## Liam''s Perspective


    The air crackled with tension as I approached the grand entrance of the Veridia City Martial Guild. Crowds had already gathered, eager to witness the trials that would soon begin. Their whispers followed me like shadows.


    "That''s him."


    "Knight. The upstart."


    "Dead man walking."


    I ignored them all. My focus remained singr: find Isabelle and tear down anyone who stood in my way.


    Near the registration area, I spotted a familiar face. Darian Bancroft stood deep in conversation with a tall, gaunt man. Their discussion ended abruptly as I passed.


    "Ah, Mr. Knight," Bancroft called out with mock cordiality. "Bold of you to show your face today."


    I stopped, meeting his gaze. "Wouldn''t miss it for the world."


    "Indeed." His smile never reached his eyes. "Lord ckthorne was just expressing his interest in your participation."


    So this was Roderick ckthorne. The father of the man whose wedding I''d ruined. The old man''s eyes burned with undisguised hatred.


    "Knight," Roderick''s voice was ice. "My son sends his regards."


    "Strange. I don''t recall leaving him in any condition to send messages."


    Roderick''s face darkened. "Enjoy your bravado while itsts. By sunset, you''ll be begging for mercy."


    "I''ve never begged for anything in my life," I replied coolly. "And I don''t intend to start today."


    Bancroft cleared his throat. "Well, this has been delightful. Lord ckthorne, shall we proceed to the viewing tform?"


    As they walked away, Roderick turned back. "I''ll help put you in the ground myself, Knight."


    I smiled coldly. "Get in line."


    ---


    The central courtyard of the Guild had been transformed into an arena. Stone benches rose in tiered circles around a spacious fighting tform. Already half-filled with spectators, the atmosphere buzzed with anticipation.


    In one corner, I spotted a group of young martial artists. Their expensive robes and confident postures marked them as elite disciples. Ricardo Beaumont, Darnell Bradford, Dominic Ashworth, and a woman I recognized as Daphne Grenville.


    The cream of Veridia''s next generation. All watching me with varying degrees of interest and contempt.


    Dominic Ashworth broke away from the group, approaching me with a calcted swagger.


    "Knight," he greeted, voice dripping with disdain. "I was surprised to see your name on the registration list. Thought you might have fled the city by now."


    "Disappointed?" I asked.


    Heughed. "Hardly. When the Guild finally puts you down, I want a front-row seat."


    I studied him carefully. Isabelle''s cousin had always been arrogant, but today he seemed especially confident.


    "You''re still not a threat to me," he continued, "but I''ll admit you''ve been... disruptive."


    "That''s just the beginning," I promised.


    His eyes narrowed. "You still don''t understand, do you? You''re nothing but a temporary inconvenience. The system you''re fighting against has existed for centuries. It will crush you, just as it''s crushed every other fool who challenged it."


    "Every system has a breaking point," I replied. "I intend to find yours."


    Dominic scoffed and turned back toward his group. Over his shoulder, he added, "Family tip: don''t miss Bowie McDaniel''s opening match. I hear he has a special greeting nned for you."


    As Dominic returned to his friends, I noticed Daphne Grenville watching me with undisguised curiosity. Unlike the others, her expression held no malice—only interest.


    She nodded slightly in my direction before turning away. A potential ally? Or just another trap?


    In this den of vipers, I couldn''t afford to trust anyone.


    ---


    The crowd''s murmurs grew to a roar as Julian Radford appeared on a raised tform. The Guild Elder raised his hands, and silence fell immediately.


    "Wee to the Annual Youth Martial Trials!" his voice boomed across the courtyard. "Today, we witness the future of our martial world. Strength will be tested. Weakness will be exposed."


    His eyes found me in the crowd, lingering deliberately.


    "The rules are simple. Each match continues until surrender or incapacitation. Death is... discouraged but not prohibited."


    Laughter rippled through the audience. Not prohibited. The message couldn''t be clearer.


    "First match: Bowie McDaniel versus Chen Wei!"


    A muscr young man strutted onto the tform. Bowie McDaniel—one of Julian Radford''s personal disciples. His opponent, a slender youth from a lesser family, looked terrified.


    The match was brutally short. Bowie toyed with the boy before mming him into the ground with enough force to crack the stone. Chen Wei didn''t get up.


    As medics carried the unconscious fighter away, Bowie raised his arms triumphantly. The crowd cheered.


