"NOOO!" Fenja screamed as Cassian deflected her sister's attack mid-form, the clash cutting through Kirja's technique like it was nothing. Her massive sword spun out of her grasp, crashing into the ground near their former master, Kirk. The sound echoed like a death knell — both sisters were now his slaves.

Kirk stood frozen, just as stunned as the rest of the crowd. Unlike his earlier match with Fenja, Cassian hadn't held back this time. From the very start, he unleashed his full strength.

Within minutes, Kirja had already burned through both of her Circle abilities — one boosting her speed to blinding levels, far surpassing Fenja's transformation, and the other forming shimmering blades along her body's edges. They should've made her nearly untouchable. But Cassian's precision and timing were inhuman. He slipped past her attacks at the very last instant, each dodge razor-close. The few strikes that grazed him didn't even draw blood — his healing nullified them before they could matter.

He had completely overwhelmed her. A shocking feat, considering Fenja wasn't an average Second Circle warrior by any means. But to Cassian — a swordsman forged through relentless training and the inherent talent of the ven Dyke bloodline, bastard or not — her technique was child's play. The only real challenge had been her raw power and terrifying speed she got from her circle warrior abilties.

"That's a monster, my lady," Ronan muttered to Brigid, watching the fight unfold. He barely spared a glance at Fenja, the freshly branded slave standing beside him, her expression hollow with disbelief. The same despair twisted Kirja's face — Cassian's sword was at her throat now, just as it had been at her sister's earlier.

She hadn't even made him break a sweat before losing. The humiliation was crushing — not only had she failed to protect her pride, but she'd also failed to win back her sister's freedom. Shame burned through her so deep she almost wished for death.

"Don't look so defeated, babe," Cassian said with a casual grin, lowering his blade a little. "It's not like I'm gonna keep you two as slaves forever..."

Kirja's eyes flicked up, brow furrowing in disbelief. She didn't trust him — not even a little.

Cassian smirked, reading her perfectly. "I'll free you both soon," he said, his tone smooth and certain. "After I'm done with a few things here first."

"Soon when?" she asked, even though she knew she wasn't in a position to demand anything — her sister already bore the cult's slave brand. She hadn't been marked yet; she could still choose death if she wanted. Cassian watched her body more than her face, that roving, half-perverted gaze of his, but he wasn't like the other cult dogs.

"To be honest, I can't promise an exact date," he said, lifting his sleeve to show the red marks of his warrior circle — a crude oath in their world. "But I swear on my warrior circle… I'll free you two within a year."

She thought for a long beat, eyes flicking to her sister's hollow stare before returning to Cassian. She nodded slowly. "I'll take your word," she said. Then, voice low and deadly, she added, "But if you do anything perverted to my sister while she's under you, I'll cut that little thing you keep in your pants and shove it down your own ass."

Cassian chuckled at her threat, lowering his sword as the onlookers buzzed with excitement. Murmurs rippled through the crowd — the victor of two consecutive duels stood calm, confident, and dangerous.

"Well then," he said with a lazy grin, "don't mind if I do those things to you instead."

Kirja scoffed, refusing to give him even a flicker of satisfaction. Before anyone could drag her forward, she walked on her own — chin high, eyes cold — and stepped into the circle. The cult's branding sigil flared to life, burning deep into her skin. The air filled with the sharp scent of scorched flesh and iron, the glow pulsing crimson as the mark bound her to Cassian — just as it had claimed her sister before her. This one felt heavier, darker… a crueler kind of magic than what had once chained Brigid.

For a moment, no one spoke. The only sound was the low hum of the branding mark fading. Then Cassian's voice cut through the air like a blade as he turned back to the gathered warriors. "Now," he called out, voice sharp and mocking, "anyone else want to try their luck? Two beautiful ladies and tens of thousands of gold coins for your freedom. Sounds like a fair deal, doesn't it?"

The Second Circle warriors exchanged glances, tension cutting through the excitement. They all knew Cassian's strength now — his speed, his precision — and though the offer glittered like temptation itself, every one of them understood the same thing: facing him meant gambling with more than just pride.

Another figure stepped forward from the edge of the circle — a Second Circle warrior, tall and lean, with two intricate circles glowing faintly in silver across his neck. The placement itself drew murmurs; warrior marks almost never appeared there. Arms, shoulders, chests — even legs or foreheads, yes. But the neck? That was unheard of. Even Brigid and Ronan exchanged surprised glances as the man, who looked about Cassian's age, strode toward the center.

"Oh…" Ronan murmured under his breath.

Lucas, however, recognized him instantly. His expression darkened as Brigid and Ronan turned toward him for an explanation. "I've heard of him," Lucas said quietly. "He is one of the special soldier stationed here. Odd one. Doesn't talk much — and when he does, it's barely a whisper."

"Why?" Brigid asked, brows knitting.

Lucas shrugged, eyes following the silent man. "Guess we're about to find out."

The murmurs in the crowd died as his voice came, soft as breath — yet somehow everyone heard it."I'll take it…"

That was all he said.

Twin short swords slid from the scabbards at his hips, each no longer than an arm's length, edges gleaming like mirror-polished glass. Cassian's grin sharpened. "Then come."

The white-haired man tilted his head, eyes pale and eerie under the sunlight. He wasn't older than Cassian — maybe the same age — but there was something off about him. His lips curved faintly, and a whisper left them like a breeze brushing against Cassian's ear.

"Slow down…"

The words barely registered before Cassian's instincts screamed. His opponent vanished. A flicker of white flashed before his eyes — and then steel was already coming for his throat. Cassian moved to parry, fast as thought, but his arms… felt wrong.

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