The atmosphere tensed from Eryx's words, the eyes of many beastmen narrowing.

Grahn let out a long breath. "Cubs these days."

He locked eyes with one of the older warriors and both stepped forward to begin the ritual. This time, the ring drawn was larger, deeper. The clearing in the village's heart widened as bodies moved back, feet thudding against packed earth. Large horns dipped in blood traced the lines—once, twice, again—the scent sharp and metallic in the cool night air.

The drums never stopped. A low, steady pulse like a heartbeat beneath the moonlight.

When the seventh circle was carved, the lines shone wet beneath the pale light. Seven rings locked, one atop the other, the moon hanging above like a watching eye.

Eryx smiled and strode toward the Easterners' side. They followed, tall and silent, moving like a pack. Around them, the feast lay spread—fruit, steaming meat in wild colours, brulac poured into bone mugs and hollow horns. They lounged without shame, jaws tearing meat, fangs slick, claws tapping against the earth like they owned the ground.

Some villagers shifted uncomfortably. A few children hissed, tails low, eyes hard—only to be pulled back by tense mothers and quiet fathers.

"So. Who's first to spill?" Eryx called out, his grin sharp, eyes locking on Ayu with that same glint—half challenge, half play.

Ayu didn't give him the satisfaction. Her gaze was cold and sharp, before calmly looking away.

A ripple passed through the crowd.

From the back, a young beastman stepped forward. Broad-shouldered, thick fur down his spine, eyes burning with the firelight. He unslung a bone mace from his back and raised it high, then threw his head up and howled at the moon.

"For the Moon Mother! I, Vorran, give my blood—and take theirs in her name!"

A chorus of low growls and thuds echoed around him, the beastmen pounding their fists and jugs in rhythm with the drums. All eyes turned to the Easterners now.

They didn't wait.

One stepped forward—twice the size of the challenger. Heavyset, covered in coarse green-black scales. Two thick, ridged horns jutted from his brow, and a long mane of dark hair flowed behind him like a shadow. He didn't roar. Didn't speak loud.

He simply stepped into the ring with his spear, raised his chin to the sky, and muttered, voice deep as stone.

"Ulvrek. May the Moon Mother be our witness."

The drums slowed, then stopped as silence reigned.

Then the young beastman moved in. His feet sent dust flying upward from the speed as he attacked low to high, swinging his bone mace—but Ulvrek just blocked solid with his spear.

Before the follow-up, Vorran disengaged, circled fast, his figure blurring through the ring before attacking again from the back.

CLANG!

Another block. Vorran leaned back, avoided an elbow strike, and tried to—

Huh?

His wrist was caught. He tried to jerk back, but before he could react, Ulvrek twisted it sharply.

A guttural scream of pain echoed across the ring as the arm was twisted further—and a brutal kick sent the young beastman flying back, a sickening crunch as his whole forearm was ripped off in a spray of blood.

Vorran roared in pain, but he was still in the ring, prepared to engage. But before he could shift, Ulvrek was already there—a thrust from the spear impaling him through the shoulder and lifting him into the air, unable to fight back, blood pouring down.

Eryx observed the development with a smile, while Ayu's eyes narrowed coldly.

The young beastman tried to free himself, but couldn't. His body hung there, still impaled, lifted high toward the moon.

"For the Mother," Ulvrek said loudly, then swung the young beastman out with a sharp motion—his nearly dead body skipping across the dirt outside the ring.

A female beastman rushed to him, while two others moved in to help drag him back.

"Well, that was nice for a starter," Eryx said as he sipped on the brulac. "Who's next?"

Ayu knew about the Easterners. It wasn't her first time seeing them either—she'd been part of the party that went West under Grahn's lead during the last full moon, when the ceremony was held on their side. She already knew how detestable and grating they were, each one worse than the last with their smug faces and fake courtesy hiding sharp fangs underneath.

But this Eryx… he was the worst piece of shit she'd come across in the entire Tower.

And sending a late Second Stage beastman against one still in early stage? What kind of honor was that?

She just wanted to step in now and rip that lizardman's arm off herself—but she knew the moment she did, she'd be playing right into his hands.

Because as much of a bastard as Eryx was, he was no fool.

He was strong. Stronger than her. At least on Grahn's level. A Third Body State powerhouse with real skill behind the fangs.

