Temple of the Demon Lord of Wishes

Chapter 74 Defenders

Nathan leaned back in his chair, the faint clinking of cutlery echoing in the quiet corner of the restaurant.

"Hm, we'll probably be stuck in this Fractured Reality for a few more months."

His tone was calm, as if months trapped in this strange, warped world were just another day at work.

Ivaim smiled to himself, resting his chin on his palm.

'A few more months... Old man Harvin's probably already replaced me at the workshop.'

"Why so?" he asked, keeping his tone casual, though Nathan's cryptic statements always managed to hook his curiosity.

Nathan glanced at him.

"Aside from the arenas, I haven't found anything concrete. No clues, no leads that point to him. Just a mess of dead ends."

Ivaim tapped his fingers against the table, a small grin forming.

"I have."

Nathan's gaze sharpened, his brow raising slightly.

"You have?"

Ivaim nodded, sitting up straighter.

"The owner of this restaurant, Neli—her story might be connected."

Nathan leaned forward slightly, his interest now fully piqued.

"What story?"

Ivaim ran a hand through his hair, collecting his thoughts.

"Her husband was part of the Council of Champions, but he was challenged by someone who didn't want his seat. He wanted his life. And his family's, too. Everyone but her."

Nathan's jaw tightened, but he said nothing, waiting for Ivaim to continue.

"Her husband fought and lost. She was spared because she was pregnant. That monster—he said he wanted to see if the child she carried could grow stronger than her husband. He left her alive just to watch her suffer."

Nathan's expression darkened, his voice colder than usual.

"And the challenger was?"

Ivaim's gaze was steady.

"The Master of Cruelty. Who else would it be?"

For a moment, there was silence between them, broken only by the muffled hum of conversations in the restaurant.

Nathan leaned back, arms crossed.

"If that's true, then we might have something to work with. Did she say anything else about him?"

"People?" he asked, his brow furrowing.

"You mean... like the fighters in the arenas?"

Nathan nodded, his jaw tightening slightly.

"Exactly. I suspect that in this Fractured Reality, the Defenders are those fighters. It makes sense—they're part of the story, part of the challenge. And they're bound to protect it, even if they don't realize it."

Ivaim exhaled slowly, his shoulders sagging.

"So, you're saying every time I step into that arena, I could be facing a Defender?"

Nathan's expression grew darker, and he leaned forward slightly.

"Yes. You'll likely notice something else too—every time you fight someone in the arena, their bloodlust increases. It's not subtle. You can feel it. And yet..."

He paused for emphasis, his tone sharp. "...no one in this town seems to care when a Challenger dies."

Ivaim's brow furrowed at that, and he stayed silent, turning the thought over in his mind.

'Now that I think about it, their aggressiveness is definitely too noticeable in the arena.' He replayed the matches in his head, the shift in demeanor from calm competitors to raging fighters.

'But after the fights, it's like it vanishes. At first, I figured it was just the intensity of the arena—fighters getting caught up in the heat of battle.'

Nathan watched him, his gaze unwavering, as if waiting for the realization to hit.

"Wait," Ivaim said, sitting up straighter. "You're saying this isn't normal? That there's... something influencing them in there?"

Nathan nodded curtly.

"Exactly. Something about the arena brings out their most primal instincts. And then there's the mayor..."

He let the sentence hang, inviting Ivaim to connect the dots.

"The mayor?" Ivaim echoed, narrowing his eyes.

Nathan's tone was grim.

"He compensates every fighter, even the injured ones. Makes it a point to publicly reward them. But have you noticed? He never once mentions the deceased."

Ivaim felt a cold chill creep up his spine.

'That's true.' He hadn't given it much thought at the time, but now it seemed glaringly obvious.

The mayor always handed out prizes with a flourish, praising the victors and ensuring even the losers were looked after—unless they'd lost their lives.

"You're right," Ivaim said, his voice quieter now. "It's like the dead just... disappear."

Nathan leaned back in his chair, his sharp gaze fixed on Ivaim. "Exactly. There's no mourning, no ceremonies, no mention at all. Just silence. It's almost like..."

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"They don't exist anymore," Ivaim finished, the words leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.