Chapter 47: First Round: Survival of the Fittest!

The metallic toll of the dome echoed for the third time and faded away. Blue‑white runes coalesced into a triangular pattern at the arena’s centre.

Three luminous bands stretched outward from the triangle’s vertices, pointing east, west and north respectively. Vera stood to the east, Leon to the west, and Cecil to the north. The three teams faced one another across the full breadth of the grounds.

A cold, emotionless voice boomed down from high above the vault.

"Round One — Three‑Way Free‑for‑All Mode activated. Each team sends one representative onto the field. Three combatants compete simultaneously. Only one may prevail. The victor earns one fragment. Defeated combatants are eliminated from this round but may participate in future rounds."

Glowing runes formed a clear triangular arena at the centre. Its three edges glowed with frigid blue‑white light, dividing the grounds into three symmetrical zones.

Each zone bore its team’s emblem: fire sigils for Vera’s group in the east, thunder sigils for Leon’s group in the west, and frost sigils for Cecil’s group in the north.

Oliver stood at the arena’s edge, his shoulders tensed. Robin perched on his shoulder, her grey plumage matte beneath the blue‑white radiance, her pale‑gold eyes fixed on the triangular glowing platform at the centre.

"Three‑way free‑for‑all?" Freddy muttered behind Cecil, his voice lowered. "Not one‑on‑one. Three people fighting at once, and only one winner?"

"The rules are plain." Lydia stood beside him, Ivy hanging down from her wrist. The emerald snake’s head lifted slightly, as if sensing the aura of the three light‑bands at the arena’s heart. "One representative from each team. Free‑for‑all. Single victor. The winner claims the fragment. Losers bow out of this round."

Cecil stood at the front of his party, gazing at the slowly rotating triangular light‑pattern. He fell silent for a moment, then turned to glance at the four behind him.

"Who goes?" he asked.

Four pairs of eyes turned toward him, yet no one spoke at once. Freddy’s hand stilled on Turner’s back. Lydia’s gaze flicked between Oliver and Edwin. Edwin stared down at the Rust Beetle’s antennae, his head bowed.

Oliver spoke first. His voice was taut, yet every word came out crisp and clear. "Send me."

Cecil studied him. Oliver stood straighter than usual. Robin folded her wings on his shoulder, her talons gripping the fabric far tighter than normal. The wind falcon felt her master’s tension and responded in silent solidarity.

"Are you certain?" Cecil asked.

Oliver nodded. "Robin is the fastest of all our spirit beasts. A three‑way fight is not about head‑on brawling. It is about striking opportunistically when two opponents are locked in combat, finishing off the weakened survivor. Robin can circle high in the air, observing far better than any ground‑bound beast."

Freddy cut in. "But Robin lacks defence. If both foes target her at once —"

"That is why I will not let them focus on me." Oliver replied. "My goal is to survive until the end, not to engage in frontal combat from the start."

Cecil watched him for several seconds, then nodded. "Very well. You go. Robin’s attacks are for harassment and ambushes only; avoid direct clashes. If the other two start fighting each other, hold position overhead. Strike only after one defeats the other."

Oliver took a deep breath. He lifted Robin from his shoulder, cupping her in his palm and bringing her level with his eyes. The wind falcon’s pale‑gold eyes met his. She tilted her head and let out a short, confirming chirp.

"Good girl," Oliver whispered. He returned her to his shoulder and stepped forward toward the centre of the arena.

The moment his boots touched the blue‑white runes, the northern light‑band brightened, registering his identity. Oliver took his place at the northern corner of the triangular platform. Robin launched from his shoulder, circled twice above him, then climbed to roughly three metres and hovered mid‑air.

On the eastern side of the arena, Emon stepped forward as Vera’s representative. He moved with his usual steady gait, Silver‑Eye perched on his left shoulder.

The grey hawk folded its wings, its pale‑gold pupils surveying the triangular arena from high above. Emon stood at the southeast marker and glanced toward Oliver. Across half the arena, Cecil could not make out Emon’s expression, yet he knew Emon would never underestimate Robin — that was simply his nature.

From the west, a man Cecil did not recognise stepped out for Leon’s team. He took position at the southwest corner. Perched on his shoulder was a pale‑grey rock falcon, its wingspan slightly smaller than Robin’s, yet its beak noticeably thicker, edged with fine serrated ridges.

Cecil did not know him; he appeared to be one of the recruits Victor had brought into Leon’s faction, dressed in dark‑grey casual clothes with a short knife at his waist. The rock falcon stayed on his shoulder, refusing to take flight. Its sharp grey eyes locked onto the circling Robin, beak slightly parted.

"All three are in position," Freddy murmured behind Cecil. "Our Oliver, Emon for Vera’s side, and that stranger for Leon’s group."

"He has a rock falcon," Lydia said. "Their beaks deliver brutal pecks. One good strike could damage Robin’s wings."

Cecil said nothing. His gaze remained fixed on the triangular platform. The blue‑white edges pulsed, dimming and brightening in a steady countdown rhythm.

