Grand Magus Test IV

"Arghh!" A young man brushed bits of beast flesh off his sleeve. The remains clung like dried paste. Disgust twisted his face.

“Ugh, revolting,” he muttered, flicking off a speck with the tip of a silver-polished nail.

The battle had been brief—unworthy of him, but also messy. The blood wasn’t his, obviously. He never allowed himself to be touched. Still, the gore had the audacity to stain his imported, spellwoven tunic, which had been pristine moments ago.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, eyes narrowing.

“This terrain is absolutely barbaric,” he said aloud, brushing down his white pants with more care than he’d shown his opponent. “Wild, dirty, uncivilized. What were they thinking, holding a prestigious competition in a place like this?”

He tugged the yellow ribbon tied above his brow, adjusting it like a crown. It glowed faintly beneath the shafts of sunlight, piercing the forest canopy—a symbol of refinement amidst the filth.