Ayu exhaled sharply through her nose, cursing under her breath.

Tonight… they'd have to grit their teeth and swallow the dirt.

One of the beastmen finally got up. Ayu knew this one. Skorj, also at the late Second Stage.

He calmly went up the ring, his two bone daggers held tight in his hands.

"For the Moon Mother! I, Skorj, give my blood—and take theirs in her name!"

And then… the battle went on.

This one was more balanced than the last. Blood spilled as neither side gave in. Skorj was faster—much faster—and used his agility to cover Ulvrek in cuts, but none too deep, as the other controlled space and timing with calm precision.

A thrust came—fast and brutal. Skorj rolled beneath it, scraping his neck, but his dagger found the mark, tearing a deep gash along the lizardman's wrist.

Blood sprayed. The spear clattered to the ground.

And yet, as the battle seemed on the verge of ending, Ulvrek surged forward with shocking speed, ignoring the pain, and caught the beastman in a brutal embrace.

Skorj snarled and drove his dagger into the ribs, again and again, the blade crunching against scale and bone. But Ulvrek only roared and squeezed harder—arms tightening like a vice.

A wet, sickening pop echoed out.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Then another.

Bone cracked. Ribs shattered. Skorj screamed as his spine gave with a final crunch—his legs twitching once before going limp, head slumping back with eyes wide and glassy.

Ulvrek stumbled, blood pouring from his side, but he stayed upright.

Skorj dropped like meat, limp and broken, folding onto the dirt.

"SKORJ!!!" someone howled from the back, bursting into the ring and grabbing the body, clutching it with shaking arms and blood-streaked hands.

Ayu gritted her teeth, and—

A hand blocked her. Grahn. His eyes locked onto hers. He shook his head.

Silence followed.

The body was confirmed dead.

An elder stepped forward. The villagers lifted him with care, closing his eyes and wrapping the corpse in thick hides—preparing for the ritual.

Ulvrek, too wounded to fight again, was dragged out of the arena by his kin.

"Well… that was unfortunate," Eryx finally said, sipping from his horn, "but it happens. The moon has taken the first life… and in turn, it will gift us many."

There was no grin now. His tone carried a sliver of weight, even he knowing not to joke with death too openly.

"And yet… the show must go on."

As if on cue, another lizardman stepped into the ring.

The tension thickened as he drew his weapon—a serrated long blade.

"Zhekkor. May the Moon Mother be our witness."

Ayu felt the pressure rolling off him. There was no doubt—this one was at the peak of the Second Stage. For the third fight to escalate to this point already… what was Eryx thinking?

She knew the full moon festival consisted of seven fights, and the level of each could only go up—not down.

Meaning, there were still five fights left, and they were already at Peak Second Stage. For reference, the number of Third Stage experts in the whole village could be counted on one hand. Three at the early stage, two at the mid. One of them was Grahn.

As for herself, she was at the Second Body State and had grasped the second phase of the beastmen core technique with intermediate mastery. That put her officially at mid-Second Stage, though her true strength—thanks to her Awakening—was closer to the peak. Same as the lizardman now standing in the ring.

Which meant… fights were already at her level.

But to Ayu's surprise, it wasn't another peak Stage Two who stepped up from their side.

It was one of the elite beastmen. One she knew well. One she had sparred with before—though never once won. Ruzgar.

Her eyes shifted to Grahn, startled, but his expression remained steady, unmoved.

So that's how it was. The counter had begun.

They weren't going to take the earlier affront lying down.

Zhekkor tensed as Ruzgar approached, his steps calm, his small blade already in hand.

"For the Moon Mother! I, Ruzgar, give my blood—and take theirs in her name!"

The drums struck three times—and the beastman blurred.

Before Zhekkor could react, Ruzgar was already within range.

A flicker—then another. Ruzgar blinked in and out of view, closing the distance in an instant. Zhekkor lifted his long blade, fast—but at such close range, the weapon couldn't be properly used.

Not that it would've mattered anyway.

The difference in speed was too much.

Half a dozen cuts landed in a second. Blood spilled, but every strike avoided a fatal point.

Zhekkor snarled and swung wide—only for his wrist tendons to be sliced clean.

The blade fell.

