Thorne stood, watching with cold detachment as Vance methodically dismantled Cynthia. Every strike, every feint, was delivered with precise intent. Vance had transformed into something lethal, his movements almost mechanical in their efficiency. Thorne’s eyes followed his old friend with the curiosity of a predator sizing up another.

  Vance never told him exactly what skill he used with his knives, but whatever it was, it was deadly. The daggers didn’t move in a predictable pattern, his hands feinted in one direction only for the blade to blur and land somewhere else entirely. Thorne’s sharp eye, honed from years of training and fighting, could barely follow the movement. It must be either an evolved form of the Daggers skill or something unique…

  The fight wasn’t fair from the start.

  Cynthia wielded short swords, thinking their length and reach would give her the advantage, but Vance moved with such speed that the distance between them evaporated before she could even react. He darted in, his dagger glinting under the low torchlight as it flickered unpredictably. Cynthia swung her sword, but Vance sidestepped, his body blurring as he moved faster than her eyes could track.

  The crowd watched in tense silence, the usual jeers and taunts gone, replaced by the eerie anticipation of watching death creep closer. Talon stood at the edge of the cage, arms crossed, her gaze flicking between the two fighters with dispassionate interest.

  Cynthia gritted her teeth, thrusting both her short swords forward in a desperate attempt to keep Vance at bay. For a moment, it seemed like she might push him back, gain some space to breathe. But Vance slipped between her strikes effortlessly, his body weaving through her defenses like water flowing around rocks. He struck with his left dagger, aiming for her midsection.

  Cynthia barely managed to deflect the blow with her right sword, but that left her open. Vance’s right hand moved like lightning, the dagger aimed at her throat. She jerked back just in time, but the blade nicked her cheek, drawing blood.

  The crowd let out a collective gasp, but Vance wasn’t done. He spun, his movements fluid, and drove his knee into Cynthia’s stomach, knocking the wind out of her. She staggered back, gasping, but there was no time to recover.

  In a single swift motion, Vance closed the distance and drove his dagger into her chest.

  Cynthia’s eyes widened in shock, her hands instinctively gripping the hilt of her swords as if trying to hold onto the life that was slipping away. The metal clanged to the floor as her strength failed her, and her knees buckled.

  Thorne watched as Vance leaned down, yanking the dagger free from Cynthia’s body with a sickening sound. Blood dripped from the blade as he stood, his cold, impassive gaze shifting immediately to Thorne.

  There was no triumph in Vance’s eyes. No sense of victory. Just that burning, simmering anger that had been there ever since the pairings had been announced. As if Vance knew Thorne was behind it, knew that this was part of some twisted plan.

  Thorne returned his gaze, his face a mask of indifference, but the smirk tugging at his lips revealed everything Vance needed to know.

  I played you.

  Vance didn’t say a word as he walked out of the cage, his shoulders stiff, his face expressionless. Talon stepped forward, handing him the spiral pin, the symbol of victory and survival. Vance took it, clipping it to his cloak without even glancing at it, his eyes still locked on Thorne as if the real fight hadn’t happened yet.

  As Vance moved to join the other victors, Talon turned her attention back to the last pair remaining. Her cold gaze swept over them both, and Thorne could feel the weight of her eyes lingering on him just a moment longer.

  “Thorne,” she called, her voice sharp and final.

  Thorne’s heart quickened, but not from fear. It was anticipation. The moment had finally arrived. He rolled his shoulders back, a calm smile playing on his lips as he strolled forward. With every step he took toward the cage, the past weeks of planning, of waiting, felt like they were culminating in this single moment.

  “And Rhea,” Talon announced.

  Thorne stepped into the cage, sauntering with an almost careless ease. It was finally time. Time to end the charade, time to get his revenge. He almost felt giddy with the thought, excitement bubbling just beneath the surface. He spun the small dagger in his hand, the simple weapon looking almost too insignificant for what was about to unfold.

  He glanced over at Rhea, who was still lingering outside the cage, her eyes fixed on Vance. There was something raw in her expression, something that hadn’t been there before. She wasn’t just looking at him, she was saying goodbye.

  Thorne recognized it immediately.

  She knew, just as Vance knew, that this was the end for her. No matter how skilled she was, no matter how hard she fought, she was still only level 16. Thorne was level 41. The sheer difference in their attributes alone would ensure her defeat, even if he barely lifted a finger.

  The only question left was how long she would last.

  With one final look at Vance, Rhea took a deep breath and stepped into the cage. The metal door rattled shut behind her, sealing her fate.

