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The clerk waits beside the official slate.

“The Council requires confirmation that the judgment was fulfilled, Arena-Master.”

“You witnessed it.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Then record what you witnessed.”

He bows and begins carving the completion mark into the slate.

I secure the axe across my back. Its weight settles between my shoulders, familiar enough to disappear. I have carried it through executions, challenges, and riots. Others notice it more than I do.

The Matron’s representative descends from the first tier. Her carved horns rise in flawless arcs above her head, untouched by defeat.

“House Kraval will be satisfied,” she says.

“The Council passed judgment.”

“A useful distinction.”

Her red gaze travels over me, lingering at the scarred remains of my right horn. Matrons have no reason to disguise their scrutiny.

“You remain a reliable servant of the Council.”

“The condemned is dead.”

“So he is.” She pauses. “Stability is valuable, especially from the head of a powerful house.”

The warning beneath her words is familiar.

House Obsidius has no heir. For months, the Matrons have proposed breeders and temporary arrangements. I have rejected each one. They speak of bloodline, duty, and the shrinking number of demon children born on this plane. Their concern for the future of my house has begun to resemble a threat.

I refuse to provide her with an opening.

“The sentence is complete,” I say again.

Her mouth curves with restrained amusement. “May the Warrior keep your arm strong.”

“My arm keeps itself strong.”

A low laugh follows her toward the private exit.

I leave through the passage beneath the arena.

The corridor muffles the departing crowd, but the storm’s vibration travels through the grown black stone and into my carapace. Crimson wall sigils light my path. My shadow advances beside me, broad enough to fill half the passage.

A human attendant waits near the cleansing room with a basin and folded cloth. He kneels as I approach.

I take the cloth without slowing.

Blood marks the toe of my boot. Red dust will cover it before I reach House Obsidius. By then, the servants will know that Vesh died cleanly. Grolm will ask whether the guards made errors. Vulmar will approve of the judgment. The official record will gain another precise line.

There is order in completion.

A charge is presented. Evidence is weighed. Judgment is delivered. The axe falls. Nothing remains uncertain afterward.

I once believed peace would feel different.