Saria clenched her fists, her lips parting as she prepared to unleash a scathing remark, but she stopped herself. Her eyes narrowed, her body trembling with restrained anger.

  Arayn noticed her hesitation and chuckled. "Oh, it seems you still remember the humiliation you’ve suffered," he drawled, his tone mocking. "I commend you for that, worm."

  Saria’s jaw tightened, her teeth grinding audibly. She glared at him, her mind seething with thoughts of vengeance. "I swear, one day, I’ll kill you," she muttered.

  Arayn paid her no further attention, instead turning his gaze toward Lyssa. "Seems like you did it, little one. Good job. You need to entertain me further."

  Lyssa froze, her eyes widening as Arayn addressed her. She trembled, her voice caught in her throat, unable to respond.

  Arayn tilted his head. "Oh, that reaction. I see. You didn’t overcome the demon by yourself, did you? You cannot do that, little one. Tell me, how are you supposed to be worthy of my sister if you don’t grow stronger?"

  The color drained from Lyssa’s face as his words sank in. Her lips parted in shock, but no sound came out.

  Arayn’s laughter echoed through the hall, his amusement only growing. "Ah, priceless," he said. "I’d love to spend more time chatting with my little circus performers, as a reward I should have offered... but alas, I want this night to pass quickly." His eyes gleamed as he looked at her and then at Eryndor. "Don’t worry, Lyssa, Eryndor. I’ll reward you both with my time later. Do your best to entertain me until then."

  He cast a disdainful glance at the others. "And for the rest of you worms. Do your best to perform well. Who knows? Perhaps your status will rise from worms to clowns."

  With a dismissive wave of his hand, Arayn turned to Darius Vex. "Now, Observer, you are excused to perform the ritual."

  "Before the deathmatch begins, let me lay down the rules," Darius said. "First, the Manor of Valtheran is hereby declared a neutral zone. No fighting between candidates is permitted here under any circumstances. Candidates may only spend one hour in this place per day. Violators will face immediate punishment."

  He paused, his eyes narrowing as he emphasized each word. "Second, there will be a contribution system in place. You can harvest the souls of others to earn contribution points. One soul equals one point. These points can be spent within the manor to acquire valuable resources, such as potions, magic scrolls, or even a demon familiar to serve you."

  "Third," he continued, "harvesting the soul of someone from an orthodox organization will grant you two points instead of one. Fourth, killing another candidate will reward you with one hundred contribution points. However, be aware—this comes with significant risk."

  His gaze hardened. "Fifth, a candidate will only be considered eliminated after I personally declare their death. Until that moment, they remain in this competition. Sixth, and finally, candidates are allowed to enlist helpers. However, these helpers must be below expert class. Anyone caught breaking this rule will be punished by death without exception."

  "Those are the rules," he concluded. "I will entertain no questions. Now, I will proceed with the class summoning ritual."

  Darius turned his back to the candidates, his dark cloak sweeping the floor as he moved toward the center of the hall. He laid the five catalysts—the daggers, the book, the spear, and the sword—on the altar before him. Extending his hands, he began to chant.

  "By the ancient covenant forged in shadows, by the power bound within these artifacts, I summon the essence of chaos to bind and obey. Fragmenta in liquorem mutentur, circulus magicae formetur!"

  The catalysts began to glow, their shapes dissolving into streams of shimmering liquid that coalesced into a luminous magic circle on the ground. The intricate sigils and runes pulsed with malevolent energy.

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  From within his robes, Darius produced a primordial crystal, its surface swirling with trapped starlight and unfathomable darkness. He placed it in the center of the magic circle, and the room seemed to tremble as if bowing to the artifact's power.

  "Awaken, power of the void! Gate of eternity, answer my call! By the authority granted to me, I summon thee—Heavenly Demon Class! Surgite et parete!"

  The magic circle surged with light, the liquid energy spiraling upward as it was absorbed into the crystal. The crystal began to glow brighter, hovering above the altar as if imbued with sentience.

  Darius waved his hand, conjuring a sphere of black energy around the crystal to protect it. He turned to face the candidates once more.

  "With this," he declared, his voice echoing through the hall, "I officially announce the start of the deathmatch. At dawn, you may challenge your rivals. Remember the rules, and tread carefully—your next moves may decide your fate."

