As the cries rose above the arena, their cacophony merged into a thunderous maelstrom. The roaring crowd cheered Dylan's entrance as he stepped through one of the massive gates.
It was a far warmer reception than the last time, when he had been thrown into the arena, shackled to a metal ball.
Thinking of that metal ball, Dylan glanced away from the blazing sky and lowered his gaze. He scanned the ground for a moment before spotting the dusty, spherical object.
The arena no longer looked like what he had known. Craters, both small and immense, littered the terrain, and scattered debris bore witness to an unimaginably violent clash between two colossal forces.
Facing this scene, Dylan suddenly felt insignificant. The situation was already stressful, but the uncertainty of the trials ahead added unbearable tension.
He walked toward the center of the arena, ignoring the cries of the creatures around him, who seemed on the verge of madness. To capture their attention, he raised both arms in a victory gesture. As expected, the crowd roared even louder.
Satisfied, he continued forward. When he reached a position visible from the Matriarch's balcony, he knelt as Basaros had taught him: one knee on the ground, the other bent, his left hand placed on the ground and his right over his chest. He bowed respectfully.
On the balcony, the Matriarch lounged nonchalantly on her seat, flanked by two servants holding large, feathery fans. Dressed in light attire that revealed much of her skin, she exuded an aura of authority both sensual and intimidating.
Dylan couldn't see this display. Not that he particularly wanted to, but he kept his head bowed, following Basaros' instructions: wait until the Matriarch granted permission to rise.
As expected, she sat up halfway, leaned over the balcony, and gestured for the crowd to quiet down. With a snap of her fingers, she summoned a servant—the same one she had whispered to the previous night.
The young woman approached, carrying a sword in a leather scabbard. A single glance at her posture was enough to reveal she was no experienced swordswoman.
She handed the sword to the Matriarch, bowed deeply, and returned to her tasks.
The Matriarch unsheathed the weapon, examined it for a moment with an enigmatic smile, and declared:
"Bring out the other candidate."
The metallic groan of a door echoed behind Dylan. He resisted the urge to turn around, preserving the dignity of his ceremonial posture. Yet his curiosity burned, almost prickling at the back of his neck.
"Raise your head, stranger," the Matriarch said in an amused tone. "I suppose Basaros taught you proper manners."
Dylan obeyed and cast a quick glance behind him. A familiar figure emerged: one of the gremlins, the sole survivor. The creature looked lost, wary, as though everything around it was foreign.
Since the Matriarch had not yet given the order to stand, Dylan remained kneeling. But he felt increasingly vulnerable before the gremlin, whose instinctive and unpredictable demeanor made him uneasy.
However, he knew the Matriarch had left nothing to chance. She wanted a real spectacle; the longer the suspense, the better.
Last night, Basaros had laughed heartily when Dylan tried to guess the nature of the upcoming trial. He had simply assured him it wouldn't be as straightforward as a duel.
The gremlin, now only a few meters away, stared at the Matriarch with a mix of terror and hostility. It did not have the reflex to bow before her. Its entire body seemed tense, ready to flee.
"The third trial of the Inverted Pyramid is called 'The Sword Bearer.' It is a contest to be the last one standing," the Matriarch announced, her voice resonating through the arena.
She made a swift, precise gesture. The sword flew through the air and embedded itself deep into the ground, creating a small crater around it. It stood there, gleaming and imposing.
Dylan and the gremlin stared at it for a moment, as if a shared instinct dictated their next move: seize the sword before the other.
But the Matriarch wasn't finished. She snapped her fingers and suddenly commanded:
"Open the other gates."
Then, in a thunderous voice:
"Let the third trial begin."
At that moment, the gates of the arena opened. For a moment, nothing emerged, but Dylan remained cautious, his gaze fixed on the gaping entrances. Even the gremlin, visibly nervous, watched the gates while stepping back slightly to maintain a safe distance.
Fear was etched on their faces.
Suddenly, ferocious roars echoed, resonating through the dark corridors beyond the gates. The pounding of paws on the ground announced the arrival of something massive and menacing.
Dylan and the gremlin exchanged a quick glance before simultaneously turning their attention to the sword planted at the center of the arena. They immediately understood what they had to do. Without wasting a second, they sprinted desperately, each hoping to be the first to grab the weapon.
Dylan reached the sword first, his fingers brushing against its hilt. But before he could seize it, the gremlin collided with him violently, sending him rolling across the ground. The creature rushed to the weapon, attempting to yank it free from the ground.
But to its great surprise, the sword wouldn't budge. It seemed rooted to the spot as if held by an invisible force.
Meanwhile, a dozen creatures emerged from the gates. Their roars filled the arena, their presence radiating palpable menace. Dylan shuddered as their silhouettes came into view, outlined against the light.
He quickly got back on his feet, his gaze locked on the gremlin. Seizing the moment of hesitation, he dashed toward the sword once more. In a desperate move, he shoved the gremlin aside, determined to try his luck at pulling the weapon free himself.