There were two platforms in the waiting hall, one in each far corner. Harmony stepped onto one and waited as instructed by the attendant, while her opponent ascended the other. With a low hum, both platforms began to rise, carrying them upward into the circular arena above.

  The roar of the crowd washed over her as the light grew brighter. Bones, observing through her eyes, noticed the faint shimmer of the barrier surrounding the battlefield — a transparent dome separating the combatants from the stands, refracting the sunlight in rippling arcs of pale blue.

  A commanding voice echoed through the arena, silencing the crowd. Bones’ attention snapped to the overseer, Tiberius, who stood at the center like a pillar of authority. Even from his refuge outside the city, Bones could feel the weight of the man’s aura through Harmony’s senses. It pressed against him like a mountain.

  Tiberius announced the debuting fighters, explained the rules in concise terms, then raised his hand — and the match began.

  Harmony’s opponent, a level fifty-three warrior wielding a greatsword, advanced with steady confidence. The moment the signal fell, Harmony moved in one fluid motion: she summoned her bow with a flicker of light, stepped back, and loosed a lightning arrow.

  The bound weapon shimmered with a solid, bluish ethereal glow. Once manifested, it consumed no additional mana to maintain — only the arrows demanded cost. The lack of constant channeling made each shot more powerful, her aim more precise.

  The arrow struck almost faster than sight. Her opponent barely managed to raise his blade in defense before the impact thundered through the arena. Sparks burst outward, scattering across the stone floor as the man’s sword flew from his grip. He staggered backward, arms trembling, fingers numb from the shock.

  Before he could recover, another arrow flashed across the distance — then another.

  Harmony pressed her advantage, maintaining a perfect distance, never allowing him close. Her arrows came swift and unrelenting, lightning tearing the air apart with each shot. After barely two minutes, Tiberius raised his hand, ending the bout. The warrior collapsed to one knee, his weapon smoking several meters away.

  Harmony descended back into the waiting hall soon after. She took her seat beside Skully and fell motionless once more.

  Forty minutes passed, and six matches came and went before Skully’s turn arrived. The slip in his claws glowed faintly. He stood and made his way toward the platform, which lifted him slowly toward the arena above.

  His first opponent was another melee combatant — a burly man armed with a spiked club and shield. He towered over Skully, eyeing the golem with thinly veiled disdain. Most had heard by now: one of the debuting fighters was only level forty-four. The crowd murmured.

  A scoff escaped the man as soon as the signal sounded. He charged, his spiked club swinging wide. Skully braced himself, spear raised. The first clash came hard — the shield slammed against Skully’s weapon, forcing it aside, and a brutal kick sent the smaller golem tumbling backward across the ground.

  “Hah!” the man barked, charging again. He thought the match decided already — that the strange, skeletal golem was beneath him.

  But Bones wasn’t disappointed. The exchange had gone exactly as intended. Skully had met the attack head-on by command, allowing the hit to land to measure his opponent’s strength.

  Bones analyzed quickly. The man’s raw power exceeded Skully’s but didn’t surpass that of Murdok, while his speed lagged behind. Acceptable odds. Bones ceased direct interference and issued one simple command: Engage.

  The next charge ended differently. Skully darted aside, his movements suddenly faster, more deliberate. The man’s spiked club swung through empty air, and Skully countered with a spear thrust that tore across his opponent’s shield arm.

  The pace escalated fast. The crowd began to stir as the fight shifted — disbelief etched into the man’s face as Skully pressed harder. Every strike carried full intent, and the disparity in speed became undeniable. The man’s defenses faltered, his shield arm broke under pressure, and the weapon slipped from his grasp.

  Panting and bloodied, the man raised his good hand in surrender. The audience erupted.

  Skully had won — not with overwhelming power like Harmony, but through persistence and precision. Bones allowed himself a faint nod of satisfaction. Still, concern lingered. Skully’s endurance had limits, and repeated damage could shorten his operating span. If the next rounds pushed him further, Bones might have to withdraw him.

  By day’s end, both golems had fought three matches each. Harmony’s victories were decisive and clean; Skully’s, hard-fought and grueling. Yet both remained standing.

  The next matches were set for two days later, giving participants time to recover. Before returning, Bones had Harmony collect two free healing pills issued to all fighters — basic but effective — and instructed both golems to return to his side beyond the city walls.

  When they reached Bones on the outskirts of the city, Murdok stood idly beside the tree hollow, half-buried beneath fallen leaves. The surrounding vegetation had turned from deep green to a sickly brown, and streaks of black marred the bark, creeping along the trunk like veins of decay that pulsed faintly, as though the corruption within the hollow was alive. From its depths, a hand reached outward, pale and skeletal against the bark.

  “Give me the pills,” Bones commanded. Two small orbs floated into his palm before the hand withdrew into the hollow’s darkness. Skully and Harmony approached, halting beside Murdok, motionless once more.

  Bones examined the pills in his hand, his mind running cold calculations. He would have dismissed his golems to recover inside the inventory, but his mana reserves wouldn’t permit it. The cost of resummoning far outweighed what little he had left.

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  He probed the first pill with his senses. The instant his mana touched the energy inside, a backlash rippled through his frame, snapping through his arm like static.

  “Nature affinity,” he murmured, as a faint green fissure appeared across the pill’s surface. A wisp of smoke curled upward, gentle as breath, before dissolving into the air. The pill cracked apart and crumbled between his fingers. Its energy hummed faintly — soothing, restorative — yet shallow. Only potent enough to mend surface wounds.

  Bones studied the remaining pill, curiosity flickering in his hollow sockets. Splitting it open drained most of its essence, but he didn’t care for its healing effects. He wanted to understand it — to feel the flow of mana through its composition. Traces of herbs and plant energy intertwined, held together by a refined process unlike anything from his time.

