The arena pulsed with anticipation as Helen's voice resonated from her seat above.
"Ladies and gentlemen, our next battle features Aria Klingenhart and Marcus Vestalyn. Let the match begin!"
A hush fell over the crowd as two figures stepped onto the stage.
Aria Klingenhart moved with measured precision, her longsword resting effortlessly in her grip.
Her connection to the blade was more than physical—it was absolute.
She was no mere practitioner.
She had already reached the Sword Heart Stage—a level where the sword was no longer just a weapon, but an extension of her will.
Across from her stood Marcus Vestalyn, his posture exuding arrogance and confidence.
A 3rd Circle Mage, he wielded Earth, Fire, and Poison with pride, believing his elemental mastery eclipsed all lesser disciplines.
He regarded Aria with amusement—but that amusement would soon fade.
Aria's stance shifted fluidly, her blade rising as she executed Steel Resolve Guard, a defensive form that grounded her in place.
"Come at me, Marcus," she said, her voice calm, steady.
Marcus smirked, raising a hand.
"Earth Spikes!"
The ground shuddered, jagged pillars of stone bursting forth toward Aria.
She did not flinch.
Her sword cut through the air, glowing with steely light.
"Ironclad Smash!"
She brought her blade down in a powerful overhead arc, shattering the spikes to dust with a single devastating strike.
The arena echoed with the impact.
Marcus' smirk wavered.
"You're tougher than you look."
"You rely too much on brute force," Aria replied coolly. "That is your weakness."
Marcus' irritation flashed across his face.
"Fireball!"
A sphere of blazing fireshot toward Aria, the heat distorting the air around it.
Aria's eyes remained sharp, calculating.
Her blade glowed, charged with fire and ice as she executed Rigid Force Thrust.
She pierced through the fireball, slicing it in half, dissipating the flames into harmless embers.
She took a step forward.
"You'll need more than that, Marcus."
Her tone was steady, unwavering.
"Your arrogance blinds you to your own limits."
Marcus' expression twisted in irritation.
"You talk too much."
His hands twisted, dark energy swirling around him.
"Poison Mist!"
A dense, noxious cloud enveloped the stage, seeking to choke her breath, to cloud her vision.
But Aria's sword was her clarity.
She closed her eyes—felt the mist, the distortions in the air.
Then, her blade moved in a blur.
"Metallic Fury Combo!"
Her rapid, heavy strikes tore through the mist, her flames and ice slicing through the toxins, dispersing the poison with sheer force.
The audience gasped at the raw display of elemental fusion and swordsmanship.
Marcus gritted his teeth.
{This girl is stronger than I thought.}
His hands rose quickly.
"Earth Wall!"
A massive barrier of stone surged upward, a last-minute defense against Aria's relentless pressure.
But Aria did not hesitate.
Her blade gleamed, her will honing its very edge.
She gathered her intent—not just mana, but sheer force of will.
Her next strike was not just magic.
It was her very essence.
"Rigid Force Thrust!"
Her sword pierced through the earth wall, the force of her Sword Heart shattering it like brittle clay.
Dust and rubble exploded outward.
Marcus stumbled back, eyes wide.
"You can't hide behind your spells, Marcus."
Her voice was cold, resolute.
Her blade glowed with fiery intensity.
"Face me with honor."
Marcus grew desperate.
His hands trembled as he gathered all his mana, his fury, his last gambit.
"Inferno Blast!"
A roaring wave of fireerupted from his hands, spiraling toward Aria in a last-ditch effort to overwhelm her.
The flames cascaded toward her, engulfing everything in its path.
But Aria's blade was already moving.
She flowed like water, yet struck like iron.
Her body and sword were one.
"Steel Resolve Guard!"
She planted her feet, immovable, her sword rising to meet the flames.
A barrier of ice surged outward, clashing with the inferno, steam hissing violently around her.
Through the mist, Marcus saw—
Aria still standing.
Unshaken.
Unyielding.
And then—she moved.
