Chapter 661: Is there a tournament coming up?
The inn’s room was modest but comfortable. The wooden floor creaked with even the slightest movement, and the smell of cheap wine and fireplace smoke permeated the walls. Outside, the night in Darion was alive, the sound of voices mingling with the rumble of carriages and the distant melody of street musicians.
Strax sat cross-legged in a wide chair, leaning back with a lazy calm, his black kimono disheveled as always, revealing part of his chest. Across from him, Samira stared at him silently, resting her elbows on the table. The lamp between them cast uneasy shadows across their faces, as if every word yet to be spoken was already charged with intention.
He broke the silence first, with that disdainful smile that rarely left his face.
"So..."Tournament of Phoenixes and Dragons," he said, savoring the words as if they were cheap wine. "Just hearing that name makes me want to laugh."
Samira arched an eyebrow, leaning forward. Her gaze, always sharp, wasn’t mocking, but rather genuine interest.
"Why exactly?" she asked.
Strax tapped his fingers lightly against the table, the dry sound punctuating his words.
"Because it’s exactly what I expected from Danthelion." His voice had an almost bored calm, but there was enthusiasm hidden beneath. "A continent that values individual strength above all else... of course they would create such a spectacle. Taking promising young people and endowing them with pompous titles... ’Dragons’ for the boys, ’Phoenixes’ for the girls. Hah." He chuckled softly, the sound heavy with irony. "As if those names weren’t too much of a burden for someone barely out of diapers."
Samira watched him closely, her amber eyes shining in the lamplight. She didn’t answer immediately. She let the silence stretch on, assessing his expression, his small gestures, as if trying to extract something beyond what he was willing to say.
"And yet... you came," she said finally, her voice deep and firm.
Strax looked away for a moment, staring at the half-open wooden window, through which a section of the torch-lit street could be seen. His golden eyes glinted.
"Of course I came," she replied bluntly. "And do you know why?"
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his smile slowly growing.
"Because tournaments are arenas of vanity." He gestured with his hand, as if painting a picture in the air. "Young warriors who believe they are the chosen ones. Noble families wanting to flaunt their power. Cities trying to show their relevance. Hah... and in the midst of all this, the real gold reveals itself." He clenched his fist. "Potential."
Samira crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair.
"So that’s what you want. To see what this continent really has to offer."
"Exactly." Strax laughed. "Agnes told me about this city, Darion, and the tournament. She said it was here where some of the most promising names tend to appear, even before they’re old enough to fight. Young people still believing they can touch the sky with their own hands..." He paused, his golden eyes narrowing, a predatory glint emerging. "And I like to see dreams shattered."
Samira sighed. Not from weariness, but as if she were already accustomed to that kind of response.
"You speak as if you’re above it."
Strax looked her straight in the eye.
"Am I?" he asked, without hesitation.
The silence that followed wasn’t one of provocation, but of raw truth. Samira didn’t respond. She knew that, in a way, he was right. Strax wasn’t like the others. And though it often irritated her, there was also a strange sense of security in the way he viewed the world.
He resumed speaking, but this time in a lighter tone.
"Besides..." He lifted the mug of wine from the table and took a sip, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. "This tournament isn’t just a spectacle. It’s a message."
Samira narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean?"
"Think." He swirled the mug in the air, watching the reflection of the flame dance in the liquid. "Darion is just one city among many. But they have the nerve to host something called the ’Tournament of Phoenixes and Dragons.’ It attracts attention. And in Danthelion, any glance is a currency of power. Whoever shines here... will be remembered. Whoever falls here... will be forgotten."
Samira rested her chin on her hand, thoughtful.
"And do you think you’ll find someone worthy in this place?"
"Hm." Strax smiled. "Perhaps." Maybe not. But even if you don’t, it’s worth it for the fun.
The bedroom door creaked suddenly, and a shadow appeared in the doorway. It was the innkeeper, carrying a tray with more wine and two plates of smoked meat. He set everything down on the table with a shy wave and left without a word, his eyes clearly avoiding Strax.
Samira observed the gesture, then turned her gaze to him.
"People here are afraid of you."
Strax shrugged indifferently. "No wonder. He didn’t want to give us a VIP spot. I had to beat him up a bit."
He picked up a piece of meat and bit into it, chewing slowly, as if savoring every fiber. Silence fell again, filled only by the sound of the street outside and the distant crackle of wood burning downstairs.
After a while, Samira broke the silence.
"You still haven’t told me... what your real objective is."
Strax tilted his head curiously.
"Real objective?"
"Yes." She straightened, her expression serious. "You don’t move without reason. Your curiosity about the tournament may be genuine, but I know there’s more. There’s always more."
For a moment, he just stared at her. Then, a slow smile formed.
"Hm... maybe I just want to see how far the power reaches in this place. Many guilds must be involved, or sects, I don’t know. This place gives me a sense of... power. I’d like to know more."
Samira sighed and muttered, "But you could sign up, right? It won’t be a problem..."
"Not directly." Strax turned the piece of meat thoughtfully in his fingers. "But it’s bad to draw too much attention, Digo. You know... taking over this place will involve a lot of bloodshed if we continue."