same name," Malaes continued, crossing her arms. "Her brother being an underworld gang lord? It seems a bit far-fetched, don't you think?"
Yesdar leaned forward, his expression serious. "No, I'm certain he's the one. Miss Somia mentioned her brother was a fighting enthusiast, and that he was competing to improve their financial situation. She didn't mention he was a gang lord, which makes sense—who'd admit something like that? But here's the kicker—if everyone in the Mordul Uls territory knows who he is, what's the point hiding it? Possible answer; It's because she knew we were outsiders, strangers who didn't know the territory. And when I asked Danior about her after the fight, he passed out. He had energy left to tell me the story of why he's called 'The Serpent,' but the moment I mentioned his sister, he collapsed. That felt intentional."
Malaes raised an eyebrow, considering his words. "I see. That does suggest there's something off in their relationship."
Griswa, still the uninterested observer, stretched and let out a long breath. "What you say is worth pondering over, but not for now." His voice was casual, almost bored, as though the conversation hadn't intrigued him in the slightest. "Maybe after the tournament's over," he continued, his eyes carrying the weight of finality.
"Yeah, but what did he tell you as his story?" Malaes asked curiously. Yesdar looked at her and replied in a simple yet thought provoking tone, "His story? He spoke about an old legend. As I remember he said that everyone in Mordul Uls knows about this and why he was named that. Children learn this story in schools and in total, it says that once upon a time there existed a seven-headed snake called 'The Serpent.' Each head represented a different sin. People of Mordul Uls started calling Danior 'The Serpent' because he's a person who has done all those sins on an abnormal level. That's the end of it."
"Abnormal?"
The word stuck on their minds.
"Alright then, we'll go to Ms. Somia and ask her about this after the tournament's over. It's better than discussing it among ourselves and trying to guess everything ourselves," Yesdar said, his voice cutting through the tense air.
"What're you guys discussing?" Virumi asked, her curiosity piqued as she finished watching the highlights on the TV and walked over to the trio.
Malaes seized the opportunity, hoping Virumi might know something. "Virumi, do you know anything about the Seven-Headed Snake called 'The Serpent'?" she asked.
Virumi frowned, puzzled at the sudden question. "Yes, I do know, but why do you guys want to know about that?" she asked cautiously, sensing the weight behind Malaes' inquiry.
"Well," Malaes began, carefully considering her words, "you know the one Yesdar fought in the final match was someone called 'The Serpent,' who, as we've confirmed based on what Yesdar told us, is also Ms. Somia's brother."
"Okay…" Virumi responded, her intrigue growing as she sensed something larger unfolding.
"So, this serpent guy—Danior Somia—told Yesdar before he passed out that he was named after a seven-headed snake. Each head represents a different sin. But we only know the basics. Can you tell us more about this seven-headed snake?" Malaes continued, her eyes narrowing as she studied Virumi's reaction.
"Yes, Virumi, will you please tell us?" Yesdar added, his tone carrying a subtle command that made Virumi gasp. Her cheeks reddened for a moment, and she quickly waved her hands in the air, her voice full of fervor.
"DON'T SAY PLEASE, YESDAR-SAMA! I CAN NEVER SAY NO TO YOU NOI!" she exclaimed, twirling in her usual fangirlish delight.
Griswa, who had been resting with half-closed eyes, now subtly shifted his posture, though it seemed like he wasn't paying attention. But his sudden stillness betrayed his intent—he was listening.
Virumi, having regained her composure, sat down, her expression growing serious as she prepared to delve into something much darker. Her voice became a whisper, as though speaking of the Seven-Headed Snake required caution, reverence.
"The Seven-Headed Snake isn't literally a monster that existed," she began, her tone heavy with the weight of ancient knowledge. "It's an imaginary figure, a symbol created and revered by the Shulvri Faith. Each head represents a sin, but not the ordinary sins people usually talk about. These are darker, more insidious."
Yesdar's eyes narrowed in focus, Griswa's sharp gaze now fully awake, and Malaes leaned forward as Virumi began to explain.
"The Sin of Unwitnessed Cruelty," Virumi said, her voice lowering as if the very name carried a curse. "This sin isn't about the violence or cruelty that's committed in the open—no. It's the torment that no one can see or prove. The afflicted performs acts of horror on their victims with such precision and subtlety that no one can ever explain it noi. Imagine being mentally and emotionally torn apart, but with no scars, no evidence to show. The victim is left in a state of endless psychological breakdown, and the sinner… the sinner goes unpunished. No one will ever believe the victim noi."
A silence filled the room, thick and oppressive, as if the walls themselves recoiled from the darkness of what had been spoken. The cruelty in that sin was deeper than anything Yesdar had expected.
Malaes' expression hardened. This was something beyond expectations.
Griswa's eyes, usually calm and indifferent, now shimmered with a spark of something sharper. His lips curved into the faintest hint of a frown.
"And that's just one head?" Yesdar muttered under his breath, almost to himself, as if trying to grasp the gravity of what had been shared. But Virumi wasn't done.