With a final surge of will, Aria dashed forward—closing the distance in a blink.
Her blade stopped just short of Marcus' throat.
Aria moved like a storm, swift and unstoppable.
She was already upon him.
Marcus barely had time to react before her blade surged downward—
"Ironclad Smash!"
Her sword crashed down, the sheer force of her will and technique colliding like a meteor.
The impact shook the arena, the ground beneath them splintering from the sheer pressure.
Marcus fell to his knees, breathless.
His energy spent.
His pride shattered.
Marcus' hands trembled as he clutched at the dirt beneath him.
His mind reeled—how?
How had he lost so completely?
His voice—weak but defiant—escaped in a whisper.
"You… you can't beat me…"
He refused to accept it.
But Aria was already looking down at him.
Her gaze was cold, unwavering.
Not cruel—just final.
"You were always a sore loser, Marcus."
Her voice was quiet—sharp as her blade.
She took a step closer, her eyes boring into his.
A silent threat.
A warning.
"It's time you learned humility."
The words hung between them, heavy and undeniable.
Helen's voice pierced through the silence.
"Victory to Aria Klingenhart!"
The arena erupted in applause, the cheers ringing through the battlefield.
The crowd knew what they had witnessed.
A duelist beyond her years.
A warrior who fought with heart, not arrogance.
Still on his knees, Marcus glared up at Aria.
His fury burned beneath the surface, his hands clenching into tight fists.
"This isn't over," he hissed, venom in his voice.
His pride—**his very identity—**had been shattered before an audience.
But Aria?
She merely sheathed her blade, her posture unshaken.
Her voice, when she spoke, was unapologetic and absolute.
"Grow up, Marcus."
She turned her back to him, but her words cut deeper than her blade ever had.
"Strength isn't just power—it's character."
She walked away, her presence still commanding the battlefield.
The crowd's cheers followed her, an undeniable testament to her victory.
Behind her, Marcus still knelt—his fury his only comfort.
But Aria didn't look back.
The match was over.
For her, this had never been personal.
For Marcus?
This was only the beginning.
The chamber where the four great sword families convened exuded tradition, honor, and legacy.
Weapons of ancient lineage adorned the walls—each blade a testament to battles long won, duels fought, and blood spilled in the name of mastery.
Banners bearing the crests of the Klingenhart, Tsurugikin, Sabrelan, and Gladiusforte families lined the hall, their presence a silent reminder of the strength these clans wielded—not just in combat, but in influence.
At the head of the table, Matriarch Ingrid Klingenhart stood.
Her dignified presence alone commanded respect, her posture unyielding yet regal.
Patriarch Kenji Takahashi of the Tsurugikin family was the first to speak.
His voice—measured and respectful, carried the weight of generations of sword mastery.
"Lady Ingrid, it is an honor to witness the prowess of your child.
Aria Klingenhart is a true exemplar of the Klingenhart legacy.
Their dedication and skill in the way of the sword are unmatched."
His words were not flattery, but fact.
Matriarch Fiona Sabrelan nodded, her keen eyes reflecting genuine admiration.
Her family valued precision, agility, and the beauty of the blade's dance, and she had seen those very principles in Aria's technique.
"Indeed, Ingrid. Your child's mastery of the blade is extraordinary.
They embody the very essence of what it means to be a Sabrelan.
We are proud to stand beside them as allies."
Then, Lucius Draconis, the towering patriarch of Gladiusforte, let out a booming chuckle.
The weight of his voice was like steel striking stone—unmovable, undeniable.
"Discipline. Honor. Strength.
Your child exhibits all these qualities and more, Ingrid.
It is clear they have been guided well under your tutelage."
Ingrid inclined her head slightly, acknowledging their words with quiet pride.
"Thank you, Kenji, Fiona, Lucius. Your words honor my family and our tradition.
It is our duty to uphold the values of the sword, and it is heartening to know that Aria has earned your respect."
She spoke with humility, but her eyes betrayed the depth of her pride.
