Lord of the Foresaken
Chapter 31: FIRST CONTEST

Chapter 31: FIRST CONTEST

Dawn broke over the Capital like an open wound, spilling crimson light across the gleaming spires. Reed stood at the entrance to the Tournament Grounds, his body still aching from the previous night’s encounter. The mysterious vial remained untouched in his pocket—a potential lifeline he wasn’t yet desperate enough to use.

"You look terrible," Shia observed, materializing beside him. She bore fresh scars herself, a long gash across her forearm carefully bandaged.

"And you’re late," Reed replied, relief hidden beneath his curt tone. "I thought perhaps our shadow friend had finished what it started."

"It tried." Shia’s expression darkened. "That was no ordinary assassin. It... changed, adapted to every attack. I barely escaped."

Reed nodded grimly. "The game is more complex than we realized."

Before them stretched an immense coliseum, its architecture a mockery of physical laws. Sections of the stands floated unsupported, while others seemed to exist in multiple places simultaneously. At its center lay not an arena of blood and sand, but a massive crystalline platform divided into sixty-four distinct territories, each glowing with elemental energy.

"This is unexpected," Reed murmured.

"The First Contest begins!" announced a disembodied voice that penetrated bone and flesh. "Lords of the Nine Domains, approach your designated territories."

The gathered crowd—thousands of nobles and dignitaries from across the realm—watched eagerly as the competing Lords made their way to their assigned spaces. Reed felt their stares like physical weight, heard their whispers like the buzzing of carrion flies.

"The Goblin Lord..." "...aberration..." "...won’t survive the first round..."

His designated territory pulsed with sickly light at the far edge of the platform. As he approached, Reed noted Lord Krell already standing on his own territory—a domain of gleaming metal that shifted and reformed continuously. The Iron Lord’s reflective face revealed nothing, but his posture radiated confidence.

Reed stepped onto his territory and immediately sensed something wrong. The crystal beneath his feet was tainted, corrupted somehow. Where other territories glowed with pure elemental energy, his seemed diseased, fractured.

"Someone’s tampered with it," Shia whispered, standing just outside the boundary.

"Of course they have," Reed replied, unfazed.

The disembodied voice spoke again: "The First Contest challenges your fundamental qualities as Lords. Not through combat, but through governance. Each of you will face a simulation of domain management—resource allocation, crisis response, population control. Your territories will respond to your decisions in real-time."

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. This was unexpected—traditionally, the Tournament began with bloodshed, not bureaucracy.

"The contest ends when half of you fail," the voice continued. "Success is measured by domain stability. Begin."

The crystal beneath Reed’s feet shuddered, then erupted into a three-dimensional projection of a landscape—a perfect miniature replica of Goblin’s Hollow. But not as it currently existed under his rule; rather, as he had first found it: barren, corrupted, teeming with feral goblins, the land itself poisoned by elemental imbalance.

Around him, other Lords were similarly presented with projections of their own domains. Many appeared confused, even distressed, by the challenge before them.

"A test of governance," Reed mused, studying the simulation. "Interesting."

The rules materialized in glowing script above each territory: Address the critical needs of your domain. Establish stability. Demonstrate mastery over your subjects and resources.

Reed knelt, placing his palm against the crystal. He closed his eyes, remembering the months of hard work, difficult decisions, and occasional brutality that had transformed Goblin’s Hollow from a wasteland into a functioning domain. When he opened his eyes again, he began to work.

First, he directed the simulation to gather the goblin tribes—not to slaughter them as many Lords might, but to organize them. In the projection, his simulacrum moved among the creatures, establishing hierarchy, rewarding strength while punishing only disloyalty.

Next, he addressed the corrupt elemental nodes scattered throughout the territory. Rather than purging them completely—which would create imbalance—he established channels to redirect and repurpose the tainted energy. The simulation responded, the landscape gradually shifting from sickly decay toward regulated chaos.

"What is he doing?" came a disgusted voice from a nearby noble territory. "Using the corruption rather than eliminating it?"

Reed ignored the comment, focusing on his work. Hours seemed to pass within minutes as he systematically transformed the simulated Hollow, making decisions that often appeared counterintuitive to observers. Where other Lords created rigid order in their territories, Reed cultivated controlled disorder. Where they built walls, he established permeable boundaries.

He was aware of failures beginning around him. Lord Petra’s territory had collapsed into stone dust after he’d attempted to force complete earth dominance, creating catastrophic earthquakes. Lady Ignita’s projection had erupted in uncontrollable wildfire when she’d demanded absolute obedience without addressing resource scarcity.

"Remarkable," came a voice from the crowd—cultured, feminine, curious. "The Goblin Lord appears to understand something the others do not."

Reed glanced up briefly to see Lady Seraphina observing him with undisguised interest. Their eyes met momentarily before he returned to his work.

A new crisis emerged in his simulation—drought threatened the southern regions of his territory. While other Lords might summon rainstorms or divert rivers, Reed took a different approach. He established a migration pattern, temporarily moving populations away from the affected area while implementing water conservation methods elsewhere.