  His gaze swept over them, lingering on each candidate. "You are all excused."

  Without another word, Darius stepped back, the ominous energy still lingering in the air as the candidates began to file out, each one preparing for the battle to come.

  ---

  Saria returned to her mansion on the outskirts of the town, her expression composed but her mind racing with thoughts of the unfolding deathmatch. Inside, Aveline awaited her, seated gracefully in the hall.

  "Who caused the ruckus in town?" Aveline asked.

  Saria sighed, removing her cloak. "The most troublesome candidate, Eryndor Drexar. His theatrics are unmatched. Honestly, I think only you could hold your own against him."

  Aveline nodded slightly. "Alright. Should we make a move on him?"

  Saria shook her head. "No. He's a distraction we don't need right now. We should focus on the easiest target first."

  Aveline tilted her head. "And who would that be?"

  Meanwhile, in a modest room at an inn across town, Valen and Kaelion discussed their next steps. Kaelion leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed. "I didn’t expect the manor to be declared a neutral zone. It changes things."

  Valen, sharpening his spear at the table, dismissed the thought. "The manor isn't important. What matters is eliminating a candidate. The sooner we remove one, the better."

  Kaelion glanced at him, intrigued. "And who do you suggest we target first?"

  At the same time, in her mansion, Saria answered Aveline's question with a cold expression.

  "Arayn. He's the easiest target."

  In the inn, Valen's voice mirrored her resolve.

  "Arayn. He’s the easiest target."

  ---

  In a secluded valley nestled deep within the forest, Lyssa hurried into her hidden refuge. Thalric waited, his imposing form leaning casually against a tree.

  Lyssa hesitated as she approached, nervously clasping her hands. "I’m so sorry for making you wait."

  Thalric chuckled. "No need to apologize, Master. The forest feels like home to me. Besides, patience comes naturally to a hunter."

  Lyssa relaxed slightly at his words, but her unease lingered.

  Thalric straightened, his tone growing curious. "That aura earlier—it was powerful. Who was it from?"

  Lyssa glanced down, fiddling with her fingers. "It was from a candidate named Eryndor."

  Thalric grinned, his teeth gleaming. "Eryndor, huh? Sounds like a worthy opponent. I’d love to face him."

  Lyssa’s eyes widened, and she quickly interjected. "Thalric, could you... take care of another candidate first?"

  He raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting to one of concern. "Someone troubling you?"

  Lyssa nodded. "Yes. Arayn. I want him gone."

  Thalric’s grin faded, replaced by a serious look. He nodded once. "Consider it done."

  Meanwhile, atop a clocktower overlooking the quiet town, Eryndor leaned against the stone railing, a bottle of alcohol in hand. The moonlight illuminated his features as he took a long sip, the cool night air rustling his hair.

  He stared out into the distance. "Arayn... I wonder how strong he really is."

  Eryndor smirked, his grip tightening around the bottle. "I think I’ll challenge him tomorrow. I can’t wait."

  ---

  The sun had barely risen over the horizon when Arayn strolled out of the town gates. The guards stationed nearby watched him with barely concealed resentment, their hands gripping their weapons tightly. Arayn didn’t need to glance their way to feel the hatred radiating from them.

  He smirked. Of course, they were frustrated—they despised him for walking free, untouchable despite their authority. He relished their powerlessness but didn’t bother to spare them more than a fleeting thought.

  As Arayn took another step, his eyes caught sight of a figure blocking his path. It was Vareth.

  "Are you the one who killed my father?" Vareth asked, his hatred barely restrained.

  Arayn stopped, tilting his head slightly as if pondering the question. His crimson gaze bore into Vareth. "I don’t have an obligation to reward a worm with my knowledge," he said with an air of disinterest. "Move aside."

  Vareth hesitated but eventually stepped aside, his jaw clenched, his fists trembling. "I swear, I will kill you."

  Arayn paused mid-step, turning his head just enough to glance at Vareth over his shoulder. A mocking grin spread across his face. "You can try, worm. Entertain me, and perhaps you’ll rise to the status of a clown."

  Without waiting for a reply, Arayn continued down the road, his dark cloak billowing behind him, leaving Vareth standing in the dust, seething.