The Vytal Festival continued, but the air of excitement was now mixed with a subtle undercurrent of confusion.
Cinder's plan for public condemnation of Yang had been muddied.
The dramatic impact she desired hadn't materialized.
Instead of outrage, there was debate. Instead of clear-cut villainy, there was an awkward stumble.
This unexpected turn of events forced Cinder to re-evaluate, but her core objective remained unchanged.
Cinder watched the replays of the Yang-Mercury match, her jaw tight.
The grainy footage showed the moment of impact, the seemingly powerful punch, and then Mercury's ungainly fall.
It wasn't the clean, devastating blow she had envisioned.
The slight wobble, the delayed reaction, the genuine wince – it all chipped away at the manufactured outrage.
Public opinion, instead of coalescing into a unified cry against Beacon Academy, was fractured.
Some still believed Yang had maliciously crippled Mercury, fueled by the initial shock and Mercury's continued, if now less convincing, performance of pain.
But others, the more observant ones, questioned the scene.
They whispered about Mercury's awkward landing, the lack of a true "snap," the almost comical grimace on his face.
The narrative Cinder had so carefully crafted was now full of holes, allowing doubt to seep in.
She paced her private box, the plush carpet doing little to soothe her simmering anger.
"He botched it," she seethed, her voice a low growl that barely escaped her lips. "Mercury, you imbecile."
Emerald stood by, silent, her eyes darting between Cinder and the screen.
She knew Cinder was right. Even with her own ability to create illusions, she recognized the subtle flaw in Mercury's performance, the small, almost imperceptible detail that had gone wrong.
It was like a single brushstroke out of place on a masterpiece, ruining the entire illusion for those who looked closely enough.
The problem for Cinder wasn't just the lack of a perfect theatrical moment.
It was the lack of unity in the public's reaction.
Salem thrived on fear and chaos, and chaos was amplified when people were united in their anger, their terror, their condemnation.
A fragmented public, debating the nuances of a questionable injury, was far less potent than a unified mob baying for blood.
This wasn't the spark she needed to ignite the widespread panic and distrust that would draw the Grimm.
Despite this setback, Cinder was nothing if not adaptable.
The overall framework of her plan remained intact. She still had access to the CCT (Cross Continental Transmit) Tower, still had loyal allies – or at least, those who feared her enough to obey. And most importantly, she still had the Fall Maiden's power, slowly but surely growing within her.
The tournament itself was merely a prelude, a way to sow discord and weaken the Huntsmen Academies from within.
The true objective was the acquisition of all four Maiden powers and the opening of the Vault.
"It doesn't matter,"
Cinder finally declared, her voice regaining some of its usual cold composure.
"The plan moves forward. The general public's opinion is a useful tool, but not the only one. There are other ways to create chaos. Other ways to bring them to their knees."
Her eyes glinted with renewed determination.
"Mercury's incompetence has merely forced a slight adjustment. We will still proceed with the next phase. The Grimm will still come. The towers will still fall. And the Maidens will still be mine."
She turned to Emerald.
"Contact Watts. Inform him that the preliminary stage has concluded. The CCT Network is to be compromised as planned. And prepare for the broadcast."
Emerald nodded, a sense of unease still clinging to her.
She understood Cinder's resolve, but she couldn't shake the feeling that something, or someone, had interfered.
Mercury wasn't a bad actor; he was skilled at deception.
For him to genuinely stumble, for his illusion to be so visibly flawed, suggested an external force, a subtle push that had thrown him off balance.
She dared not voice these thoughts to Cinder, however.
Cinder's temper was a force to be reckoned with, and questioning her plans, especially after a perceived failure, was a dangerous game.
Meanwhile, Arthur, observing from his secluded vantage point, savored his small victory.
He hadn't stopped the show, not entirely.
But he had subtly altered the script, changing a climactic tragedy into a minor stumble.
He had disrupted Cinder's carefully constructed narrative, transforming a clear villain into a subject of debate.
This was a crucial first step.
He understood that Cinder's true strength lay not just in raw power, but in her ability to manipulate perception, to weaponize fear and distrust.
By undermining her opening gambit, he had already begun to weaken her foundation.
He watched as the medics finally carried Mercury away.
The crowd, instead of roaring with fury, was buzzing with confused chatter.
Some shook their heads in disappointment, feeling cheated by a dramatic spectacle.
Others, with a more critical eye, exchanged glances, a flicker of doubt in their eyes.
This was exactly what Arthur had aimed for.
Confusion, not outright condemnation, was the critical outcome.
It meant the public wasn't a unified weapon for Cinder to wield.
Arthur knew this was just the beginning.
Cinder's plan was multifaceted, and undermining one part wouldn't dismantle the whole.
But it was a start. It bought him time.
Time to prepare Penny, time to understand the true nature of the powers at play.
He was playing a long game, a game of subtle manipulations and strategic interventions, against an enemy who reveled in brute force and overt displays of power. It was a dangerous dance, but Arthur had always preferred the elegance of a precise, well-placed move over a clumsy, powerful strike.
As the tournament continued, the sense of unease grew.
The broadcast, meant to showcase the prowess of the Huntsmen and Huntresses, was now tainted by the lingering questions surrounding the Yang-Mercury match.
Commentators tried to steer the conversation back to the excitement of the competition, but the seed of doubt had been planted. Social media buzzed with speculation.
Conspiracy theories, once confined to the fringes, began to gain traction.
People questioned the integrity of the matches, the impartiality of the officials, even the very purpose of the festival.
This wasn't the controlled narrative Cinder wanted, but it was chaos nonetheless, albeit a different kind.
Arthur, for his part, was already moving on to the next phase of his own counter-plan.
...
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