  Thorne watched her with cold amusement, spinning his dagger lazily in his hand. He could feel the tension in the room, the way everyone was holding their breath, waiting for the final act to begin. Rhea’s hands were trembling as she unsheathed her greatsword strapped in her back, but her face was set in grim determination. She knew she couldn’t win, but she would fight anyway.

  Thorne smiled, his voice a low murmur as he addressed her, “Shall we?”

  Rhea’s face was set in grim lines, her grip tightening around the hilt of her greatsword so fiercely that the leather squealed in protest. Her breathing was ragged, as if she’d already been through a fierce battle, though the real fight had only just begun.

  “You’ve planned this,” she accused, her voice shaky. There was anger in her eyes, but beneath it, fear lingered.

  Thorne, on the other hand, was the picture of ease. His smirk deepened, a glint of amusement in his eyes as he shrugged nonchalantly. “I thought I’d give you the chance you so desperately sought.” His voice dripped with sarcasm, his smile widening.

  For a split second, Rhea’s eyes darted toward the crowd outside the cage, searching for Vance. It was an unconscious movement, one that betrayed more than she realized. The horror on her face when she caught herself told Thorne all he needed to know.

  Thorne laughed, the sound cold and mocking. “You know, for a trained assassin, you really suck at this.” Before she could react, he activated Burst of Speed. His body blurred as he dashed forward, the blade of his dagger slicing across her hand before she even realized he had moved.

  The wound was shallow, but the blood flowed freely, thanks to his Bloodletting skill. Rhea let out a small grunt of pain, but Thorne wasn’t finished.

  “You should really check for spies before planning to murder your friend.” He darted in again, his dagger slashing across her side this time, quick and precise. The blood from the fresh wound stained her tunic, but Thorne’s taunting voice carried on before she could process the pain. “Oh! And next time, pick some better henchmen. Poor Corwin… He must be worm food by now.”

  Rhea’s face paled, her eyes wide as the realization sunk in. Thorne slapped his forehead in exaggerated mockery, laughing again. “What am I talking about? There won’t be a next time for you. You die tonight.” His smile faded in an instant, replaced by a cold, emotionless mask as his voice dropped, lethal and final.

  Rhea stumbled backward, her face ashen. “You knew? All this time?” she stammered, her voice trembling as she tried to grasp the situation. “You knew?”

  Thorne’s eyes gleamed as he stepped forward, his dagger twirling in his hand. He attacked again, faster this time. Rhea’s greatsword swung toward him, faster than before thanks to some defensive skill, but it wasn’t fast enough. His dagger flashed, slashing across the back of her leg, cutting into her hamstring. Rhea let out a cry as she staggered, barely keeping her balance.

  “Of course I knew.” Thorne’s voice was casual, almost conversational as he circled her like a predator. “You should’ve invested in an Acting skill or something like that. Vance, on the other hand…” He paused, smirking. “I had no idea what a backstabbing, two-faced bastard he was. But you? You were an open book from the start. I knew the day you decided you wanted me dead.”

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  Rhea screamed, her voice filled with something that resonated with raw aether, and her body flared with blinding light. That was new… Thorne thought, raising an eyebrow in surprise.

  Rhea lunged forward, her greatsword glowing with aetheric energy. Her steps echoed unnaturally, her form moving with a force that seemed beyond her level. The energy pulsing through the blade shimmered like a wave, making it clear that this wasn’t an ordinary strike.

  Thorne frowned, analyzing her movements. She was still too slow. A direct hit might shave off some of his health, but only if he stood still and allowed it. He sidestepped her attack effortlessly, dodging the glowing blade as it swung through empty air. His dagger flashed out, aiming for a weak spot, but to his surprise, Rhea’s greatsword moved with unnatural speed, deflecting his strike.

  What the hell? Thorne thought, his eyes widening.

  The energy stored in Rhea’s blade exploded on contact, sending a blast of force outward. Thorne felt the searing heat of aether scorching his skin as the shockwave hit him, pushing him back several paces. He winced at the burn, feeling his stamina points drop slightly, the aether singeing his flesh.

  Rhea heaved, her chest rising and falling with exhaustion. The light in her sword dimmed, and suddenly, it looked like the weight of the weapon was crushing her. Whatever skill she had summoned, it had drained her almost completely.

  Thorne’s shock quickly gave way to amusement. His lips curled into a delighted grin, and he started clapping, his laughter echoing through the cage. “That was exciting! Good job!”

  Rhea’s face turned crimson with rage, her teeth gritted in frustration.

  Thorne’s eyes gleamed with anticipation as he activated Lethal Flurry. His movements became a blur, his dagger flashing in rapid succession. But he held back—just enough. He didn’t want to finish the fight too quickly. He was enjoying this far too much.

