CHAPTER 318: RACE

The referee fled from the field instantly. I would have laughed but for my precarious situation.

"Do you think I would let you win over me, witch?" The dark mage gloated, finding strength in his knees, standing erect, cold eyes washing over me.

I let him lift me above the ground, even squirmed my legs for show, pretending to be struggling in the confines of the dark threads.

But as much as I had been late to stop the spinning threads, I had been fast enough to activate my body heat, the innate magic that surrounded my skin, that stopped nonsense from penetrating.

Around us, more cheers, for the male.

Unstable dorks.

"You can’t speak? Don’t worry, I will make sure to pay you in kind. I will make sure your voice pulls down the field..."

I looked down at him then, smiling like a Cheshire cat, when he frowned; when his eyes narrowed, when he became aware that I wasn’t bleeding, that there were no cuts on my skin.

Fool could finally see it.

He tried to save face, to salvage the situation. Oh yes, he tried breaking past the barrier, but that would be tantamount to skinning me alive, so he settled on muttering curses, on wondering who I was.

Inhaling deeply, I flung away the threads like they meant nothing, whilst descending slowly to the ground. A show of minuscule power, but it was enough to dry up the stadium of voice.

Oh well...

"Who are you?"

I shrugged. "Is that all you got?"

Ego was pricked, and so he sent forth more.

I rolled my eyes. Were threads of darkness all he had?

I flung my right hand to the side, and with that motion went all the threads to naught.

Bored to death, I flung him away too.

But the fool tried to get up. Muttering a curse, I kept him down with magic, anger starting to build.

That should have been it. I would have waited till the referee came and declared me the winner. But rage had taken root in me, dark and unrelenting.

When Isla shouted my name again, for victory won, I barely heard.

I felt my hand twitch, and before I realized it, my magic had wrapped around his throat, invisible fingers tightening, cutting off his air. His face turned pale, his eyes bulged. He clawed at nothing, gasping.

Gasps echoed across the stadium.

But I didn’t stop. How dare he?

The bloodlust had been building inside me since I stepped into this cursed pack, and now it burst its dam. My vision swam red as I pushed deeper into his mind, breaching defenses I hadn’t even known I could break.

I saw them—souls screaming, faces twisted in agony, lives he had taken without remorse. Blood, fire, shadows. He was a killer, a devourer.

I clenched my fist, feeling justified. His body went limp immediately.

Silence thundered across the field. Right before the announcer’s voice rang out, trembling, "Victor—Sage!"

A beat of stunned quiet followed before the crowd broke into chaotic murmurs. Some in awe. Some in fear. No one could believe it.

I sighed, brushing sand off my pants as though I hadn’t just strangled a man with magic. What a waste of power.

Isla rushed forward, her face flushed with both pride and shock. She thrust a bottle of water into my hand, then threw an arm across my shoulders. "You’re insane," she muttered, half-laughing, half-scolding. "But brilliant."

I let her lead me out of the field, without letting my eyes drift like before. But I knew they were watching. And my lips curved faintly before I looked away.

We returned to the tent, Isla giggling at random intervals. "Two wins in one day. And you’re still standing."

I chuckled under my breath. "There’s still the race."

—

The evening sun stretched golden fingers across the sky when the horns sounded for the horse races.

Isla tugged at my arm, her excitement brimming past the surface. "Are you ready for more fun?."

I wasn’t so sure.

The air around the race grounds felt strange—thicker somehow, tinged with a quiet hum that crawled over my skin. Whoever had designed this track had laid enchantments in the very soil. Not active magic, no, but a suppression field.

It pulsed faintly, a warning that if anyone dared draw from the arcane, the energy would flare and expose them. A clever cage to keep us all honest.

Could I win without magic?

Maybe. Maybe not. But I would rather die than lose. Freda didn’t train me personally to lose a common horse race.

In the stables, horses stamped and snorted, tossing their heads as grooms tightened straps and checked bits. Their hides gleamed under the setting sun.

My gaze swept over the line until it landed on her: a midnight-black mare, her coat sleek as oil, her eyes sharp and intelligent. She stood apart from the others, proud, almost disdainful.

"That one?" Isla asked, wrinkling her nose. "She looks like she’ll throw you before she runs."

"Or maybe she just doesn’t suffer fools," I murmured.

The mare tossed her head as if to agree. Yes, she was the one.

I stepped closer, slow and deliberate. She flared her nostrils, ears flicking back. For a heartbeat, I thought she might snap. But when my palm brushed her neck, the tension bled away.

Her muscles loosened, and she leaned into the touch. Trust was hard to come by, even from beasts. But she allowed me onto her back with little fuss, as though she had decided I was worth the effort.

A few of the male contestants sneered as I swung into the saddle.

"Does she think it’s a parade?" one muttered loudly.

"Maybe she should’ve stayed with the handmaids," another snickered.

Still holding onto old beliefs even though I had defeated two strong men in the field?

I smirked, ignoring them. Their voices would taste bitter once I crossed the finish line.

Among the riders was also the taller of the two women who had approached Isla and me yesterday, after the meeting with Timothy.

She gave me a long look, not mocking like the men, but appraising. Then she nodded once, as if to say prove yourself.

I returned the gesture. At least one of them wasn’t blind. Or rather my earlier fights had softened her stand.