    "Next match—" Julian began, but Bowie interrupted.


    "Master Radford," he called out, "before continuing, I''d like to issue a challenge."


    Julian feigned surprise. "Oh? To whom?"


    Bowie turned, pointing directly at me. "To Liam Knight. The so-called rising star."


    The crowd fell silent, all eyes turning my way.


    "Interesting," Julian mused, barely concealing his satisfaction. "Mr. Knight, do you ept?"


    This was clearly orchestrated—the first of many traps set for me today. But it didn''t matter. Each opponent I defeated brought me one step closer to infiltrating the Guild.


    I stepped forward. "I ept."


    The crowd erupted as I climbed onto the tform. Bowie cracked his knuckles, smirking.


    "I''ve been looking forward to this, lowly man," he sneered, just loudly enough for me to hear. "After I''m done with you, they''ll need to scrape what''s left off the stone."


    "Lowly man." The insult echoed in my mind, triggering memories of three years of humiliation and abuse.


    Not anymore.


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    Bowie lunged immediately, channeling spiritual energy into his fist. The air cracked around his knuckles as he aimed straight for my face.


    I didn''t move until thest possible moment. Then, with a casual sidestep, I caught his wrist and redirected his momentum. Bowie stumbled forward, barely keeping his bnce.


    "Is that all?" I asked quietly.


    His face flushed with anger. He attacked again, faster this time, unleashing a flurry of strikes that would have pulverized an ordinary opponent.


    I blocked each one effortlessly, not bothering to counter.


    "Fight back, coward!" he spat.


    "Why waste the energy?" I replied.


    The crowd''s excitement turned to confusion. Bowie McDaniel was renowned for his overwhelming strength, yet he couldn''tnd a single blow on me.


    Frustration made him sloppy. His next attack was telegraphed—a roundhouse kick aimed at my head. I ducked beneath it and, for the first time, counterattacked.


    My palm struck his chest with precision. Not enough to seriously injure him, but sufficient to send him staggering backward.


    "This is embarrassing," I told him. "Perhaps you should forfeit."


    His face contorted with rage. "You lowly dog! I''ll kill you!"


    Bowie gathered his spiritual energy, forming a zing aura around his body. The technique—Radford''s Burning Palm—was impressive. His hand glowed white-hot as he charged.


    I remained still, watching him approach. At thest second, I stepped into his attack, slipping past his guard.


    My fist connected with his sr plexus. Not a special technique, just raw, focused power. The impact lifted him off his feet, sending him crashing down at the edge of the tform.


    Silence descended over the arena.


    Bowie struggled to stand, blood trickling from his mouth. "This... isn''t... over..."


    He limped toward the exit, clearly intending to leave without conceding.


    I wouldn''t allow it.


    With a burst of speed that left afterimages, I appeared in front of him, blocking his path.


    "Going somewhere?" I asked softly.


    Before he could respond, I struck—a precise blow to his right knee. Bone cracked audibly as he copsed, howling in pain.


    The crowd gasped. Julian Radford half-rose from his seat, his face darkening.


    I grabbed Bowie by his hair, forcing him to look at me.


    "You called me lowly," I said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Let''s correct that misunderstanding."


    My open palm cracked across his face. Once. Twice. Three times.


    Blood sprayed from his split lip. "Please... stop..."


    "Who is the lowly person now?" I demanded, striking him again.


    "Me! It''s me!" he sobbed.


    I released his hair, and he slumped to the ground, broken and humiliated.


    Looking up, I met Julian Radford''s gaze across the arena. His eyes promised retribution.


    I turned back to Bowie, who was still whimpering at my feet.


    "Remember this moment," I told him, voice carrying across the silent courtyard. "If you dare call someone a lowly person again, I promise to tear out your tongue!"


    The threat hung in the air like a physical presence. I stepped off the tform, leaving Bowie sprawled in his own blood.


    As I walked away, I caught a glimpse of Daphne Grenville. Unlike the shocked expressions around her, she wore a small, approving smile.


    Dominic Ashworth looked murderous.


    And somewhere in this vastplex, Isabelle remained imprisoned, waiting. Every blow I struck brought me closer to her. Every enemy I defeated was one less obstacle in my path.


    The trials had only just begun. And I was ready to burn the entire Guild to the ground if necessary.