“You’re aware of the rules, correct?” The grey-haired man-Silas, as he had arrogantly introduced himself a few seconds after they had been taking in the monument stood before them. His long hair was thrown up in a ponytail, highlighting the badge engraved on his armor. From the runic disposition on the badge and the crisscrossed lines around the breastplate and the bronze outlining on his wings, she could tell that he was just a combatant. In short, the man was two ranks below her father’s. She sneered subconsciously.  At their silence, he continued to walk. They had already gone far deeper inside the stadium, disappearing from the public’s eye. She could see broken statues built on either side of their ancestors holding the weaponry that they’ve made.  “You’re only allowed one weapon upon entering the quest. You can gather more along the way. You’re also not allowed to aid other participants in the Vestimortis, and you are also not allowed to request any aid from the faeries situated in Vestimortis. If some of your tasks will take place here, then you will act as if you are hostile from this very land. Murdering your kind is permitted when it’s at its utmost necessity.”

“Understood,” Damian said while Ira nodded. Her father had already rammed those rules into her mind again and again. She could already recite them in her sleep. The last thing she needed was a rerun. 

“These flowers will act as your portal in and out of Eraief. They will also serve as your timer–the petals will represent how many days you have left. Unlike our Kadupul Flowers, these will form a bond with the wearer. Remember, you’re only permitted five teleportations. You’re not allowed to slaughter one another. If one of you were to die, the other would be disqualified from the Vestimortis and the Matrimortem for the time being. He will never be allowed to reach the ranks of where I am today.” Ira had to restrain herself from laughing in disbelief. The last thing she dreamt of being after winning the Matrimortem was to be a combatant. Although it was a feat, it was not a feat she was planning to settle as. “If you have killed your partner, you will be tortured for treason. If you don’t finish it in time, then both of you will be banished. Weakness is unacceptable.” 

Ira took the flower from Silas’s hand and tied its chain around her neck. The flower was beautiful. Its petals were still closed, implying that the ritual hasn’t started yet. However, the moment it touched her skin, the flower glowed bright silver, highlighting the bright runes etched along with its petals. She squinted at the burst of light before it slowly diminished. It looked like any other petal except for the fact that its chain was already wrapped around her very own life force. 

The cheers and slamming of weapons at the stadium had dissipated, leaving an eerie silence along the hallways. Three pairs were chosen tonight. It meant that the other couples must have gone to the other side of the building. Paintings from different timelines replaced the statues around them. They colored different humans holding their weapons. On the sides of the images were faeries holding their strings. That was what they were there for. They weren’t the main show...They were constructors of the main event. 

“Do you want new armor?” Silas asked, slicing her out of her thoughts. 

“I prefer going in this.” Ira was already in her armor. She wore one on every picking, just in case she was chosen. Her pants were made of Milica’s scales. Although they were smooth to touch, they were as hard as diamonds. They were also easily adjustable to the heat. The armor was made of Manticore’s horns. Although they were a step up from what an Initium wears typically, it wasn’t Prihan Armor, a stabbing reminder that she still wasn’t the same as the rest. 

“I agree,” Damian said. He was also wearing the same style of armor as hers, but Ira could tell that his armor was already worn. It was probably a more outdated version, given the less amount of runes engraved across the breastplate. Either way, however, his armor was far better than the ones the combatant was holding. Although Silas’s armor was more sturdy, Ira could tell from the way he was lugging them by his sides that they were heavy, and the metal was far too shiny. Protection runes were drawn on the armor, but it would attract all kinds of attention. 

“Your armor may be able to morph with your glamour, but it wouldn’t be repaired immediately once torn and broken,” Silas instructed, sneering. He made it very clear that he disapproved of their choices. Well, she couldn’t give a shit about what he liked. “What you’re wearing is a great disadvantage when it comes to these armors.” 

“I think we already know that,” Ira interjected icily. Another second of this man talking to them and her head might already explode. 

“I suggest you watch your place.” Silas’s voice was much lower than before; she could see from the corner of her eye that he was already clenching his fists. 

“Or what?” 

“I will–”

“Don’t even bother with your threats,” she cut off, feigning boredom from the exchange. Ira eyed at the way he was fiddling with the hilt of his blade. “Do you even have half an idea of who my father is? Are you planning to threaten General Eralis’s daughter?” 

“I won’t be so arrogant if I were you, Initium. Do you think I haven’t heard of what you’re capable of? Or...the lack of your capabilities?” Silas’s eyes flashed. Ira froze as she glanced at Damian. He didn’t look as if he was interested in their conversation. “You might not even be alive the next time I hear your name.” 

"Your concern is fascinating." Ira took a step forward, holding her ground. There was no way in blistering hell was she going to allow this bastard to intimidate her. "Mark my words, Silas. The moment I'm free from this ritual, I will ask my father to drag you to me, so I can rip your eyeballs from the back of your skull and shove them right into your throat. Maybe then, you won't be alive the next time the world hears my name."