The world did not slow down.
Kael did.
To the five thousand spectators in the arena, it was as if the villainess’s broken slave had been transformed by alchemy.
One second he stood behind the female nobleman, impossibly still and obedient.
The next, he stood in the center of the sand, one meaty hand gripping the lord’s sword arm, with the sound of splintering bone ringing out like a gunshot.
Cassius screamed.
A sound like a wounded animal tore from the lord’s throat, and he dropped his enchanted sword with an uncharacteristically undignified squeal.
The weapon bit into the sand as the lord’s arm dangled at an impossible angle, his forearm twisted and contorted in a way forearms were never meant to bend.
Kael had not unsheathed his own weapon.
The arena fell silent, not with a hush, but with a soundless, heavy press of air that made even the floating platforms of the Headmaster bob slightly.
Cassius fell to his knees, cradling his broken appendage as the color drained from his face.
The servant boy backed away across the sand, leaving a bloody trail and wide, uncomprehending eyes.
Kael loomed over the pair, his posture no longer supple and mincing, but straight and taut.
His head was up, and his eyes— His eyes were gold.
Pure, blazing, unnatural gold.
He did not kill the lord.
He did not finish the nobleman off.
Instead, he turned away from the writhing figure on the sand and walked slowly, deliberately, to Elena, resuming his position behind her bench with all the poise of a king.
As though nothing at all had happened.
The silence stretched for a heartbeat, two, and then the arena erupted.
“Did you see—” “Impossible—” “Who is that slave—” “Cassius’s arm—” The Headmaster floated down from his platform, professors poured from the competitors’ tunnel, and healers in white robes rushed the fallen noble.
Elena sat primly on her wooden bench, hands folded in her lap, as serene and composed as ever.
But inside, she was screaming.
Screaming with the wild exhilaration of a gambler who had just bet everything on a single hand and won, won, won— A professor, a heavyset woman with copper rings woven into her beard, was the first to reach Kael.
She bore a crystal scanner, a device the size of a grapefruit that shimmered with diagnostic magic.
She pointed it at Kael without asking his permission.
The crystal turned red.
Then black.
Then it split down the middle with a sound like teeth shearing.
“What—” The professor turned the device over in her hands, then pulled another from her belt.
She pointed this one at Kael as well.
This crystal did not crack.
It simply melted, droplets of molten slag pooling at the woman’s feet.
“Combat potential,” the woman said, her voice low enough that the nearest rows of spectators could not hear.
“A-rank.
No—A-rank rising.
The scanners can’t penetrate his ceiling.” Rank.
Combat rank.
Something few in the audience would have ever considered, save the Headmaster, the professors, and the healers.
A-rank combatants were prized assets, national treasures.
There were perhaps two dozen in the Empire: generals, royal guards, and monster hunters.
They were not slaves.
They certainly were not the property of disgraced noblewomen with subpar combat skills.
Elena rose to her feet.
“Lady Vance!” The Headmaster was upon her, his expression dark.
“Explain this!
Your servant has attacked a peer!
He has crippled Lord Ashford!” “Lord Ashford was about to cripple a servant,” Elena said, her voice soft, but the hush that had settled over the arena was loud enough that every spectator could hear her.
“I stopped him.
My guard simply…
performed his duty.” “He is a slave!
He cannot lay hands on nobility!” “He is my personal guard,” Elena said, inclining her head.
“Emancipated as of three weeks ago.
His contract is on file with the Academy legal office.
You are welcome to confirm this with them.” She paused.
“As for his rank…
I suppose the Academy’s assessment of my ‘trash skill’ was…
somewhat lacking.” Her lips curled.
“Golden Touch does not involve jewelry.
It is about identifying value.
Unappreciated value.
Things people do not consider worth saving, because they shine too dimly.” She came forward, parting the silent crowd as if parting curtains.
Elena stopped in front of Kael and fixed him with a level stare.
“Look at me.” He did.
His strange, wonderful eyes were on her, unblinking, though unfocused.
Appraising.
Her own were cold, calculating.
“Are you injured?” “No, my lady.” “Did you enjoy breaking his arm?” A hint of satisfaction, something close to a predatory grin, crossed Kael’s features.
“I enjoyed stopping him.” Elena’s smile was small, a secret between her and Kael alone.
She turned back to the Headmaster.
“My asset is exceeding projections.
Shall we continue the exhibition or would you care to test him further?” The Headmaster gaped at her, then at Kael, then at the ruined scanner in the professor’s hands.
He opened his mouth to speak when a new voice rang out from the crowd.
“Wait!” It was a warm voice.
A kind voice.
The voice of an angel, it seemed, as she came marching up the aisle.
Celestine Luminere stepped onto the sands of the arena, her white gown trailing behind her in a bridal train.
She knelt beside the forlorn, sobbing Lord Cassius, her hands wreathed in golden fire as she worked her healing magic on the broken arm.
“Poor boy,” she murmured, her voice as sweet as honey as she pressed her hands to Lord Cassius’s ruined limb, the bone knitting itself together, crooked but whole under her touch.
“Don’t worry.
I’ll take care of you.” She straightened and turned to face Kael, her smile as wide and as kind as ever.
The smile of a saint on the lips of the damned.
“You poor dear,” she said, her voice dripping honey as she faced Kael.
“Being used so cruelly.
Served by a cruel mistress.” She swept her gaze over Kael’s broken body as if appraising him.
“Wouldn’t it be a relief to come with me?
To be healed of these injuries?
To be treated right?” The crowd gasped.
Celestine Luminere was perfect, beautiful, kind, and everything that Kael, abused slave and weapon that he was, could ever hope to be given if it weren’t for the rotten world they lived in.
She held out her hand.
Kael looked at her hand.
Then Elena’s.
Then back at Celestine.
Then he stepped back behind Elena, placing her in front of him as a shield, and said, “No,” his voice rough, pained.
It was the first thing he had said aloud, and it came out as more of a strangled whimper than a word.
Celestine’s smile slipped.
“No?” “No.” Kael placed a hand on Elena’s shoulder, steadying himself.
“I belong to my investor.” [TICK: First face-slap executed.
A-rank potential revealed.
Celestine recruitment attempt failed.
Public declaration of loyalty logged.]