At the heart of a world forgotten by justice and morality, rose Noxhaven, the lawless city. A place where chaos was the norm and survival, the only commandment. The streets were filled with people coming and going, each with a purpose: to make money, to survive, or simply to avoid being the next victim. The air smelled of sweat, metal, and desperation. Merchants sold their wares, from weapons to potions, but the most lucrative businesses were those that were not openly advertised: human trafficking.
In the shadows, slave traders operated with impunity. Their 'products' were varied: humans, dwarves, and, most coveted, elves. The latter, with their grace and magical abilities, were especially valuable. And today, the king of Noxhaven, Leon Frostvein, was celebrating.
Lion Frostvein wasn't a man; he was a living legend of cruelty and power. His name inspired terror in the hearts of those who heard it. No one dared to oppose him, and those who tried lay underground, their names erased from history. Frostvein ruled with an iron fist, and his coliseum was the symbol of his dominion. A place where blood flowed like water and death was the city's favorite sight.
Today, however, the coliseum was closed to the public. Only a select group of people occupied the place: the king, his mercenaries, and the captured elves. Frostvein watched from his imposing seat on the second floor, a cold, calculating smile on his face. His steely gray eyes rested on the prisoners.
The elves, bound and bruised, were a sight in themselves. Their clothes, though torn, betrayed their noble lineage. Some wore robes embroidered with silver threads, others sported jewels that glittered even in the dimness of the coliseum. Frostvein knew that executing them would be a mistake; the elves neither forgot nor forgave. But he also knew that their capture sent a clear message: no one, not even noble elves, were safe in Noxhaven.
At his side, his right hand, Kael Blackthorn, an S-rank mercenary, remained silent. Kael was a tall man with a cold gaze and scars that told tales of a thousand battles. Beside him, the other 19 mercenaries—10 A-rank and 9 B-rank—formed a circle around the elves, ready to act at the slightest hint of rebellion.
Frostvein didn't want to kill the elves, at least not immediately. His plan was more subtle: to use them as bargaining chips. The high elves were worth their weight in gold, and their capture could force the elven kingdom to negotiate. Or, if they refused, their execution would be a show of power that would resonate across the continent.
"Kael," the king called, his voice echoing in the emptiness of the coliseum. "How many nobles are there among them?"
Kael approached the prisoners, examining them closely. Finally, he replied:
"Five, my lord. Two women and three men. The rest are servants or guards."
Frostvein nodded, satisfied. Five nobles were more than enough to make an impact.
As the king and his mercenaries argued, the elves exchanged looks of concern and determination. One of them, a young man with silver hair and green eyes, whispered something in Elvish to his companions. Although they couldn't use magic with the chains that bound them, their spirit wasn't broken.
Frostvein noticed the movement and smiled. He loved watching them fight the inevitable.
"Do you think they can escape?" he asked, turning to the young elf. "There is no hope here. There are only two options: obey or die."
The elf remained silent, but his gaze burned with a fire the king couldn't ignore. Frostvein leaned back in his seat, enjoying the moment. He knew that, sooner or later, that fire would go out.
As the sun began to set, dyeing the coliseum red, Frostvein thought about the future. With the elves under his control, his power would only grow. Noxhaven would remain his kingdom, a place where only the strong survived. And he, Leon Frostvein, was the strongest of all.
But in the shadows, something was stirring. Something not even the king could control. Because in a lawless city, even tyrants fall... and someone was determined to remind him of that.
The sun sank below the horizon, dyeing the sky shades of red and orange, as if the firmament itself were on fire. The coliseum, silent and empty, seemed like a sleeping giant. Leon Frostvein remained seated, looking at the imprisoned elves with a mixture of satisfaction and ambition. But that tranquility wouldn't last long.
Suddenly, the air became heavy. A cold breeze swept through the coliseum, making the mercenaries shiver. Something wasn't right. Kael Blackthorn, the S-rank mercenary, was the first to notice. His hand rested on the pommel of his sword, his eyes scanning the shadows.
"Someone's here," he murmured, alerting the others.
Before anyone could react, a figure appeared in the center of the coliseum. It was an elven woman, tall and slender, with long, silver hair that gleamed in the evening light. She wore no armor, only tight pants and a simple, almost tattered shirt, as if she had bought it at the poorest market in the city. But her presence was so imposing that no one dared underestimate her.
It was Idril, the magician sent by the king of the elves.
Idril didn't say a word at first. Her intense green eyes scanned the coliseum, lingering on the imprisoned elves. Then her gaze fell on Leon. Frostvein. The king felt a chill run down his spine, but he showed no fear. After all, he was the ruler of Noxhaven, and no one had ever defeated him.
"Who are you?" Frostvein asked, his voice firm but with a hint of curiosity.
Idril didn't respond. Instead, she raised a hand, and the air around her began to vibrate. Suddenly, blades of wind streaked through space, slicing through everything in their path. The mercenaries, trained and lethal, had no time to react. One by one, they fell to the ground, their bodies dismembered before they could even draw their weapons.
Kael Blackthorn tried to fight back, but a gust of wind blew him against the wall, knocking him unconscious. Within seconds, only two people were left standing: Idril and Leon. Frostvein.
Frostvein rose from his seat, his face now marked by anger. He drew his sword, a black blade he had forged from the metal of his fallen enemies, but he didn't have a chance to use it. Idril moved with supernatural speed, appearing before him in the blink of an eye.
With a swift, precise movement, Idril ripped off Frostvein 's right arm, the same one that had signed the elves' arrest warrants. The king screamed in pain, but he didn't have time to recover. A second gust of wind severed his left leg, causing him to fall to the ground, bloodied and humiliated.
"This is just a warning," Idril said, her voice soft but filled with suppressed fury. "If you threaten my people again, there will be no mercy."
Idril wasted no more time. With a wave of her hand, the chains holding the imprisoned elves broke, and they fell to the ground. The elves, though weak and wounded, quickly got up, grateful but aware that this was not the time for questions.
Idril quickly pulled two scrolls from her robes and poured mana into them, and in an instant, a magic circle appeared on the ground. It was a teleportation circle, a further demonstration of her immense power. One by one, the elves entered the circle, disappearing in a flash of light. Finally, Idril took one last look at Frostvein, who lay on the ground, cursing under his breath.
"Remember my warning," Idril said, before disappearing into the teleportation circle.
Frostvein 's moans of pain. Kael Blackthorn, semiconscious, managed to crawl to his king, but there was nothing he could do. Frostvein 's arm and leg were lost, and his pride shattered.
Frostvein muttered, his eyes filled with hatred. "She will pay for this."
But deep in his mind, a doubt began to grow. Idril had demonstrated a power that not even he could match. And if the elves had more like her, what would that mean for Noxhaven?
As night fell over the lawless city, the streets began to fill with rumors. Something had happened in the coliseum, something even the bravest were afraid to mention out loud. Leon Frostvein, the tyrant king, had been humiliated, and his invincibility questioned.
Meanwhile, Idril and the rescued elves returned to their kingdom, where the elven king greeted them with relief and gratitude. But Idril knew this was only the beginning. Frostvein would not stand idly by, and war between the elves and Noxhaven was inevitable.