Her daughter had proven herself before warriors whose opinions mattered most.
The room settled into a comfortable silence—one of mutual respect.
Then, Lucius Draconis spoke again.
But this time—his voice carried deliberation.
"Lady Ingrid, given the remarkable qualities of your child,
I would like to propose a union that would strengthen our families' bonds even further."
The air shifted.
"I offer my eldest son in marriage to Aria."
The words hung in the air like a drawn blade.
For a split second, the room stilled.
Ingrid's expression did not waver—but her eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
{Not this again.}
She had heard this proposal before.
And just as before—it irritated her.
{Aria is far too young to be burdened with such considerations.}
She inhaled slowly, her response poised and deliberate.
"Lucius, your offer is a great honor.
However, Aria is still very young and should not be concerned with matters of marriage at this stage in her life."
Her tone was firm but graceful, giving no room for challenge—yet not outright dismissive.
Lucius laughed—halfheartedly, attempting to ease the tension.
"Ah, Ingrid, I understand your concern.
But an engagement first would allow the children to get to know each other better.
There is no rush to marriage."
His words were carefully chosen, his intentions clear.
This was about legacy. Alliances. Power.
Not love.
But Ingrid did not yield.
Her smile remained polite, but her eyes—they sharpened.
A silent warning beneath her composed exterior.
"Even so, I believe it is too soon for Aria to be thinking about such commitments.
She has much to learn and experience before considering such a step."
A graceful rejection—but a rejection nonetheless.
Lucius studied her carefully.
Then, he nodded, a flicker of resignation in his gaze.
"Very well, Ingrid.
I respect your decision.
The offer stands should you reconsider in the future."
But Ingrid already knew—
She would not.
Before the conversation could shift, Kenji Takahashi of the Tsurugikin family spoke.
His tone was thoughtful—but there was a subtle persistence beneath it.
"Lady Ingrid, Lord Lucius makes a compelling point."
"Such an engagement would indeed allow the children to bond and learn from each other,
strengthening our ties and ensuring our legacies remain intertwined."
Kenji was not as blunt as Lucius, but his words carried equal weight.
He did not speak idly.
His mind was on the future—on the balance of power between the sword families.
Ingrid's sharp gaze flicked to Kenji, her mind already piecing together their unspoken intentions.
She knew exactly what this was.
An alliance through marriage was a consolidation of power.
A strategic move not just to bind families together, but to absorb strength into a singular lineage.
In their world, names mattered.
Whoever married would forfeit their surname, taking the name of their partner's house.
It was the ultimate display of loyalty and submission.
And she was no fool.
She allowed herself a brief, knowing smirk, recognizing the power play at hand.
"I appreciate your perspectives, Kenji, Lucius," she said, her voice remaining calm, polite—but edged with calculation.
"However, we must consider all traditions and the implications of such an engagement.
Aria's future, and the future of our families, must be weighed carefully."
A deliberate answer.
Not a rejection—but not an acceptance either.
Before the tension could thicken further, Matriarch Fiona Sabrelan spoke, her voice carrying gentle yet firm authority.
"Ingrid, Aria is fortunate to have such devoted family members considering her future," she began, her tone measured.
Her eyes flicked briefly to Lucius and Kenji before settling on Ingrid.
"However, traditions are but relics of the past. As leaders, we must look to the future and adapt."
A pause.
Then—a subtle nod of support.
Fiona's words brought an almost imperceptible shift in Ingrid's demeanor.
A silent understanding passed between them.
{She's giving me an opening.}
Fiona continued, driving her point home.
"Given that this concerns Aria's future, it should ultimately be her decision.
It's only fair that she has a say in matters that will shape her life."
The words hung in the air.
A challenge—not to Ingrid—but to the patriarchs.
Fiona had effectively shifted the argument.
Instead of focusing on the merits of the marriage, the conversation had turned to whether Aria had the right to refuse.
A brilliant maneuver.
Then, Fiona's eyes gleamed with something else.
She leaned forward slightly, as if choosing her words with care.