  He slashed at her again, deliberately pulling back at the last moment, allowing her to parry the blow. Her greatsword moved slower now, her body sluggish from the overuse of aether. Her breaths were ragged, her strength clearly waning.

  Thorne grinned, savoring the moment. “Come on, Rhea,” he taunted, circling her again. “You wanted this fight, didn’t you? Show me what you’ve got.”

  Rhea’s eyes blazed with desperation as she swung her greatsword again, but Thorne was already gone, his body moving faster than she could keep up with.

  He was toying with her now.

  Thorne circled Rhea like a predator, his eyes gleaming with a manic intensity that he couldn’t hide anymore, his lips curled into a cruel smile that only widened with every drop of blood she shed. There was a twisted satisfaction that seemed to grow with every faltering step she took. He wasn’t just fighting to win anymore, he was savoring her suffering. This wasn’t about survival or self-defense; this was personal, and he wanted her to know it.

  His dagger moved again, quick and precise, slicing across her arm with a deftness that bordered on artistry. The cut wasn’t deep, but it bled profusely, his Bloodletting skill ensuring that her life would drain out of her slowly, painfully. Thorne watched the blood spill with cold detachment, the satisfaction in his eyes growing darker, more perverse.

  Rhea gasped, her hand instinctively clutching the wound, but she was shaking, her entire body trembling with fear and exhaustion. She tried to steady herself, but her knees buckled slightly, her footing slipping on the slick blood that had pooled beneath her. The cage floor was turning into a gruesome display, stained with Rhea’s life force.

  Her breath came out in ragged gasps, each one a struggle, her chest heaving as her body fought a losing battle. But Thorne wasn’t finished. He took his time, circling her like a beast stalking its prey, his footsteps slow and deliberate. He was savoring every second, relishing her helplessness, her fear.

  “Look at you,” he said softly, his voice dripping with mockery, “bleeding like a pig.” His dagger flashed again, cutting a shallow line across her other arm, just deep enough to make her wince in pain, but not enough to kill. “I could end it for you right now,” he whispered, stepping closer, his eyes cold and gleaming. “But where’s the fun in that?”

  Rhea staggered backward, her bloodied hands shaking as they fumbled for the hilt of her greatsword. She tried to lift it, but her strength was failing her, her arms trembling from the weight of the massive blade. Her eyes darted around the cage, frantic, searching for a way out—a way to survive. But there was none.

  Thorne laughed softly, the sound devoid of any warmth, a low, mocking chuckle that sent chills down her spine. “You can barely lift your sword,” he taunted, his voice soft but dripping with malice. “Look at you. Pathetic.”

  He slashed at her again, this time aiming for her legs. His blade caught her thigh, cutting through muscle and skin with ease, and she let out a choked cry of pain, her leg buckling beneath her. She stumbled, barely keeping herself upright, her eyes wide with panic.

  Thorne’s smile widened. “What’s wrong, Rhea? Not so tough now, are you?” His voice was a cruel whisper, each word calculated to cut deeper than his blade ever could. He wanted to see her break. He wanted to see the fear in her eyes, the desperation as she realized that death was creeping closer with every drop of blood she lost.

  He leaned in, his voice a low, venomous whisper. “You know what I love about this?” he said, his lips curling into a sickening smile. “It’s not just that you’re going to die. It’s that you know it. You know there’s no escape.”

  Thorne’s smile widened, his voice mocking as he taunted her. “The one thing I still don’t understand,” he began casually, his dagger spinning lazily in his hand, “is why you wanted to kill me. I mean, it’s not like I care.” He shrugged, his eyes glinting with cruelty. “But I’m curious.”

  Rhea’s lips trembled, her breath ragged. She murmured something under her breath, so soft Thorne almost missed it. “I had to…”

  Thorne paused, the words catching his attention. His grin faltered for a moment, a flicker of curiosity crossing his features. He tilted his head, pretending to be casual, though his pulse quickened. “What do you mean by that?” His tone was light, almost playful, but there was a hunger in his eyes.

  He wanted the answer.

  By now, Rhea was a mess. Blood dripped from every wound Thorne had inflicted, the cuts deep enough to keep her bleeding, her life slowly draining away thanks to his Bloodletting skill. She looked like a ghost, pale and shaking, her once-strong stance crumbling as she clutched her greatsword like it was the only thing holding her up.

  "Just do it..." she murmured, her voice barely a whisper. "Kill me already..." Desperation leaked into her words, and her eyes darted toward the crowd, as if seeking mercy from anyone who could hear her.

