Whiteshade shook his head.
"I'm sorry, Ninth Vein, but I don't know. But if I had to guess, there's something stopping them. Possibly a resource?"
"Marrow Dust," Malakai suddenly said. "Have you heard of it before?"
Whiteshade's eyes widened slightly, as though surprised to hear that name.
He paused slightly and glanced around, making sure no one was watching.
"Yes," he nodded after a second. "The berserker drug is what people are calling it," he said. "I'm still trying to find out its origins, but I'm suspecting the Murkroot Hollow. Many of the contenders in my fighting ring started using it a while ago. But I banned it."
Malakai furrowed his brows.
"Why?" If it granted strength, then Whiteshade's fighters would be able to give a better show. He couldn't understand why he would ban it.
"Because it's dangerous, Ninth Vein. Addictive too. I've lost many fighters due to overuse already."
Malakai narrowed his eyes. "What about Blood Guardians? Are they not investigating it?" he asked.
Whiteshade scoffed. "They wouldn't care to find out what happened to some lowlifes. Plus, I wouldn't be surprised to hear they're the cause of all this."
"If the Blood Guardians and Knights are acting this way, the Council of Clans should be able to keep them in check."
Whiteshade shook his head. "I believe you have the wrong opinion about who is truly in charge of this city, Ninth Vein. The Council of Clans are just figureheads. The real leader is the Fourth Pulse."
A figure clad in pure black armor made his way across the bright streets of Tenerus.
Tenerus was the only city in the Murkroot Hollow, and Bronoda had been confused when he saw the large walls littered with artillery surrounding the settlement on his first day when he had transferred in.
There were already outer walls, why inner walls too? He hadn't understood it, but a few days spent in the Murkroot Hollow changed that.
As Bronoda reached the gates of a massive mansion, he paused and took a large gulp.
'Why did he summon me?' Bronoda wondered. He was currently in front of what could be considered the best building in all of Tenerus, dwarfing those of the clan heads and representatives.
There was only one figure who could have such privilege. The Arbiter of the Murkroot Hollow.
An Arbiter was the third title in the Blood Guardians' ranking, and were even rarer than Adjudicators. They were in charge of the Blood Guardians of an entire district, figures of high authority.
And as Bronoda walked through the gates, escorted towards the mansion's basement by the Murkroot Hollow Arbiter's guards, his mind replayed the rumors he had heard about this place.
It was said that being summoned to the basement was the end. None had ever made it back.
Unfortunately for Bronoda, he had no choice.
As Bronoda reached the bottom of the basement stairs, his eyes landed on a door a few steps away.
One of the guards stepped forward, opened it, and gestured for him to enter. The moment he stepped inside, the sound of utensils hitting ceramic plates rang in his ears.
Bronoda's gaze swept the room. It was simple, large, with a singular table in the center. Seated at the table was the source of the clinking sounds. A man sat with his back straight, eating calmly, without even sparing Bronoda a glance.
Around the room, several guards stood motionless. Each one radiated a cold aura that sent unease crawling up Bronoda's spine. He didn't . He didn't one bit.
"A-Arbiter," Bronoda said quickly, dropping to one knee and bowing in respect.
Seconds passed. Then a minute. Then two. Before long, over half an hour had gone by. Still no answer, just the occasional clinking of fork against plate.
Despite the silence, Bronoda didn't utter a word. He didn't move. He kept his head low and waited.
Then finally… a satisfied sigh sounded, followed by the sound of utensils being dropped for good.
"The food was really good, Marvin," the Arbiter said at last.
A man in a chef's outfit bowed deeply. "Thank you for your kind words, Arbiter!"
"Though I was starving, I could still tell it was delicious. Your best one yet. Good job."
Marvin grinned and bowed even lower. "I'm honored, Arbiter."
"Hm." The Arbiter nodded. "Alright, now shoo. I've got business to take care of." He waved his hand, and Marvin quickly scurried out of the room.
The moment the Arbiter's gaze shifted to Bronoda, the air changed. It was heavy, so heavy that Bronoda's bow involuntarily deepened.
"What is your name, warrior?" The Arbiter's voice was calm, but it echoed across the room like a blade dragging on steel.
"B-Bronoda, Your Eminence."
"Hmm. Bronoda," the Arbiter echoed. "That's a unique name. Who gave it to you?"
"M-My mother, Your Eminence."
Bronoda hesitated for a second, then said, "It means… 'he who trips over nothing.'"
The Arbiter let out a laugh. "Your mother's an interesting one. Let's hope her son doesn't break her heart by dying an untimely death."
Bronoda swallowed hard. He caught the threat loud and clear. It wasn't subtle. Not even slightly.
"Tell me, Bronoda," the Arbiter's voice suddenly dropped, growing colder. "How did you lose your arm?"
Bronoda instinctively reached for the empty sleeve, memories of the forest rushing back in an instant.
'Is that what this is about?' he wondered. But there was no way he could tell the truth. The image of those cold crimson eyes flashed in his mind again.
"There was a scuffle in a bar downtown, Your Eminence. Between two synergy stage evolvers. I had to step in… and unfortunately, I lost my arm in the process."
The Arbiter stared at him in silence. The stillness made Bronoda sweat. Then suddenly, the Arbiter chuckled and waved a hand.
One of the guards behind him bowed and exited through a side door. Seconds later, he returned, dragging two battered figures and tossing them onto the floor like sacks of meat.
Bronoda's heart dropped.
'Shit.' His mind reeled in dread.
They were his colleagues. The ones who had been with him in the forest today.