Day two of the tourney begins in bloodshed. A man is beheaded in the first round, and ten minutes later, someone loses both his eyes and one hand. 11 cringes away from the screams above and tries her best to adjust her own fluttering nerves. It’s clear no one is pulling any punches today, and she's beginning to get worried it'll be difficult to win without seriously hurting her opponent, who may very well be Bilae.

By the end of the tenth round, eight people have died. It's as if they've suddenly all realized this tourney is likely the best chance they have at obtaining an elitist lifestyle, and will do whatever it takes to get into the finals tomorrow. Even if it means risking everything.

The layout of the preparation area is different too, probably to reflect the new mindset of the competitors. While the underground is still separated into four sections, each fighter is kept apart in their own gates today. There are more knights patrolling as well. When 11 glances at the people kept in her section, she recognizes a few from the party last night but doesn’t know any of their names.

Scratch that. She recognizes the dwarf with the mace. Mullgan Stonefist of Elfendale, the same place Allastair was from. The dwarf has a look of stoic readiness about him. His armor has been cleaned but there is still a gap in his mace where the spike has broken off. 11 doesn’t want to think about where that spike ended up.

A roar of applause accompanies the descent of the platform. It is empty. The wood is stained with dried blood splatters.

The knight with the list calls on the next fighter.

“Mullgan Stonefist of Elfendale.”

The dwarf hefts his mace on his shoulder and marches out of his gate. He steps onto the platform and starts to stretch. “About time,” he says.

“No S-rank spells,” the knight reminds him, then pulls the lever and sends him up.

11 listens to the fighting and tries to imagine it happening. A clang here, a grunt there, then a cry of pain followed by the cheering spectators. Her hand wanders to the pack strapped to her thigh. The smoke bomb sits nestled within, waiting for the right opportunity. But she only has one, so if anything goes wrong with the plan, it will be all over.

The fight ends with a wet crash like that of a tumbling waterfall. 11 hears gasps from the crowd, followed by the announcer’s ecstatic voice.

“The winner is Mullgan Stonefist!”

With nary a change in his posture or expression, the knight cranks the lever to lower the platform. As the ceiling opens up, blue water tumbles down in a torrent, flooding the ground. 11 jumps up to the railing behind her to keep her feet dry.

On the platform, the dwarf stands triumphant, his long hair and beard hanging wet across his broad shoulders. "That was too easy," he says. "I should've done that yesterday."

"Don't get ahead of yourself," the knight says, leading him across the ankle-deep waters towards the exit. "You'll get a challenge tomorrow."

As Mullgan follows the knight out of the arena, his gaze lingers on the rest of the competitors, challenging them.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, but to whom 11 doesn’t know.

The knight comes back soon after. Unfolding his parchment of names he reads out the next one.

“Elevena Windborne of Kesrock.”

11 climbs down from the railing. The water has receded but the ground is soft and muddy. She tries to stick to the dry areas, tiptoeing through the mud where she cannot.

“Who will my opponent be?” she asks the knight when she steps onto the platform.

“You’ll find out,” he replies. “Good luck.”

11 feels the platform shudder as the lever is pulled, and looks up to see the sky opening up once more. Wind and light stream in around her, forcing her to shield her eyes.

At first, she thinks she hears thunder. It's loud but full of words. Opening her eyes, 11 is shocked to see the stands are packed with even more people than yesterday. What’s more, they are cheering. 11 hears her name being chanted. There are even flowers thrown.

They’re calling out… for me?

Up above in the spectator booth, Censa sits with her husband and the remaining diplomatic power of the Kesrockian Knights, Sir Jernal and Danton Ralish. Both men sit up when they see 11, as if they've all been waiting for her this whole time.

In the middle of the arena, a sharply-dressed man starts to shout into the head of a wooden staff.

“On the east side,” he says, his voice amplified as if through a loudspeaker, “is Elevena Windborne of Kesrock!”

The cheering grows louder. Men and women alike call out to 11, wanting her to look their way.

“Her opponent,” continues the announcer, “is Bilae Austere of Preulle!”

11 turns her gaze to the platform rising on the other side of the arena. She almost cannot believe Censa actually upheld her end of the deal.

Bilae Austere emerges, holding a sword high above his head. He still isn't wearing a helm, so the defiant expression on his face can be clearly seen by everyone.

The crowd’s cheering suddenly turns into boos. 11 does not understand why, but she doesn’t have any time to think. The order to fight is given, the announcer runs out of the arena, and Bilae Austere of Preulle is charging across the soggy ground with his sword up.

It all happens too fast to think. 11 unsheathes her own sword and steps into the attacks. The boy’s swings are hard and fast. Sparks explode where steel meets steel. Bilae steps away then lunges, darts back then pivots. 11 keeps up with his rhythm, swiping away his sword whenever it gets close but not attacking with her own. She isn’t looking for any openings so much as waiting for Bilae to give her one. She doesn’t need to capitalize on mistakes, but that's the safest way to take Bilae down without hurting him.

Bilae goes for an overhead slash but changes his sword’s path at the last second. Metal screeches as the steel blade slips past 11's defense, glancing across her chest.

11 lets out a surprised, “Oh,” and steps back quickly. Bilae pushes in with a thrust, pressing her back towards the marble walls. 11 has expected him to tire around this point but the look in the boy's eyes is wild, almost like he’s drugged.

And then it clicks. He’s using magic. 11 studies the air around Bilae and spots the lines of red light wavering around him, following him like an afterimage. Bilae steps to 11’s side then immediately darts to her other side, moving too fast for any normal human.