  Thorne’s smile twisted into something vicious. "I think not. Not yet. I’m not satisfied," he said, his voice cold, almost deranged with the thrill of the hunt.

  Rhea’s eyes widened, her desperation morphing into pure terror. Her breath came in shallow gasps as Thorne stepped closer, his dagger gleaming under the low light. He had no intention of ending it quickly. He wanted to hear her scream.

  “You’re going to tell me why, Rhea,” Thorne whispered, his voice low and deadly as he ran the flat of the blade against her cheek, smearing blood across her face. “And trust me, if you don’t, I have plenty of ways to make you speak.”

  Rhea whimpered, her voice breaking. “I found her...” she said, more to herself than to him.

  Thorne narrowed his eyes. “Found who?”

  “My mother...” Rhea’s voice cracked, her body swaying as if she could barely stand. “I found my mother. She... she was a servant... I didn’t even know I had a mother.”

  Thorne frowned, the confusion evident in his gaze. “And what does that have to do with me?”

  Rhea’s face contorted with pain, both physical and emotional. “I needed money... to free her. I was going to get away from all this. Away from this nightmare...” Her voice was barely more than a broken whisper, her eyes distant as if she were already saying goodbye to the life she had dreamed of.

  Thorne’s eyes darkened, his suspicions clicking into place. He took a step closer, his voice soft but dangerous. “So you found someone willing to give you the coin, didn’t you?”

  Rhea nodded, her legs trembling beneath her. She looked as though she was ready to collapse at any moment.

  Thorne’s voice grew colder. “Someone who wants me dead.”

  Rhea nodded again, her chest heaving with exhaustion, her life draining away with every breath.

  In an instant, Thorne lunged forward. His dagger flashed as he disarmed her, the greatsword clattering uselessly to the floor. With a swift kick, he swept her feet out from under her, sending her sprawling onto the blood-soaked ground.

  Rhea gasped, her eyes wide with fear as Thorne loomed over her, the tip of his dagger pressed to her throat. She was shaking, her face pale, her blood mingling with the dirt beneath her. She looked up at him, tears welling in her eyes. She was broken.

  “Who is it?” Thorne’s voice was sharp, almost a snarl. “Who wants me dead?”

  Rhea let out a bitter, hollow laugh, her lips twisting into a bloodied smile. “Many people...”

  Thorne pressed the dull edge of the dagger harder against her throat, his eyes narrowing. “Who?” His voice was a growl, but Rhea didn’t flinch. She met his gaze with a mixture of defiance and resignation.

  “I don’t know...” she rasped, her voice shaking. “I don’t know who he was. Just a man... He promised to pay me if I killed you.”

  Thorne’s teeth clenched, fury boiling beneath the surface. His hand trembled slightly as he pressed the blade into her skin, drawing a thin line of blood.

  For the first time since the fight had begun, Rhea smiled. An eerie, bloody smile that sent a chill down Thorne’s spine. “But I know... you’ll die... soon...”

  The words hung in the air, cold and final.

  Thorne’s eyes blazed with rage. With one swift motion, he sliced her throat open, the blood spraying across his face in a hot, crimson arc. The sound of her death gurgle filled the cage, but Thorne barely registered it. His mind swam, his ears ringing with the weight of what he had just done.

  He stood over her lifeless body, his breathing shallow, his hands steady despite the blood that now covered them. The cage was silent, horrified, stunned silence from the crowd of spectators.

  Thorne slowly turned, his gaze sweeping over the sea of faces. They all stared back at him, their expressions a mix of horror and fear. Even the seasoned assassins, those who had seen death countless times, looked shaken by the raw brutality they had just witnessed.

  But there was one man who stood apart.

  Vance.

  He was at the bars of the cage, his face a mask of pure fury. He banged against the iron bars, shouting something incoherent, but Thorne’s mind couldn’t process the words. Vance’s rage was palpable, his eyes burning with hatred as he tried to break free from the guards holding him back.

  But it was done.

  Thorne wiped his face with the back of his hand, smearing the blood away as he walked out of the cage. He didn’t look back at Rhea’s body. He didn’t look at Vance. He just kept walking, his eyes fixed ahead.

  Talon stood at the edge of the cage, her face carefully blank, but Thorne could see the slightest twitch of her jaw, the only hint of emotion she allowed herself. She handed him the pin, the small spiral of the guild, the symbol of victory.

  Thorne looked at it for a moment, the cold metal glinting in his palm.

  And then he tossed it to the ground without a second thought.

  He didn’t care anymore.

  Without a word, Thorne walked away, leaving the pin and the chaos behind him.

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