The Ironfang elders had no intention of making this easy.


    Reivan stood at the edge of the ceremonial grounds, looking at the gathered warriors, shamans, and spectators surrounding the large arena. The northern winds howled, carrying whispers of old traditions and even older grudges. There was something deeply primal about this place, something that made it clear this was more than a political power play.


    Sylpkx wasn’t just fighting for leadership.


    She was fighting to prove she had the right to exist.


    The elders stood in a semicircle, their expressions carved from stone. Khaedros stood just behind them, his arms crossed. He didn’t look smug. That, more than anything, made Reivan uneasy. The man expected Sylpkx to survive this. That meant whatever came next wasn’t just a test of skill—it was a test designed to break her.


    Reivan exhaled, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets. “Alright. We all know the script here. Big scary elders declare some ancient trials, we prove you’re worthy, and then I get to gloat about it later. What’s first?”


    The largest of the elders, a beastkin with thick grey fur and scars across his chest, stepped forward. “The Trial of Strength. No ruler can command warriors if they themselves are weak.”


    Sylpkx rolled her shoulders. “That’s the easiest one. Who do I have to kill?”


    The elder’s lips curled in the barest hint of amusement. “No killing. Not yet. You must break your opponent’s will, not their body.”


    Reivan glanced at Sylpkx. “They do realize you break people both physically and emotionally on a regular basis, right?”


    Sylpkx smirked. “Don’t think they got the memo.”


    A massive warrior stepped forward. Reivan immediately dubbed him ‘Too Much Muscle, Not Enough Neck.’ The beastkin was built like a fortress, his hands the size of Reivan’s entire torso. His fur was streaked with white—signifying experience. He had fought in real battles.


    Sylpkx sized him up. “Alright. Let’s make this quick.”


    The elder raised a hand. “Begin.”


    The warrior lunged at her with terrifying speed. To an untrained eye, it looked like an unavoidable charge, but Reivan knew better. This wasn’t just brute force. This man knew how to fight. He was her hardest opponent yet.


    Sylpkx dodged left—then immediately reversed, sliding under his arm and slamming her knee into his ribs. The impact sent a shockwave through the arena. The warrior grunted but didn’t stagger.


    Reivan sighed. “Of course. The ‘I have more health bars than you’ strategy.”


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    The fight was brutal. The warrior adapted quickly, forcing Sylpkx to dodge relentlessly. He swung like a living battering ram, every movement designed to trap her. But she was faster.


    Then, she switched tactics.


    She let him grab her.


    The moment his hands locked onto her arms, she twisted, using his momentum against him. She swung herself up, wrapped her legs around his head, and with an explosive motion, drove him face-first into the ground.


    Silence.


    Then a low murmur rippled through the crowd.


    The elder nodded. “She passes.”


    Reivan clapped. “See? That wasn’t so bad. No one died. Well, except maybe his pride.”


    The warrior groaned from the dirt.


    The elders moved on.


    “The Trial of Cunning. Strength is not enough. A leader must think beyond the battlefield.”


    Reivan perked up. “Oh, good. My turn.”


    Sylpkx elbowed him. “No. I have to pass.”


    Reivan wagged a finger. “Ah, but what is cunning if not knowing when to use outside help?”


    The elders didn’t object, which meant he was right.


    They were led to a maze—one that shifted, filled with illusions and hidden dangers. It was designed to test not only intelligence but also instincts. Normally, it took warriors hours to navigate, if they made it through at all.


    Reivan walked inside with Sylpkx, casually cracking his knuckles. “Alright, Warden’s Oath, do your thing.”


    His artifact flared.


    Immediately, he could see the malice hidden in the maze—the traps, the shifting walls, the invisible pitfalls. What was supposed to be a mind-breaking labyrinth became a mildly annoying stroll.


    Sylpkx noticed his lack of hesitation. “...You can see the way, can’t you?”


    Reivan grinned. “Sure can.”


    They made it through in ten minutes.


    By the time they emerged, the elders actually looked unsettled.


    Khaedros, however, had narrowed his eyes. He knows I have something.


    Reivan gave him a cheeky wave. “You all really need to update your security.”


    “The Trial of Spirit,” the elder intoned, moving swiftly. “A leader is not merely body and mind. They must have the soul to lead.”


    This was the one that worried Reivan.


    The elders handed Sylpkx a bowl of ancient herbs, a vision-inducing mixture meant to force a connection with her ancestors. It wasn’t just a hallucination—it was a direct test of will.


    Reivan watched her drink it, his fingers twitching slightly.


    Then she stiffened.


    She wasn’t moving.


    Her breathing slowed.


    Reivan took a step forward, but an elder raised a hand. “Do not interfere.”


    “She’s struggling.”


    “She must face this alone.”


    Reivan clenched his jaw but held back.


    Minutes passed.


    Then, Sylpkx’s body jerked violently. She sucked in a breath, her golden eyes glowing.


    For a moment, she didn’t look like herself.


    Then, slowly, she focused.


    Reivan was at her side immediately. “You okay?”


    She swallowed. “I saw my mother.”


    Silence.


    One of the elders nodded solemnly. “She has passed.”


    Reivan squinted. “Wait, that’s it? No follow-up? You’re just fine with this?”


    The largest elder shrugged. “She saw the truth.”


    Reivan grumbled. “Fantastic. Love the vague mysticism.”


    The trial was over.


    Sylpkx had won.


    The tribe, however, wasn’t celebrating. Because while she had proven her right to exist, the real question remained:


    Would she stay?


    Khaedros approached, his expression unreadable. “You have passed. But this is not the end.”


    Sylpkx locked eyes with him. “No. It’s not.”


    Reivan rolled his shoulders, watching the power struggle unfold. He wasn’t sure where this would go next, but one thing was clear:


    This wasn’t just a trial.


    This was a declaration of war within the Ironfang Tribe.


    And Reivan never backed down from a fight.