"I've also heard a rumor that the elders and vassal family leaders of the Klingenhart family
are pushing for you, Ingrid, to announce Aria as the next successor."
The room stilled.
Ingrid's expression remained composed—but inwardly, she processed the ramifications of that revelation.
Fiona wasn't just helping her—she was forcing the discussion in a new direction.
One that Ingrid could control.
A small, conspiratorial smirk touched Ingrid's lips.
A silent acknowledgment of Fiona's support.
She straightened, her voice now carrying a renewed sense of confidence.
"Indeed, Fiona.
It is important that we consider Aria's wishes… and the voices of our elders and vassal families."
Her gaze flickered between Kenji and Lucius, watching their subtle reactions.
"Decisions of this magnitude should never be made hastily."
A subtle but significant change had occurred.
The matriarchs had effectively seized control of the conversation.
The patriarchs exchanged glances.
The moment was brief, but Ingrid caught it.
Lucius leaned back slightly, brow furrowed—not quite conceding, but resigned.
Internally, he was steaming.
{I should've known they were going to brush off the subject of marriage.}
Next to him, Kenji Takahashi remained silent.
His thoughts, however, were much sharper.
{If Lady Ingrid were to announce Aria as the next heir to the Klingenhart Clan…}
{Then there is nothing more anyone could do.}
Both men understood the implications.
In their world, once a successor was named, their fate was sealed.
It was an ancient tradition—one dictated by the disciples of the Righteous Sword God, whom they all followed.
Once an heir was declared,
They would inherit the family, no matter what.
The weight of that unchangeable decree pressed upon them.
It was a warning.
A reminder that, once Ingrid made her decision known, there would be no turning back.
And that?
That would reshape the balance of power among the sword families forever.
The room remained quiet, each leader absorbing what had been said—and what had not.
Ingrid, ever composed, took note of the subtle tension.
She knew.
Naming Aria as her successor would be more than just a declaration.
It would signal the beginning of a new chapter for the Klingenhart family.
A chapter that could either stabilize or disrupt the sword families forever.
Then, Kenji Takahashi spoke again.
A final move—his tone carefully neutral, but carrying the weight of strategy.
"If that's the case, Ingrid…
Then perhaps this engagement could solidify her position…
And provide her with the support she needs."
A subtle but undeniable push.
But Ingrid?
She was already three steps ahead.
Kenji shifted slightly, sensing yet another subtle but undeniable shift in the room's power balance.
The discussion had taken an unexpected direction, and he knew pressing further now would be unwise.
Still, his voice remained even, composed—carefully measured.
"Of course, Ingrid.
We all want what's best for our families."
A slight pause.
His gaze swept over the table, lingering briefly on Lucius, as if silently reassessing their next course of action.
"Perhaps it would be best if we allowed time for reflection.
These matters are not ones to be decided hastily."
His tone held the weight of a strategic retreat, not defeat—a suggestion rather than an admission.
Ingrid studied him carefully, the briefest flicker of amusement in her eyes.
She knew exactly what he was doing.
And she allowed it.
She nodded, her expression calm, unreadable—but resolute.
"Agreed, Kenji.
Reflection is necessary when it comes to such matters.
I trust we all understand the importance of careful deliberation."
Her words were carefully phrased, neutral yet undeniably firm.
There was no room for further debate—at least, not here.
"Thank you all for your perspectives and your continued support."
A diplomatic closing statement.
Polite. Final. Absolute.
A subtle exhale passed through the chamber as the conversation reached its conclusion.
Yet, beneath the surface, the weight of what had been left unsaid lingered.
Lucius remained silent, his fingers tapping idly on the table—not frustrated, but thinking.
Kenji, though composed, was clearly reassessing the situation.
Their retreat was not a concession, merely a delay.
Ingrid allowed herself the smallest of smirks, barely perceptible.
Not arrogance.
Not defiance.
Just the satisfaction of knowing she had dictated the terms today.
She knew this discussion was far from over.