"Oh…" the guard grunted, digging into a pouch on his belt before pulling out a folded slip of paper, it didn't even look clean!

"I'll need you to sign here. The tournament for ownership of the town will soon be starting."

"Eh?" Azel blinked, staring at the paper like it had personally offended him. "You're kidding, right? Since when do werewolves and paperwork fit in the same sentence?"

The guard didn't even flinch.

"You'll still have to fight," he said matter-of-factly. "That's why it's called a tournament. The winner takes control of Lycas. Just make sure our former leader doesn't win again."

He clapped a huge, clawed hand on Azel's shoulder.

The weight of it was enough to make his boots sink slightly into the dirt. "Sign the paper if you're interested in it."

Azel looked down at the paper, then over at Ravik, who simply shrugged as if to say, 'It's your problem, my lord.'

"Fine." Azel sighed, taking the pen and scribbling his name across the bottom.

His signature glowed for a moment before the paper burned away in a small flash of light.

"That's it?" Azel asked flatly.

"Yep," the guard said, tucking the ashes away as though they were normal. "You're in. Don't die too early."

…

'I never expected it to be like this,' Azel thought as he stood in the center of a massive arena.

He had imagined a dramatic confrontation… maybe walking in, showing his dominance, and declaring himself Alpha after smashing a few skulls.

That was how these werewolves reasoned after all but instead? He was standing in a coliseum surrounded by banners, fire pits, and… was that a ticket booth?

The crowd was enormous.

About a thousand of werewolves filled the stands, howling, cheering, waving flags with all their might.

But even with that noise, he could tell the species had dwindled… not even a quarter of the seats in this great stadium were full.

Still, their enthusiasm made up for the numbers.

He glanced around at the nine others standing in the sand with him.

They were the "contestants," though calling some of them that was generous. A few looked starved; one was already trembling, his fur shedding in clumps.

"Great," Azel muttered. "So this is the future of Lycas."

The ground vibrated as someone stepped into the ring.

A tall werewolf, humanoid in form but covered in sleek gray fur, walked forward.

He was dressed in tattered suit trousers and had some kind of stick in his mouth.

When he howled, the crowd's answering cry was deafening. Every werewolf in the stands lifted their heads and howled in unison, even the ones in the ring.

Azel blinked.

'Should I… howl too?'

He hesitated, then decided against it.

He'd probably sound like a strangled cat.

"Welcome, Ladywolves and GentleAlphas!" the announcer boomed, voice echoing through the arena… Apparently he didn't need a microphone to be loud.

"To the Grand Leadership Tournament of Lycas!"

The crowd roared again, stomping and pounding their chests.

"Our great town has fallen on hard times," the announcer continued dramatically. "Lycas is dying… and the duty of leadership falls to the one strong enough to unite us!"

He gestured grandly toward the contestants.

"Today, ten brave fighters will clash for that right! Including…" he paused for effect, his eyes locking onto Azel, "…an outsider!"

Immediately, every head in the audience turned toward him.

The stares were curious but after a moment, several werewolves nodded approvingly, murmuring among themselves.

Even through the cloak that hid most of him, Azel's build spoke for itself.

'At least they like muscles,' he thought dryly.

"And, of course," the announcer continued, "we also have our former leader!"

A section of the crowd went dead silent.

Azel turned his head and saw him.

The werewolf was enormous, towering a full eight feet even while standing upright.

His fur was a dark navy blue, and his eyes glowed with cold silver light. His claws looked like they could tear steel apart.

"Behold, Vargan the Ironclaw!"

The crowd didn't cheer but whispered instead.

"And on the other side," the announcer said quickly, "the beautiful and deadly Lady Selene of the White Fang!"

All eyes shifted to the opposite end of the arena, where a woman stood gracefully in human form.

She wore a flowing white kimono embroidered with silver patterns, a delicate fan concealing the lower half of her face.

Only her sharp golden eyes were visible above it, gleaming like a predator's.

The crowd erupted again, shouting her name. "Selene! Selene!"

Azel arched an eyebrow. "She gets fans?"

Erblim's voice sounded in his head.

'Ravik said she used to tear out hearts during duels and feed them to her fans. The crowd loves that kind of thing.'

"…Right," Azel muttered. "Great role model."

The announcer swung his arm toward the remaining contestants. "And the others!"

Azel and the rest of the unnamed fighters were gestured to collectively like background extras in someone else's story, even though Azel was sure he was the protagonist.

He couldn't help frowning. "Others?"

Apparently, being labeled "outsider" didn't even make him special.

"The match," the announcer shouted, "will be as always… a free-for-all! No rules, no limits, no mercy! Anything goes!"

He leapt high into the air and landed on a platform above the ring.

"Begin your brawl!"

The roar of the crowd was deafening. Dust and magic filled the air as ten fighters exploded into motion.

"Guess I'm really doing this," Azel said, rolling his shoulders.

Two werewolves charged at him on all fours.

Azel sighed. "Typical."

A bone sword spiraled out of his storage ring and landed smoothly in his hand. He swung it once… and in an instant, the two attackers split cleanly in half, collapsing in crimson sprays of blood.

He looked at their bodies and exhaled. "It's like cutting through butter—"

A sudden gust of compressed air slammed into him from behind.

BOOM!

The force launched him backward, sending him crashing into the wall with a shockwave that cracked the stone.

Dust billowed up around him as he coughed and steadied himself.

'All that wind from that small fan?' He thought, day by day… He really had to stop underestimating wind users.

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