The Corrupted Syndicate

"Before we met," Matt replied, his tone hardened by memory. 

"Back then, I was still green, barely accustomed to the battlefield. It wasn't surprising that he overpowered me. But it won't happen again."

He lifted a finger beneath her chin, gently guiding her to meet his eyes.

"Tell me… Are you afraid of him?"

"What?" asked the shocked dragon girl.

"Are you afraid of Zenos?" asked Matt, seemingly irritated to repeat himself.

"I'm not scared of him… In fact, I think he might match up to my fighting style… I don't think I've ever met someone that I would need to maim myself to get away from... This feeling is odd to me."

"What?" 

Now it was Mattheos' turn to be confused and worried.

"You heard me… If we get this guy on our side, I think we'd stand a chance against the Legion. Nay, if he is this powerful, then it would mean that there are more like him?" replied Mavislin, smiling as she prepared to leave the clearing.

"Absolutely not! And I hope there aren't more people like him! You are not having a bloodthirsty warmonger in our team!" argued Matt, upset that she would have come up with such a thing.

"Just because he has defeated you once would mean that he is the world's evil… And besides, I have been with you for two years, my fighting style is hard to come by," grumbled Mavislin as she trudged onwards to their destination.

"That might be so, but can you not choose the warmonger? Many others fit too... Many, tamed ones..."

"Then what's the point of having the thrill of battle if my opponent is as tamed as you? What I want in an enemy is bloodthirst and pure intent to fight me without restriction. Without any other motive other than just to fight. That's what it means for me."

"You are a masochist."

"That, I agree with you."

Meanwhile, the Prince of Darkness stood before the gates, recalling the night's events. For the very first time in ages, Zenos felt a spark of genuine excitement course through him. His cold, calculating demeanor cracked, revealing a flicker of something more—enthusiasm.

He reveled in the unexpected thrill of facing someone who neither cowered in fear nor hesitated in their strikes. Mavislin's unwavering defiance, her refusal to back down, intrigued him far more than he anticipated. Even going so far as to break her own wrist.

When her dagger had pierced his side, even if it was just a scratch, it was enough to light a fire in him that had long been dormant. He had grown tired of opponents who crumbled under his presence alone, who lacked the spirit to truly challenge him.

But here, standing before him, was someone who not only faced him with unwavering resolve but actually managed to draw blood. 

A grin tugged at the corners of his lips, a twisted blend of admiration and hunger. This was what he craved—a worthy opponent who could push him, who made the battlefield more than just a predictable game.