  He was no alchemist. His skill in potion-making barely reached rudimentary mana brews, and the craft of pill-forging hadn’t existed in his era. Still, the concept intrigued him — forging a restorative suitable for the undead. For a moment, the thought amused him. Then he crushed the pill to dust. The fragments fell through his fingers as he muttered, “Useless to me.” The idea of alchemy faded from his mind as swiftly as it came.

  The second day of the tournament felt markedly different from the first. The stands were fuller, the air more charged, and the opponents clearly stronger.

  Skully was summoned first, just after midday. His opponent, a level fifty-six ice mage named Tuan, was calm and composed — and from the moment the match began, the advantage was his.

  A wave of cold exploded from Tuan’s staff, halting Skully’s charge mid-step. Frost spread rapidly across the arena floor, stealing traction from his movements, while shards of ice erupted from every angle, forcing him to retreat.

  Bones’ senses prickled as he observed through the golem’s eyes. Tuan’s control was surgical — not overwhelming, but suffocatingly precise. He wasn’t wasting energy; he was dictating terrain.

  Skully fought to press forward, his spear clashed with a wall of solid ice, sparks leaping from the impact before his weapon froze to the haft. The mage raised a palm and sent a spiral of ice spears raining down. Skully barely dodged the first few, his frame grinding audibly as frost spread up his limbs.

  “Too slow,” Bones muttered. His jaw tightened as he sensed fractures spreading across Skully’s frame.

  Tuan didn’t give Skully a moment to recover. A final surge of frost blanketed the arena, coating Skully in a crystalline shell. Bones immediately issued a command. “Raise your hand.”

  The golem obeyed. The surrender gesture came just before the next barrage struck.

  Tiberius halted the match and chill receded as Tuan dispelled his magic, the arena returning to normal. The crowd roared, half in awe, half in disappointment. Skully stood motionless, frozen patches still clinging to his frame. Bones’ frown deepened. The structure of his bones had been compromised, faint fractures spiderwebbing through his form. Still, he didn’t summon the golem back. Skully would remain and observe.

  When evening settled, Harmony’s turn arrived among the final bouts of the day. By now, her lightning bow had become the talk of the stands, and her new opponent — a dumpy, leather-clad rogue named Varin — had clearly studied her fights. He stood relaxed but sharp-eyed, his movements small, contained, efficient. A professional killer.

  As soon as Tiberius gave the signal, the air warped. Varin vanished without a sound.

  Harmony lowered her bow slightly but her gaze didn’t flicker. She stood perfectly still. Bones, through her senses, felt the faint pull of mana from somewhere behind her.

  Stealth tactics. Backstab as the opener, he noted inwardly, sharing only that fragment of thought with her. Then he went quiet, letting her act.

  She didn’t disappoint.

  A second later, Varin reappeared behind her, dagger poised. But when he struck, Harmony’s body flickered into a burst of sparks, dispersing in the air. His blade met nothing but air as she reappeared several meters away, lightning crackling faintly across her armor as her eyes glowed faintly.

  Varin’s expression didn’t break. His body shimmered again, fading from sight.

  Bones could feel him circling — slow, deliberate, testing her patience. He contemplated possible counters, but Harmony acted on instinct. Electricity gathered around her, dancing across her form like living serpents. With a sharp stomp, she unleashed a wave of sparks in every direction.

  The arena floor lit up — dozens of stray currents racing outward like silver eels, unpredictable and uncontrolled. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then a sharp crack split the silence — one spark connected.

  Varin’s outline shimmered, then snapped into full visibility as electricity surged through his body, forcing him out of stealth. He stumbled, cursing as he tried to cloak himself again in retreat, but an arrow tore into his leg, burying deep and releasing a jolt that froze him in place.

  He tore free with sheer force of will, rolling aside as the next few arrows tore the ground around him. The smell of scorched leather filled the air.

  Despite the hit, he moved well — agile, relentless. He sprinted toward Harmony again, closing the gap. When his dagger slashed, she blinked — vanishing in a flash, reappearing meters away with her next arrow already drawn.

  The exchange became a deadly dance — hunter and hunted, roles blurring by the second.

  But Varin was quick, clever enough to notice something was off. Each arrow she fired landed near him — never at him, yet always surrounding him.

  He slowed, glanced around, and realized — too late — that he was encircled.

  Bones sensed it at the same time: a dozen lightning arrows embedded in the ground around the rogue, forming an unseen pattern.

  Before Varin could react, Harmony raised her hand. Lightning snapped outward, chaining from her fingertips to each arrow. The arena became a glowing web of blue light, each arrow acting as a conductor — and at the center of it all stood Varin.

  The convergence struck like divine judgment.

  The explosion of light and thunder drowned out the crowd’s screams. The scent of ozone was suffocating. Tiberius moved instantly, dispelling the storm with a single, decisive gesture.

  The lightning dissipated, and the arena fell silent. Varin’s charred form rested in the overseer’s grasp — burned, but alive. The overseer’s expression was unreadable as he handed the rogue off to the medics.

  Harmony lowered her bow and turned away, the faint glow fading from her eyes as she stepped onto the platform leading back down.

  Bones remained silent. Outwardly, he was calm — but within, thoughts raced. Harmony’s actions had far exceeded his expectations. Her adaptability, her precision… even her creativity in combat were unlike anything he had programmed or anticipated.

  It was a sign of something more — something evolving beyond his control.

  He looked toward Skully’s distant presence, then to the unmoving form of Murdok nearby.

  If Harmony could evolve beyond her constraints… perhaps the others could too. He just needed to discover what fueled that change.