A heavy silence spread.
Not the silence of anticipation, but the silence that comes just before a blade sinks into flesh.
"And where will the competition be held?"
The question came from one of the kings. His tone was calm, but his eyes were not.
They were fixed on Korval,
the stare of a hunter who knows that the prey in front of him could suddenly turn into a monster.
Korval did not answer immediately.
He did not pretend to think.
He did not hesitate.
He only kept that faint smile—
the kind that brings no comfort, only doubt.
"I have a place…"
he said at last, slowly and deliberately.
"A place I prepared… specifically for occasions like this."
The Stone Forest
When they arrived, everyone understood that calling it a forest was only politeness.
This place had not grown.
It had frozen.
Massive stone pillars rose from the ground like the bones of giants killed while standing.
Twisted, cracked, their edges sharp, as if they still remembered pain.
The trees…
were not trees.
They were statues of death.
Their branches were like knives, their leaves overlapping slabs of stone that choked the light and shattered shadows.
The ground itself looked sick.
Uneven, filled with cracks like mouths opened in a scream that never closed.
The air was heavy.
Not because of dust,
but because of memories.
Old battles. Blood that had flowed. Screams that ended suddenly.
All of it was here,
trapped inside the stone.
Yet despite all this…
no one was looking at the forest.
Above it,
hanging in the sky like a judge who never descends to the execution ground,
was the palace.
A massive royal stone structure, wings of rock spread wide—not flying,
but imposing its existence.
It was not floating.
It was defying the fall.
Blood-red inscriptions covered its walls, countless and intertwined, slowly moving.
They pulsed.
They dimmed.
Then they glowed again.
As if the palace was breathing.
As if something inside it was alive.
One of the kings muttered, his voice escaping without permission:
"This… is not just a building."
Another king, older and more experienced, clenched his fist until bone creaked:
"This is not a defensive fortress…
this is a war fortress."
Korval laughed.
A short laugh, free of tension.
"Yes."
Then he added casually:
"I recently acquired a spell master…
quite strong."
He paused, as if the thought had just occurred to him.
"From the imperial family."
No one spoke.
But something broke.
The imperial family does not lend its power.
It does not give away its experts.
And anyone allowed to approach it
is either a knife,
or a shield,
or prey whose slaughter has not yet come.
The king of the Seven Valleys said slowly:
"It seems you still know how to choose your friends, Korval."
The smile never left Korval's face.
But his eyes said:
You do not know half of what I know.
Korval took out a strange disc.
Dark, smooth, crossed with thin blood-red lines like veins.
He poured his spiritual power into it.
The ground shook.
From the heart of the forest,
a massive stone platform broke free, stained with a bloody glow.
It rose slowly, as if the forest itself were offering a sacrifice.
"Please."
Korval stepped onto it first.
Then the kings, the leaders, the sect heads followed.
The young generation boarded last.
Some with excitement.
Some with anxiety they tried to hide.
The platform rose.
Without sound.
Without shaking.
As if falling was not an option.
Inside the palace
The doors opened.
No creaking.
No explosion of energy.
Only disturbing silence.
Inside was another world.
The walls were covered with complex blood spells, layers upon layers.
Some were so ancient that even the kings could not understand their symbols.
The energy here was suppressed.
Compressed.
Calculated with deadly precision.
At the center of the hall,
a massive screen of blood-red light formed,
encompassing the entire Stone Forest.
Every angle.
Every shadow.
Every breath.
One of the kings did not bother to go around the issue:
"So, Korval…
what is the real purpose of inviting us?
And what scheme are you plotting?"
Korval laughed.
A warm laugh…
that never reached his eyes.
"A scheme?
No need for such fear, my friend."
He stepped closer to the screen, staring at the forest.
"I invited you…
to watch a good show."
"What kind of show?"
Korval turned slowly.
"I recently formed a friendship…
with two mysterious experts."
He paused.
Letting the words tear at their minds.
"They wish to measure their strength.
A friendly duel."
Then he added, his tone heavier:
"One of them…
will participate in the Sect Gathering."
He looked at the youths.
"And it is in our interest…
and in the interest of our children…
to understand who they will be sharing the arena with."
One of the kings laughed mockingly:
"What?
People the age of our grandchildren?"
Then sharply:
"Seriously, Korval, did you summon us to watch such ridiculous fights?
It seems your insight is starting to dull."
Korval did not get angry.
He smiled.
The smile of someone who had seen this kind of stupidity thousands of times.
"This world of ours…
is full of walking disasters."
He fell silent for a moment, as if recalling an old, forgotten past.
"Nightmares…
that walk on two legs."
He looked at them one by one.
"Some of them…
live in young bodies."
Then he said calmly, terrifyingly:
"Geniuses…
who can make you doubt yourselves…
and your entire world."
Another king shouted:
"Have you lost your mind?
Do you think children…
could be stronger than us?"
Korval nodded.
"It seems you still…
do not understand the world."
Then he concluded:
"This world…
is far more brutal…
than you wish."
"And where are they?"
This time the question came with less confidence.
"They will arrive shortly."
Then he turned to the young generation,
their blood boiling.
"And since enthusiasm is high…
let us kill some time first."
He smiled.
A hunter's smile.
"With a few small battles."
The screen lit up.
The Stone Forest…
seemed to smile.
And the palace?
It was waiting…
like a beast that knows blood is coming.