"Adaptive rather than dominating," murmured another observer. "He’s not fighting the simulation."

"Weakness," countered another voice. "A true Lord bends the elements to his will."

The simulation accelerated, years passing in moments. Throughout the coliseum, more territories failed as Lords encountered problems beyond their experience or comprehension. Many had never truly governed their domains, leaving such menial work to underlings while they indulged in luxury.

Reed’s territory, despite its initial corruption, began to stabilize. The projected landscape showed a domain that was not conventionally beautiful—not the manicured gardens of water territories or the perfect symmetry of metal domains—but functional, resilient, adapted to change.

Lord Krell, Reed noticed, was also succeeding, but through vastly different methods. The Iron Lord’s territory was a marvel of efficiency, every resource extracted and utilized, every subject categorized and controlled. It was governance through absolute domination—impressive, but brittle.

"Thirty-two Lords remain!" announced the voice. "The First Contest concludes."

The projections vanished, leaving the crystal platform bare once more. Reed rose to his feet, suddenly aware of the whispers spreading through the audience. He had survived—not just survived, but demonstrated mastery that many pure-elemental Lords had failed to match.

"This means nothing," Lord Krell’s voice rang out, his metallic form gleaming under the unnatural light. "Managing goblins and dirt is hardly comparable to true governance."

"And yet," Reed replied, his voice carrying across the platform, "many of your peers just failed that very challenge."

A ripple of uncomfortable laughter spread through the crowd. Below, in the common sections of the audience, Reed noticed something unexpected—faces looking at him not with disgust or fear, but interest. Even hope.

"The Lords who advance will proceed to the Second Contest tomorrow," the announcer declared. "Tonight, a feast is held in honor of those who remain."

As the Lords began to disperse, Reed felt a presence beside him—not Shia, but Lady Isolde of the Water Domain, who had also advanced.

"Impressive," she said, her voice like flowing water over smooth stones. "You’ve surprised them. That makes you more dangerous than before."

"I didn’t come here to meet expectations," Reed replied.

"Clearly." Her eyes flicked to the common sections of the audience. "Be careful. You’re becoming a symbol."

Before Reed could respond, she melted away into the crowd. Shia approached, her expression tense.

"We should leave," she urged. "That display will have consequences."

Reed nodded, but as they turned to go, a commotion erupted from the common section. A young woman had broken through the barrier separating commoners from the competition ground. Guards moved to intercept her, but she evaded them, racing toward Reed.

"Lord of Hollow!" she cried, her voice desperate. Reed recognized her—the water-domain girl he’d rescued in the Undercity.

She reached him just as the guards caught up, throwing something at his feet—a small cloth bundle that unrolled to reveal a crude map marked with a constellation of red dots across all nine domains.

"They’re burning!" she gasped as the guards seized her arms. "The rebellions—they’ve started early! They’re using your name as their banner!"

The guards dragged her away, but the damage was done. Lords and spectators alike stared at the map, at the red dots representing uprisings, at Reed standing over them. The whispers turned to mutters, the mutters to accusations.

Lord Krell stepped forward, his metallic face rippling with rage. "Conspiracy," he declared. "Treason against the Nine Domains."

"I have no connection to any rebellion," Reed stated calmly, though his mind raced. Was this connected to the whispers Madame Vex had mentioned? Had someone orchestrated this to discredit him?

"Take him!" Lord Krell commanded, and guards moved to surround Reed.

Shia’s hand went to her blade, but Reed shook his head slightly. Fighting now would only confirm guilt in the eyes of the assembly.

"The Tournament protects all participants from arrest or interference," came a new voice—Lady Seraphina’s. She had descended from her observation point, her multi-elemental form shimmering with power. "Lord Reed has advanced fairly. He will compete tomorrow as is his right."

Lord Krell’s form vibrated with barely contained fury, but even he would not challenge Lady Seraphina directly. "Tomorrow, then," he grated. "In the Second Contest, there will be no rules of governance to hide behind. Only blood."

As the assembly dispersed in tense murmurs, Reed collected the map, studying the pattern of rebellions. They formed a shape—not random uprisings, but a deliberate design across the Nine Domains. A glyph of ancient power that he recognized from his studies of forbidden texts.

"This is no coincidence," he murmured to Shia. "Someone is using these people—using my name—to create a pattern of power."

"For what purpose?" she asked.

Before Reed could answer, he noticed something in the highest tier of the coliseum—a shadow that didn’t match any physical object, watching him with patient malevolence. The same presence from the Undercity. The same ancient feeling that had reached for him in the darkness.

"I don’t know," he replied, unable to tear his gaze from the shadow. "But I suspect we’ll find out soon enough."

The shadow seemed to smile—though it had no face—and then it was gone, leaving only a lingering sense of dread and a whispered promise that only Reed could hear:

"When all nine fall, you will rise. Whether you wish to or not."