Among the standing spectators—
Healer Mae stiffened.
Her eyes never left Lucas.
The effect is too stable… she thought quickly.
The potion was only supposed to enhance physical response.
Not improve distance judgment.
Not calm breathing rhythm under pressure.
Mae's gaze shifted to Lucas's thigh.
Blood was still flowing.
Soaking into the fabric of his trousers.
Every step left dark droplets staining the arena floor.
That's not a minor wound, she thought. He should have slowed down by now.
Yet Lucas kept moving.
Inside the arena—
Lucas felt nothing.
Heat.
Impact.
Flesh tearing.
All of it drowned beneath adrenaline, tricking his nerves.
His steps were light.
His mind was clear.
He didn't even notice the blood hitting the ground.
Aldric did.
His gaze dropped for a split second—to the trail of blood—
then hardened again.
"Disgusting," he hissed.
"You must be using some cheap potion!"
Mana surged through his sword.
The pressure in the air intensified.
