As Brigid stood under the noon sun, its sharp light pressing down on them, the only solace came from the faint cold wind drifting out of the forest. She watched as Cassian faced his first opponent of the day—hopefully his first slave, and one she could count toward her own force as well. She needed as many as she could gather. Even as the cult's royal-blooded granddaughter of the Cardinal, she had little backing here. Perhaps on the battlefield, under the command of someone tied to the artistic Butcher, her name would carry more weight—but not here.

As she was his grand disciple, sort of, but here every force present had already bent its support toward her brother. That was why she did not recruit openly on this battlefield.

That was true through Cassian—but at the moment, she didn't look the least bit grateful. In fact, she was glaring at him with barely contained anger, cursing under her breath. "Fucking bastard…"

Her anger wasn't without reason. Cassian had done a number on her that morning. Still, she had played her part as well; she hadn't rejected his advance, and now she was left to bear the receiving end of it.

Her whole body had been on the receiving end earlier—her folds left gushing wet as Cassian drove himself into her, her mouth used just the same as he poured out the pent-up frustration of the last day and night. He had only stopped once he was satisfied. Now, as he fought Fenja, he looked almost content, casually deflecting her strikes by the narrowest margins, just as Ronan had planned. He had told Cassian to win while making it appear hard, as if victory had been earned through struggle alone.

Yet in truth, it was a hard fight. Fierce as she looked, Fenja fought just as fiercely. Her technique came at him like a beast's, raw and sharpened with natural instinct, her eyes burning with anger as she pressed the attack.

Which was justifiable enough. After all, he was Cassian, and she was a beautiful woman—there didn't need to be another reason. Still, there were others. Ronan and the rest had put the advance money Cassian gave them to good use, laying wagers that he could defeat any Second Circle warrior while still only in the First.

The stakes were enormous—ten thousand gold coins, a sum no squad captain could ignore. The only condition was clear: if Cassian won, the defeated would become his slave. And, most importantly, he had the right to choose his opponent.

"What a fierce kitty," Cassian taunted with a smirk as he shoved her back, surprised when his blade failed to cut through the bare hands she used as weapons. She swung them like claws, each strike leaving glowing arcs that looked sharp enough to tear through steel doors.

His remark only fueled her anger. "Shut up, you arrogant fool! You think you can make us your slaves…" she spat, leaping at him with both hands cloaked in her white Domain, the energy stretching into long, razor-like nails.

"Primordial Fang Slash!" she shouted, the tips of her claws darkening as they sliced toward him. Cassian caught the attack just in time, his sword bracing against the deadly edges.

She shouted, "We won't be ridiculed like that ever again!" To his surprise, five deep claw marks already raked across his chest, blood seeping from the wounds. But there was no time to dwell on it. Using his own sword as leverage, she twisted her body with sudden grace, swinging her leg upward. Her limb glowed with the same Domain, sharp as her claws.

"Primordial Fang Kick!"

Cassian barely managed to guard, saving his face from being torn to pieces, but the blow still landed hard. The force sent the wind gushing against him, driving his body backward at speed.

He managed to stop only by using the wind to slow himself, drifting down like a leaf falling gently. "A kitty with big fangs, huh?" he remarked, a hint of surprise in his voice at her fighting technique—it was unlike anything he was used to.

Fenja's eyes burned with fury, her voice slicing through the air as she spat curses at him. "You arrogant little bastard! You actually think your measly skills can take down a second-circle warrior? You're dreaming if you believe that!"

Cassian's smirk faltered slightly. He knew she was no joke. Fenja hadn't even fully activated her domain's abilities yet, and as a second-circle warrior, she would have two at her disposal. On top of that, if her mana circulation technique was good, she might even have more.

The same could be said for him. He had only been relying on his own skills, along with his passive abilities—self-healing and pain immunity—without fully engaging his domain. Every strike, every block, was measured carefully, reading the rhythm of her attacks. Her technique was fierce, primal even, but it lacked the subtle cleverness of a truly intelligent fighting style.

He could read her movements well, and the only strike that had landed before was due to a momentary surprise. Fenja lunged forward again, her claws glowing through her domain, slicing sharp arcs through the air. "Come on! Show me how a first-circle idiot thinks he can survive against me!" Her voice was a mix of rage and exhilaration, her movements a seamless blend of feral instinct and polished technique. Each strike came faster than the last, a relentless storm designed to test his reflexes and endurance.

At a distance, another fierce-looking woman watched the fight—Fenja's sister. Her eyes narrowed as she observed, impatient. 'Why is she taking so long?' Her sister was taking far too long to finish off this weakling.

Yet from up close, she could see that his wounds had already healed, and even those still lingering barely hindered his movements. The fighting style her sister used relied on inflicting pain, wearing down enemies and confusing their judgment before delivering the final, decisive strike—but against him, it wasn't working.

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