"The Sin of Erased Moments," she continued, her eyes glazing over as if she were staring into the void itself. "This sin allows the sinner to remove crucial moments from someone's life. A marriage proposal, an argument, a life-altering realization—gone noi. Just wiped away, as if it never happened. The victim doesn't even remember, but they feel… they feel a hollow, inexplicable void. They continue their lives, but something's always missing noi. They don't know what, but they're broken, missing pieces of who they were. Imagine walking around, knowing something's wrong, but never knowing what."
Griswa's eyes opened fully now, piercing through the red and blue lights of the room. The mention of 'erased moments' struck him in ways that were too familiar, too dangerous. His mind raced—had Danior done this? Had he erased something from his sister's mind too?
He glanced at Malaes, whose face had gone still. She was thinking the same thing.
"The Sin of Invisible Chains," Virumi whispered, her voice barely audible. "This one binds a person's freedom in ways that no one can see. The victim thinks they're making their own choices, but every step, every decision has been manipulated, nudged by the sinner. It's a prison without bars. They live their life thinking they're in control, but they're trapped. Every decision they make leads to nowhere, and the worst part? They never realize it. The sinner controls them without raising any suspicion."
Yesdar clenched his fist, the weight of the idea sinking into his core. His mind flashed to the fights, the manipulation of power, of control. Was this something Danior had mastered? Was his entire approach, his very life, some manipulation of these unseen chains?
Virumi's voice grew softer, almost as if the next sin was too dark to fully articulate.
"The Sin of Stolen Meaning... This sin strips the meaning from any experience. A person could fall in love, achieve their life's greatest goal, or suffer through unimaginable trauma, but it would all feel… empty. The sinner takes the emotional weight away, leaving behind a hollow shell of memories noi. The victim questions everything, wonders if they've gone mad, because nothing feels right. It's not about taking a life—it's about taking the weight of life itself. They walk through life feeling numb, broken."
Malaes shivered, her thoughts spiraling. Her analytical mind tried to break it down, to understand the psychological depth of it, but there was something inherently terrifying about it. The subtlety of such a sin was a slow death of the soul, a void no one else could fill or even perceive.
"The Sin of Eternal Almost," Virumi continued, her voice trembling now. "It's the state of always being on the edge of success, love, or happiness, but never quite reaching it. It's always 'almost there,' but at the last moment, everything slips away noi. Endless hope, followed by inevitable disappointment. It's a slow, creeping torture that eats away at the soul. A life of near misses and unfulfilled desires. It's the subtle, psychological erosion that never stops but never pushes the victim over the edge."
The sheer cruelty in that subtlety—the slow, gnawing agony of always being on the verge of victory, only to have it stolen away—sent a chill through the room.
Virumi took a deep breath, her voice now haunted.
"The Sin of Silent Guilt. The sinner plants guilt in the mind of the victim for actions they never committed noi. A betrayal, a disaster—they believe they caused it, but no one else sees them as guilty. The guilt consumes them from within, slowly unraveling their mind. And all the while, the world sees them as innocent. Imagine that—the weight of a guilt so real to you, but invisible to everyone else."
Yesdar's grip on his sword tightened. There were literally many evils, but the idea of someone being tormented by guilt they never earned—that was something else.
"The Sin of Shattered Perception," Virumi concluded, her voice barely above a whisper now. "This one… it's the slow, subtle warping of a person's perception of reality noi. Colors seem wrong, sounds are delayed, faces appear unfamiliar. Over time, the victim begins to question everything—their own senses, their own mind. They start to doubt what's real and what's not. They live in a world where nothing is quite right, but they can't ever figure out what's wrong. Paranoia sets in, and they're left in a world they no longer trust."
As she finished, a suffocating silence filled the room. Virumi's words hung like a dense fog over them, seeping into their thoughts, their emotions. Yesdar, Griswa, and Malaes each absorbed the enormity of what had been revealed. These weren't mere sins. They were prisons—cages for the mind, the heart, and the soul. And Danior had committed these sins at an "abnormal level."
That didn't clarify what it meant exactly.
Griswa and Malaes exchanged a glance, a sharp, silent exchange that carried volumes. The same thought had struck them both at the same time. Had Danior used the Sin of Erased Moments on his own sister? Was that why Ms. Somia struggled to speak about him? What memories had been stolen from her mind, leaving her in this fractured state, fractured life?
And if these sins were real… who else had been a victim? How many others had lived under the shadow of The Serpent, their lives broken in ways they couldn't even explain?
As the questions loomed, the tension in the room grew unbearable. Griswa's eyes narrowed as he turned slightly toward Malaes, his expression hardening. He knew they were on the edge of something far more dangerous than they had anticipated.
They had faced many battles, but this… this was something different.
Griswa and Malaes looked at each other, an indication they realized this at the same moment.
How was such a person even allowed to enter a public place? He had manipulated someone to enter this arena.