After passing the third round, all participants of the Knight Arena were granted a two-day respite before advancing to the fourth stage. This break became a crucial window for the remaining candidates—thirty-two of the finest Doliex warriors—to hone their strength and refine their strategies. So far, Rogg and his group remained firmly on the path to victory.
But elsewhere, Thaldrim Covarthis was growing visibly uneasy. He had come to realize that Rogg was on an entirely different level—a fighter far more formidable than he had anticipated. Vuuxi, Brisena, Nyx, and Elandra had also proven themselves to be formidable opponents. Even Robb had defeated the troops Thaldrim had sent to test them. Rage boiled in Thaldrim's chest, and he decided it was time to act. He marched straight to the High Elders of the Doliex tribe with demands that brooked no argument.
"We must expel the troublemakers—especially those who are fugitives of the Empire!" Thaldrim barked, his voice laced with pressure and fury.
Yet the High Elders sat unmoved upon their elevated thrones, showing no signs of being rattled by Thaldrim's accusations.
"On what grounds do you make such a demand?" came the cold voice of Thalion Velary, echoing through the chamber. His eyes, sharp as blades, revealed the thin patience he had for Thaldrim's provocations. "The Empire has no authority over the affairs of the Doliex. They don't even control Smokeland."
Thaldrim's fists clenched, his jaw tightened. "But Rogg and his brother aren't even Doliex! They're infiltrating this tournament just to claim Vermithor!"
At those words, Veynor Lauxi—one of the eldest High Elders—let out a scoffing breath. "Thaldrim, you'd do well to remember your place," he said with weighty authority, his voice reverberating in the increasingly stifling hall. "As a tribal minister of the Doliex within the Whiteheaven Empire, your duty is to protect our people—not persecute them and hand them over to the Empire like a traitor."
Thaldrim met the elder's gaze with unmasked loathing. He knew Veynor Lauxi wasn't one to be intimidated. Still, he refused to back down. "Then when will I be allowed to detain Rogg and deliver him to the Empire for trial?" he demanded through gritted teeth.
Thalion Velary sighed, then answered in a calm but unyielding tone, "The decision has already been made by the elders of Aeternum Vale. You may take Rogg out of Smokeland only after the tournament concludes—or if he surrenders willingly. If he fails to appear for the next match, he will be disqualified by default."
Thaldrim tapped his fingers restlessly on the armrest of his chair, frustration etched deep into his face. "I'm supposed to wait that long?" he growled, eyes flicking from elder to elder, hoping in vain for any sign of weakness. None of them budged. His breathing quickened, chest heaving with the fury he struggled to contain.
"You're all pathetic old fools! Worthless!" he spat, voice laced with bitter contempt.
The atmosphere in the hall instantly grew taut. Several elders exchanged glances, and finally, an elder with piercing eyes addressed him, "We have tolerated you only because you serve as the face of the Doliex tribe within the Empire. But your arrogance and unchecked ambition will be your downfall."
Thaldrim fell silent for a moment, but hatred still burned in his eyes. He gritted his teeth, suppressing the storm within. He knew better than to lash out further—the High Elders of Doliex were not ordinary men. They were warriors who had spent decades in battlefields and blood-soaked arenas. Their words were never spoken lightly.
With a furious swirl of his cloak, Thaldrim stormed out of the Hall of Knights. He couldn't challenge them—at least not yet. But one thing was certain: he would not sit idly by. He would find another way to ensure that Rogg and his brother never reached their goal—and would be captured and judged by the Empire.
For now, Thaldrim had no choice but to wait. Rogg remained under the protection of the High Elders, free to continue in the Knight Arena.
"I didn't expect this to get so damn complicated," Thaldrim muttered through clenched teeth. His fists tightened, eyes glowing with barely contained wrath. Things had gone far off script—his assassins had fallen in battle, eliminated from the Knight Arena's deadly race, while Rogg's team remained untouched, unshaken by any of his schemes.
Thaldrim's position as Minister of the Doliex Tribe in the Empire granted him immense power—an untouchable force within the imperial court. But the moment he set foot in Smokeland, he realized that his influence meant nothing here. The elders and High Masters of the Doliex were seasoned men of wisdom and war. They bowed to no one—not even to the Empire's iron will. Thaldrim felt like a shadow of himself, out of place and unwelcomed.
It was then that one of his soldiers arrived, bowing low and handing him a sealed letter—its emblem unmistakable: the imperial seal of Empress Xienna.
With swift hands, Thaldrim tore it open and read:
My dearest Thaldrim,I hope our plan unfolds as intended. You must win the Knight Arena and bring as many Doliex assassins into our ranks as possible. The Larfex people and their army are already in my grasp. The next step is rewriting the Imperial Decree—just as we planned.And most importantly—put Rogg on trial. Let that serve as a warning to anyone who dares to enter the circle of imperial power.With unwavering faith,Xienna.
Thaldrim crumpled the letter in his hand, eyes blazing with fury and resolve. His secret alliance with Empress Xienna was no mere pact of convenience—it was a shared hunger for total dominion over the Whiteheaven Empire. But now, Thaldrim felt the noose tightening. If he failed to conquer Smokeland and bring the Doliex assassins into their fold, their plan could unravel before it even began.
Not wanting to lose control, Thaldrim quickly grabbed a quill and parchment, and began writing a reply in his own hand:
Xienna, everything will go according to plan. But I need your full support. Send hundreds of thousands of Imperial troops to the Smokeland border within the next two days. We will show the Mahagurus and Doliex elders that they are nothing but shadows before true power. They must surrender Rogg and bow to the Empire—or be crushed.
He rolled up the letter, sealed it with his personal sigil, and handed it back to the Empress's messenger."Make sure this letter reaches her without delay," he said firmly.
As the soldier departed, Thaldrim turned his gaze toward the horizon of Smokeland. A cold wind swept through, carrying whispers of resistance that he could no longer ignore. But he didn't care.If the Mahagurus and elders of Doliex refused to bow to words, then they would bow beneath his blade.