He staggered back, but his heels were slashed next, sliced open with precision.

He gritted his fangs, stumbling—but Ruzgar didn't let him fall. He zigzagged around him, striking back and forth, flinging his body like a rag doll.

Blood spewed from Zhekkor's mouth. Fangs cracked. Limbs went limp.

Then—silence.

A blade pressed against his throat. Zhekkor's eyes fluttered, consciousness slipping.

The blade lingered for a breath.

Then it was gone, and Ruzgar kicked the broken body out of the ring—useless, twitching, barely alive.

This time, the village erupted.

Howls rang out, brulac spilled into the air, and the drums resumed with thunderous joy.

Ayu nodded with a soft smile.

Brutal as it was… it felt damn good to see the lizards get what they deserved. She stared at Eryx, hoping to catch a cold glare—but he showed barely any reaction. He even smiled.

She didn't need her gut to tell her that wasn't a good sign.

"Good, the Moon Goddess will be pleased. A Third Stage for the third fight—unheard!" Eryx said, clapping his hands. "Very well, let's respond in kind, shall we?"

Behind him, the lizardman just to his left stepped forward. The cheering stopped as they felt the cold aura radiating from him.

Another Third Stage powerhouse.

The crowd fell silent, a few brave ones stepping closer—not wanting to miss such a rare clash between elite warriors, something usually saved for the sixth or seventh fight to culminate the festival. And yet… it was only the fourth.

The children were sent further back against their protests, while Ayu herself locked fully onto the ring. Brutal, fierce, and bloody as they were, these fights were still a lesson—to catch a glimpse of the stage beyond hers.

"Grhask. May the Moon Mother be our witness."

The drum struck once. Then twice. Then three times. And on the fourth—

Both warriors blurred.

A clash rang out, sharp and deep, the force of it making the fire flicker.

Only a handful present could follow what was happening, the dust rising fast and rocks spiraling far from the violent collisions.

It wasn't long before blood began to spill from both sides. Scales were shattered, fur was torn, and red soaked deep into the sand below.

Neither paused for a breath, both giving everything in a display of violence that some of the young beastmen had never witnessed before.

A sudden guttural roar. Grhask's spear was deflected, and the counter went straight through, breaking his guard—a deep thrust into the ribs.

He staggered, then regained balance with a heavy kick to disengage, but the wound had stolen his speed.

Ruzgar flowed forward, relentless. He exploited every stagger, every limp—one strike at a time, whittling the lizardman down.

A deep slash across the thigh. A low kick that cracked the scaled shin. A clean thrust just below the ribs.

Yet Grhask didn't yield. With a desperate cry, he launched a wild swing—fully exposing his chest in exchange for a shot at the beastman's head.

It caught him off guard. He managed to cross both blades in time, but the force slammed into him like a boulder, sending shock through his arms and pushing him back.

Grhask surged forward, ignoring pain, turning his own bleeding into fuel. His swings grew reckless—suicidal. But they worked.

Now it was Ruzgar bleeding.

Now both limped.

Now both snarled, panting, wounds piling on like layers of raw meat.

And then—Ruzgar howled, loud and feral, and dove into the carnage.

No more stepping back.

Claws raked across arms. Blades sank into flesh. One broke a rib. The other shattered a collarbone.

Until—

SSCRSH!!

The Ruzgar's blade drove deep into the lizardman's gut, slicing through meat and muscle. At the same time, the spear impaled clean through his shoulder, bone cracking loud.

Blood burst out in thick pulses. Guts spilled down, hot and steaming in the cold night.

Grhask's eyes dimmed.

He collapsed.

Ruzgar stood above, chest heaving, blood running down both arms and the hole in his shoulder. He staggered, then dropped to one knee, barely upright.

The crowd cheered at the victory as the Easterners stepped in quickly, trying to patch the wounds of fallen—and yet… the acid from the stomach had already torn through the insides.

Grhask was dead.

After the confirmation, the crowd fell silent, allowing the Easterners to follow their rites with the corpse.

Meanwhile, Ruzgar still in the ring gave a small nod of respect before stepping back, his body too battered to continue.

Ayu stared at Eryx this time. But he said nothing. He didn't even speak.

Then, the lizardman to his right stepped forward.

A mid Third Stage warrior.

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