He Declines Your Challenge

Much to my surprise, Dagul lowers his halberd and scoffs.

“I won’t waste my skill on an elven whore,” he says, loud enough for the whole crowd to hear.

The words hit harder than a blade, but I keep my face still. Around the ring, the crowd erupts into laughter. The same people who cheered for blood a moment ago now turn on me, shouting insults—"slut," "whore," "witch." Their voices blur into a wall of mockery, disgusting and predictable.

Just as I thought. These so-called “fighters” don’t care about skill or honor—they only protect their own. It was never about the fight. It was about putting me in my place.

Fine. Let them think they’ve won.

I sheathe my sword, turn my back to them, and walk away without a word. The jeers follow me out of the ring, clinging to my shoulders like a second skin, but I don’t give them the satisfaction of looking back.

Once I’m beyond the arena, beyond the worst of the noise, I exhale. My pride is bruised, but not broken. I’ve survived worse.

Arias is only a half-day’s walk from here. I’d rather face the unknown than stay here and dance for a pack of dogs pretending to be warriors.

I tighten the straps of my pack and head for the road. My story isn’t finished—not by a long shot.