Chapter 9 - The Birth of Vulpes

The vibrant grounds of the Clan Gathering buzzed with excitement as the competition continued. Swords clashed, powerful auras collided, and names were rising and falling with each round. Raiden sat quietly on the sidelines, watching the ongoing matches while keeping a low profile. He knew his time would come. The participants from the other families exchanged sharp glances, already sizing each other up, as the true test of strength was yet to begin.

But beneath the calm exterior of the event, a current of tension flowed. Raiden could feel it building, like a storm waiting to erupt. There was something wrong today—an undercurrent of hostility aimed directly at him. He had felt it in the way certain elders from the minor families whispered to one another, as if they knew something he didn't. Torrin was quiet today, and that unsettled Raiden. Too quiet.

Suddenly, Raiden's name was called, his match set against an heir from a lesser-known clan. He entered the stage with a calm that masked the roiling tempest of his thoughts. His opponent, Verik from the Lesser Draknor Clan, had a sneering look on his face. He was eager to prove himself against someone of Raiden's status.

As the match commenced, it became clear that Verik's spirit root was powerful—he wielded an air-element root, capable of devastating speed and sharp wind-based attacks. But Raiden was patient. He waited, deflecting attacks, studying Verik's movements, and gauging his strength. In truth, Raiden could end the fight quickly, but his desire to remain unnoticed kept his true power in check.

Just as Raiden was about to deliver the finishing blow, a loud voice echoed from the sidelines.

"Stop the match!"

It was Patriarch Dorian. His face was stern as he strode toward the stage, followed by several elders of the clan. The crowd murmured in confusion. What could have prompted such an interruption?

"Raiden," the Patriarch's voice was cool and controlled, "step down."

Raiden's eyes widened, but he did as he was told, leaving the stage in silence. His pulse quickened as the Patriarch's next words followed him like a hammer blow.

"You are no longer fit to represent our clan in this competition."

A shocked hush fell over the spectators. Raiden's eyes flashed in disbelief. No longer fit? He clenched his fists, a wave of emotions surging through him—anger, confusion, humiliation. He had fought well, and yet they were removing him?

Ingrid, a cousin from a distant branch of the family, was called up to replace Raiden. She stepped into the arena with a confident smirk, her golden hair glowing in the afternoon light, clearly reveling in Raiden's dismissal.

Raiden didn't even stay to watch her fight. He turned and walked away, his mind churning with fury. Why now? Why had the Patriarch done this? He had earned his place in the competition, and now they were pulling him out like he was nothing.

As he left the arena grounds, Raiden heard the whispers from the other clans—mocking tones, condescending words. It was humiliating. Torrin was the first to appear by his side, his tone dripping with mock sympathy.

"Ah, Raiden, it seems your luck has run out," Torrin sneered. "Is it any surprise they'd choose someone else?"

Raiden's hand twitched toward his sword but stopped himself. Not here, not now. Instead, he clenched his jaw and walked away, ignoring Torrin's laughter trailing behind him. He had bigger plans now.

That night, as the festivities carried on without him, Raiden secluded himself in the forest outside the clan's grounds. His heart still burned with the sting of betrayal, but amidst the chaos of his emotions, a plan began to form. If they would not allow him to fight for the family, he would find another way—one they would never see coming.

He recalled whispers of the Jinshu Clan, a minor clan that had recently been devastated by the death of their heir, not from sickness, but through a suspicious incident. Raiden's lips curled into a dark smile. This could be his way back into the competition—a new identity, one that would let him fight without the clan's interference.

With a new sense of purpose, Raiden crafted a disguise, drawing inspiration from the stories of cunning foxes in the legends. He donned a sleek, crimson cloak and fashioned a mask resembling a fox's face, its sharp features both eerie and captivating. In this guise, he would not be Raiden of the Skyshroud Clan—he would be someone else entirely.

Vulpes.

Under the cover of darkness, Raiden approached the Jinshu Clan's temporary encampment. The Jinshu patriarch sat by the fire with his remaining elders, their faces grim and worn from the recent loss of their heir. As Raiden stepped forward, now fully dressed as Vulpes, the Jinshu guards immediately sprang into defensive positions, but Raiden held up his hand in a gesture of peace.

"I come with a proposal," Raiden's voice was lower than usual, altered slightly to mask his identity. "I know of your clan's misfortune, and I offer you my services as your new representative in the tournament."

The Jinshu patriarch, a man named Shou Jinshu, studied Raiden carefully, his brow furrowed in suspicion. "Why would someone like you offer such a thing? What do you gain from it?"

Raiden, now Vulpes, remained composed. "You lost your heir to foul play, did you not? I offer you a chance to reclaim your honor, and in return, I ask for nothing but the opportunity to compete under your banner."

The Jinshu elders exchanged glances, their suspicion evident. But their desperation was greater than their caution.

"If you wish to represent us, you will need to prove yourself," Shou Jinshu said, his voice edged with doubt. "One match. Win, and we will consider your offer."

Raiden's smile beneath the mask went unnoticed. "Very well."