Lena stood behind Vera on the eastern side. Her multicoloured butterfly fluttered free from her braids and hovered aloft, blue‑violet iridescence flickering across its wings. She clutched the book held against her chest a little tighter, watching the three combatants.

"Oliver won’t fight head‑on," she whispered, almost to herself. "He’s waiting for the others to make the first move."

Vera stood beside her, arms crossed. She said nothing, but her amber eyes swept between Emon and Oliver, narrowing slightly.

The three glowing edges of the triangle flashed to maximum brightness after their final pulse. A sharp, bell‑like metallic clang rang down from the dome.

Round One began.

Emon moved first. He took three steady steps toward the arena centre. Silver‑Eye launched from his shoulder and spread his wings mid‑air, yet held back from diving. He climbed to gain altitude, positioning himself roughly one metre higher than Robin.

The rock falcon took off from the southwest corner, its pale‑grey silhouette skimming low across the ground. It arced toward the centre of the triangle, faster than Silver‑Eye yet flying lower than Robin.

The three birds formed a vertical stack in the sky: Silver‑Eye highest, Robin in the middle, the rock falcon lowest.

Oliver stood motionless. His eyes tracked Robin’s flight path. He made no preparatory gestures for attack in any direction. He waited.

Emon also held back. Silver‑Eye circled overhead, neither diving nor striking. He waited for Robin to make a mistake, or for the rock falcon to stray from its path.

The man in dark‑grey clothing moved. He sprinted forward several paces and gave a hand signal. The rock falcon veered sharply low‑altitude toward Robin. Instead of climbing, it accelerated along the ground and surged upward at the last instant. Its serrated beak glinted pale‑grey in the light.

Robin dodged sideways. She tightened her left wing at the final instant, tilting her body twenty degrees. The rock falcon’s beak grazed her wingtip. Two grey feathers drifted down.

Oliver’s throat bobbed. He said nothing, but clenched his right hand at his side.

Having missed its strike, the rock falcon flipped mid‑air to regain altitude and turned for a second charge. The moment it turned, Silver‑Eye dove from above. His talons glowed silver, and a slicing blade of energy cut across the rock falcon’s flight path. Forced to swerve, the rock falcon lost speed and stability.

Oliver seized the opening. He stepped forward two paces and raised his hand. Robin plunged down from above, her talons carving an arc through the air, targeting the rock falcon’s exposed flank. Still reeling from Silver‑Eye’s strike and yet to recover balance, the rock falcon took Robin’s talon strike squarely at the base of its left wing.

The rock falcon let out a shrill cry. Its flight tilted five degrees off‑balance. It folded its wings and landed on the ground beside its master, blinking its grey eyes. A faint white mark marred the base of its wing.

The man’s expression darkened. He glanced toward Robin, then up at Silver‑Eye high above. In an instant, his priority shifted — from taking out Robin to avoiding fighting two opponents at once.

Emon stepped forward two paces. Silver‑Eye folded his wings and returned to his shoulder, talons gripping the fabric of Emon’s tunic. The hawk’s pale‑gold eyes watched the two men across the arena.

Silence hung over the arena for several heartbeats. The three birds occupied different heights and positions; their masters stood still. No side held a decisive advantage, yet the balance had cracked. Oliver and Emon had reached an unspoken understanding: eliminate the third combatant first, then settle their own duel.

The man in dark‑grey understood. He recalled the rock falcon to his shoulder, stepped back, and glanced toward Leon at the arena’s edge, as if seeking instructions.

Leon stood on the western perimeter, face impassive. He did not meet the man’s gaze, nor give any order. He merely observed the unfolding fight, ice‑blue eyes glinting with calculating focus.

"...He’s been abandoned," Freddy whispered behind Cecil. "Leon won’t bail him out. If he wants that fragment, he has to win on his own."

The man clearly realised this too. He turned back toward the arena centre. The rock falcon launched from his shoulder once more, yet this time it adopted a defensive stance. Its wings drew inward, beak closed, like a migratory bird waiting for the wind to shift.

Oliver glanced upward at Robin. She adjusted her flight path slightly. Silver‑Eye took off again from Emon’s shoulder and climbed higher. The circling trajectories of the two birds slowly converged toward the same patch of sky.

The rock falcon hovered mid‑air, grey eyes darting back and forth between the two approaching birds.

A three‑way standoff had settled in. None of the three combatants dared strike first. Whoever moved first risked being ganged up on by the other two.

Cecil stood on the northern perimeter, watching the fight. Gwendolyn’s tail rested lightly on the nape of his neck, her cold scales pressing against his skin.

"What is Oliver waiting for?" Gwendolyn murmured.

"He’s waiting for the rock falcon to make the first move," Cecil replied. "It needs time to get airborne after landing. If it is forced down, Oliver and Emon can seal victory. But right now it is in defensive posture; it will not attack anytime soon."

Gwendolyn paused. "How long will this deadlock last?"

"Until someone loses patience."

Wind blew in from all three corners of the triangular platform toward its centre. The rock falcon’s pale‑grey feathers stirred in the breeze. That tiny movement prompted Robin and Silver‑Eye to adjust their flight paths simultaneously, like two arrows drawn tight on a single bowstring.