Tension reached its peak. The three stared each other down, almost shouting, until Damerius finally spoke.
"If none of you are willing to fight on your opponent's territory, I have a solution," he said.
Toish scoffed. "What now? The field behind your house?"
"No. But somewhere far from all territories," Damerius replied calmly. "I'll build my own arena on a remote hill. On land I've purchased from the people. Six days should be enough."
Nicolo's eyes widened. "You're... serious?"
Damerius nodded. "It won't be luxurious, but it'll be grand enough for three rulers. And open to the common people."
Toish laughed loudly. "The commoners? Hahaha! You want beggars watching us fight?"
"Not everyone watching from below is weak," Damerius replied. "They just haven't been given a stage."
After an awkward silence, Toish pointed at him. "Fine. But make sure my honorary seat is comfortable enough to watch my Lutadors win."
Nicolo added, "And the stakes?"
Toish answered swiftly, "The loser gives up one territory!"
Nicolo nodded. "Agreed."
All eyes turned to Damerius.
"I have no territory," he said. "But I'll wager my entire enterprise. And… if my fighters lose, I'll pay 1,000 Wit coins per fighter."
Toish gaped. "That's... insane."
"And if I defeat only one of you, I earn 500. If I beat both, 1,000 each—just enough to break even."
Toish clapped. "I like it! Let's make this huge!"
Damerius smiled. "Oh, and one more thing. For every win, the losing side must pay 250 Wit to the victor of each duel. So if a team sweeps the matches, they'll earn 1,500 per fighter. You could still walk away with 2,000 coins."
The room went quiet for a moment as they all calculated the numbers.
"We'll send formal invitations to all regional lords," said Nicolo. "This isn't just a tournament anymore."
Invitations were sent out. Big names started paying attention. Lord Meruz from Larfex received the letter and immediately confirmed his attendance as an official witness. Even Lord Kohali in Blacksand responded swiftly.
But the most surprising came from Lord Kiresu of the Lofil tribe, a noble warrior famed for his battle experience. He confirmed his attendance—and brought his personal guards and a letter of endorsement from his uncle, a sitting minister of the Imperial Council.
At that, Toish began to feel uneasy. "Kiresu's a fighter... He'll judge all of us," he murmured.
Nicolo smirked. "Then get ready to be judged."
Meanwhile, Damerius—now increasingly known as Lord Rius—was preparing his final move. Not only did he oversee the construction of the arena, but he also began training three of his best fighters personally. No grand names, just warriors with the kind of fire that money couldn't buy.
The Arena War was no longer just about land. It was about reputation, about the future, and about who deserved to lead Patisia.
And this time, the people were watching too.
The long-awaited day was drawing near. Damerius stood before a large map of Whiteheaven, his fingers gliding from Blacksand to Whitesand, then Patisia, stopping at a red circle he had marked.
"Everything's in place," he whispered. "It's time."
In the past two weeks, he hadn't only prepared the arena. He had toured all corners of his business empire—visiting markets he helped establish, meeting with shadow merchants, and spending nearly all his wealth on one goal: to buy the strongest slaves and turn them into fighters, and to rally merchants to fuel the great arena he envisioned.
In his war room, one of his assistants reported, "Lord Rius, we've successfully purchased 18 slaves. Many are from remote tribes."
Damerius nodded. "Make sure they're well-fed. And tell them this—if they win, they're free. If they lose, they live and get paid like soldiers. No punishments."
"Understood, my lord," the assistant replied quickly and left.
The "half-pay freedom" system introduced by Damerius sent shockwaves. For slaves, this was more than money—it was a doorway to liberation. No one had ever heard of slaves being paid, much less promised freedom—except from the mouth of this man, Damerius—now known as Lord Rius.
In the training yard, a tall, muscular man was working hard. His hands were wrapped in cloth, his body soaked in sweat, but his spirit blazed. His name was Hans, a slave from the Migase tribe.
"Again!" shouted Damerius.
Hans, kneeling and exhausted, looked up. "This body's endured countless torments. But... this is the first time I've felt seen."
"You're not a slave to me, Hans," Damerius said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You're a warrior. And you're going to win."
Hans took a deep breath. "If I gain my freedom, I'll go home. Back to the Migase Valley. But before that, I'll make sure... our enemies know what it means to lose."
Damerius smiled. "Make sure they remember the name Migase."
Meanwhile, construction of the arena surged forward. The hilly land on the eastern side of the city was leveled, a grand wooden stage erected, fences built around it, and audience stands assembled. Damerius even hired additional workers from Nicolo's territory to speed up the process.
"Ensure the front rows are reserved for the high lords," Damerius ordered the overseer.
"And the commoners?" asked one of the young workers.
"Give them space. Plenty of space. This arena isn't just for nobles. Everyone deserves to see what happens on this ground."
A problem arose when the remote location discouraged merchants and commoners from attending. But Damerius had foreseen this.
He stood outside his store, Bluegarden, and shouted to the crowd:
"Anyone who shops at Bluegarden today—gets arena tickets at half price! This is Patisia's greatest battle. Don't miss it!"
A woman whispered to her friend, "Lord Rius is mad... but brilliant. Look, everyone's swarming his store."
It didn't take long. Lines stretched in front of Bluegarden. Sales soared. Tickets sold out.
Word spread fast. Foreign traders began to arrive. Sailors from the south, even bandits and gamblers from the free territories, came to witness the battle rumored to decide Patisia's next great power.
In the palace, Empress Xienna raised an eyebrow upon hearing the report.
"A people's arena?" she asked coldly. "What is that?"
A servant replied cautiously, "A battle between great lords, Your Majesty. They say the people are calling it the Ebeagha Arena War."
"Let them play," Xienna said coolly. "As long as they don't touch the palace, let their filthy streets burn."
But not all princes shared her indifference. Some quietly sent spies to watch the arena—taking note of who would rise, and who would show true power.
Meanwhile, far away in Blacksand, Lord Kohali received a report from one of his men.
"The great battle is about to begin. And… the man behind the arena… is Damerius."
Lord Kohali fell silent for a long moment. "Damerius? You mean… that slave?"
"He's no longer a slave, my lord. People now call him Lord Rius."
Kohali slowly rose from his chair. His face darkened, and his voice was low, cold.
"If he's truly become a major player… then this is no longer just an arena."
With everything in place, Damerius stood at the center of the arena on the night before the opening. Lanterns had been hung, the distant sounds of construction tools still echoed, and the sky over Patisia had begun to darken.
Hans approached him. "Are you sure you'll win?"
Damerius turned to him. "I'm not betting on victory. I'm betting on change."
Hans nodded. "Then let me fight first."
Damerius looked at him for a moment, then extended his hand. "Show them… that a slave can become a champion."