Kael sat by the window, quietly polishing the sword he'd borrowed from the armory.
Dreamweaver remained sealed away in his spatial ring—a devil's weapon. The morning light slid in through the drapes, glinting off the blade's edge.
The door creaked open. Selene stepped in.
She'd come to check on him last night too—worried, quiet, lingering at the threshold longer than necessary. Today, her voice was more composed, though her eyes still held concern.
"That devil… he was really your friend? haa" she asked, carefully.
Kael didn't even glance up. "I told you, didn't I?"
She frowned softly. "But… can we trust him?"
Kael gave a small, amused snort. "Of course we can."
He set the blade down, reaching for his tea as she moved closer. A newspaper lay open on the table between them—its headlines already twisting the previous night's events into something more palatable.
"So they're calling it an attack on the Duke's estate," he murmured, scanning the page.
"Not a prison break."
Selene nodded. "They're saying the devil infiltrated the vault and attacked... nothing about the general escaping."
Her gaze flicked to him.
"They soul-searched every servant who's ever had access to that vault." She gave a small smile. "Mine wasn't. I'm just a personal maid, after all."
Kael chuckled. "Lucky you."
They shared a light laugh—but then Selene hesitated. Her eyes narrowed, studying him.
"So… how did you know the code to that vault? It's top secret."
Kael shrugged, taking a sip of tea. "I just knew."
She pouted, puffing her cheeks with a mix of mock irritation and worry. "Still hiding secrets, mister?"
Kael only offered a faint, knowing smile.
But then, her expression softened. "All the best for the duel, Kael," she said quietly.
His eyes flicked to the newspaper lying folded beside the teapot. The bold headline read:
"Magicless Third Son to Duel Blood Magic Prodigy Today — A House Divided"
Kael traced the rim of his cup and said calmly, "I'll win."
###
The duel arena had been erected in the heart of the capital—an ancient war stage nestled within the city's central square, surrounded by marble columns and looming statues of past heroes.
Thousands had gathered, spilling from the stands and balconies.
Nobles and commoners alike filled the air with tension and whispers, eager to witness history in the making.
On the elevated judge's platform sat the Duke, thinner and paler than ever, bundled in regal furs atop a wheeled chair.
Beside him stood the Duchess, stone-faced and distant, her hands tightly clasped.
Veyran loomed near them, arms crossed, ever the loyal shield.
A sudden chant swept across the arena.
"Glory to Thalrik, War-God of Iron and Blood!"
A procession in crimson and steel marched in from the east gate—the zealous priests of the War God's temple.
Their presence turned heads; even the duke bowed his head in greeting as the high-priest gave his blessing.
The duel's sanctity was now sealed by divine authority.
Then came Aerik.
Cheers erupted from the crowd as he swaggered onto the stage.
"That's Aerik Drenlor... the Blood Prodigy. They say his magic sings with his heartbeat."
"I watched him at the Crimson Trials! He shattered a stone titan with one spell!"
"They say he once boiled a man's blood just by glaring at him."
Aerik blood-red cape flaring behind him, the favored son, the famed prodigy. Magic crackled faintly at his fingertips, an arrogant smirk playing on his lips as he soaked in the applause.
And then…
Kael stepped onto the field.
Silence, then murmurs. A magicless noble walking into battle with nothing but steel.
Some scoffed. Others watched in grim interest.
But Kael's gaze was firm, his steps steady. He could feel their eyes on him—measuring, doubting, laughing. He said nothing.
Until…
A sleek, high-court carriage rolled up beside the nobility stands. Its insignia: a silver crescent entwined with roses.
Kael's heart sank.
'Elara.'
The carriage door opened—and out stepped the Princess herself.
Elegant, serene, and deadly. Her eyes scanned the field and found him at once. He saw it in her gaze: sharp, knowing.
'She knows.'
She knows he could use magic.
'Why is she here?'
Kael clenched his fists.
'Shit.'
The crowd buzzes, murmurs spreading like wildfire as the royal carriage arrives.
"Is that... Princess Elara? Why would she come to a provincial duel?"
"Didn't they say this was just a family matter? Why bring a royal witness?"
Elara stepped from the royal carriage with practiced grace, her gown trailing like nightfall behind her. Her gaze swept the arena—past the nobles, the priests, the murmuring crowd—until it settled on Kael.
She smiled.
It was the kind of smile that didn't warm the air, but chilled it.
It held knowledge. Warning. Amusement.
Kael stiffened. A subtle shiver crawled down his spine. She knows.
Without a word, she walked to the stage and offered a formal salute to the Duke.
The Duke's expression was polite, but strained.
"Your Highness... may I ask why you've come all this way?"
Elara's voice was light, pleasant. "I simply wished to enjoy the duel."
Silence rippled outward like a stone dropped in water.
No one believed it, but no one dared question her.
The high priest of Thalrik stepped forward, golden war-plate glinting in the sunlight.
"Contestants, step forward," he boomed, voice echoing across the packed city square.
"On this sacred field of judgment, the duel shall commence!"
The priest's words echoed through the coliseum like a bell tolling for fate.
Kael's fingers tightened around the hilt of his borrowed sword. At the corner of his eye, he saw her—Elara—seated beneath the royal pavilion.
Poised. Calm. Observing.
She didn't expose me, he thought, heartbeat steadying despite the roar of tension around him. She could have, and yet… she didn't.
Negotiations, then? A warning? Or leverage for something worse?
Kael exhaled.
It doesn't matter right now.
The wind stirred his coat. Across the stage, Aerik grinned like a wolf scenting blood. The crowd murmured in anticipation. The Duchess whispered something to the Duke. The high priest stepped back.
Kael lowered his stance.
Focus. Forget her. Just this moment.
Aerik swaggered forward, crimson coat fluttering behind him. His sneer came sharp and full of contempt.
"Still time to crawl away, little brother."
Kael said nothing, taking his place opposite Aerik.
The priest raised his hand.
"Due to the third son's lack of magic, Second Son Aerik Drenlor is restricted to Rank-1 spells only."
The crowd erupted in murmurs again.