But his attacks still do not find their mark. Now that 11 knows to expect the illogical, she’s able to cut off his swings at their conception. Maneuvering past his next attack, she slaps the back of her sword across his fingers, forcing the boy to drop his sword.

Bilae stumbles back in a hiss of pain, then takes his sword with his left hand and continues to come at 11. “Are you toying with me?” he demands. "You disgrace me so!"

“I’m trying not to injure you,” 11 says, stepping away from him like a matador twirling around a bull.

Some spectators start to laugh at the spectacle.

“Fight me proper!” says the boy, pivoting and charging again. “If you've any honor, show me the edge of your steel!”

He's really trying to win.

11 steps away but not quickly enough. Bilae trips on her foot and crashes into the mud.

The crowd goes wild.

“Shoot. Sorry.” 11 steps forward but holds herself back. She quells the urge to help as it will just make the boy look worse. Bilae grunts and pushes himself back up. He stands, gripping his sword with both hands now. Mud drips down across his head and face, landing on his feet with a wet plop.

“Don’t forget what happens if you lose,” he says, his face twisting into a cruel snarl. He aims the tip of his blade at 11. “I will have you as my wife, Elevena. But if I can't, I will make sure no one else will. Kasphare!”

A ball of bright fire erupts from Bilae’s sword and shoots across the arena. 11 ducks out of the way. She hears the wall behind her explode, followed by people screaming. She glances back. A smoldering hole stretches across the marble, reaching almost all the way up to where the spectators are sitting.

“Kasphare!”

Bilae launches another fireball, this time at 11’s head. 11 calculates the trajectory and slashes the flames apart so the people behind her will not be hit. More fire comes. 11 deflects them all. She then takes off down Bilae’s right side, distancing the fight from the walls. The boy is furious now. Swinging his sword wildly, he starts screaming other spells. Streaks of fire and lightning explode underfoot as 11 dashes towards Bilae. Reaching him, she plants both feet into the mud and springs into the air as if to cut him down like a guillotine. Bilae raises his sword and yells out one last spell, and as the ball of fire leaves his sword, 11 reaches into her pocket. And then disappears amidst a smoke-filled inferno.

Bilae staggers back from the light with a scream. He feels the cloud of ash descending on him, blocking out the light. His sword has blown away so he brings both arms up to shield his face. It is the very first defensive technique his father ever taught him.

'Better to lose a hand or arm than an eye', the old man used to say during their sparring sessions. Back then, Bilae was too naive to believe anyone would be so stupid enough to use their flesh to stop steel, but now he understands. When facing death, the body wants to protect itself, even at the cost of everything. Surrounded by black clouds and suffocating from the dust, Bilae shuts his eyes tight and waits for the red hot sting of a sword as it carves into him.

Except the feeling never comes. Gradually, Bilae’s world brightens. Sounds return. So does the cold breeze of autumn wind. He opens his eyes to see people crowding in the front of the stands, their mouths hanging open as they stare at him.

No. They're not looking at me.

Bilae follows their gaze. The dust cloud has cleared, revealing empty skies. On the ground in front of him is a steel sword stuck blade-first in the mud.

It is Elevena Windborne’s sword. Pieces of her armor lie broken around it but the girl is nowhere to be seen.

Bilae looks around. Puddles of water litter the otherwise empty arena. His legs are shaking badly. Using his Crimson Ore for such a prolonged fight has drained every ounce of strength from his body, but he doesn’t dare collapse yet. Not when he hasn’t won yet.

But if she's dead. Does it really matter that I won?

He catches sight of something moving from the edges of the wall. He turns, expecting to be cut down by the gold-haired angel. But it is a different girl, one wearing a large sunhat with a white veil that covers her face. Two other knights follow her, with the announcer trailing further behind.

The girl stops by the sword but the knights continue until they're on either side of Bilae. At the back of his mind, Bilae is aware that something terrible has just happened. He remembers Elevena's words from yesterday about not killing crowd favorites, but he never expects a simple fire spell to be enough to do it.

The girl pulls the sword from the ground. As she raises it to her face, Bilae catches sight of purple eyes blazing beneath the veil.

“Identishibera.”

The girl breathes out a long sigh as the clairvoyance spell tells her what she wants to know. Then, after a long moment, she turns to the announcer and says, "The holder of this sword is dead."

Bilae shakes his head. He’s convinced he heard it wrong but then the girl repeats herself in a much louder voice, this time to the entire arena.

“The sword's owner has perished.”

There is a beat of silence. Then the stands explode into noise. People start clambering over each other to get a closer look. Everyone is shouting to be heard. From where he is, Bilae hears insults and shouts of “Murderer!” lobbed at him, but he barely hears them. His legs carry him over to the girl but the knights stop him from getting closer to her.

“Are you sure?” he asks, straining against the gauntleted hands on his shoulders. “Are you certain she… Elevena...” The rest of his words fail him.

The girl tilts her head up to look at him. She is beautiful but strange, with fiery red hair and a smile that is as dangerous as it is inviting.

“You can trust my spells,” she says. “I’m an A-rank adventurer.” Holding Elevena's sword in one hand, she reaches into her cloak for her license. "See for yourself."

Bilae leans in to read the name etched into the steel plate. He gasps. “Aralyn… Windborne?” He looks at the girl again. "Who are you? What... what have I done? Oh, goddesses have mercy."

Aralyn Windborne steps towards Bilae. She smiles up at him, almost shyly, and Bilae glimpses two sharp fangs protruding from the rest of her white teeth.

"I'm nobody you need to concern yourself with," she says. "And as for what you did? It will be nothing compared to what you will do." She raises Elevena sword and with a quick upwards jab, stabs Bilae through the heart.