With a steady gait and a voice that cut through the silence, Damerius spoke again—this time, without a hint of doubt.
"Before this challenge goes any further, allow me to properly introduce myself," he declared boldly.
"My name is Damerius, known to you as Lord Rius. I am the biological son of Emperor Brovon, and my true name is Damma Lorexius Robelix. I am a prince—the rightful heir to the Whiteheaven Empire."
The arena fell into utter silence. As if time itself had stopped. His words hit like an invisible explosion, freezing every face in the crowd.
The nobles sat stunned. Wealthy merchants exchanged glances, disbelief written all over their faces.
"Impossible..." Lord Meruz whispered, staring at Damerius with a pale expression.
Lord Kohali slowly nodded, like a man waking from a long nightmare. "That's him... the slave who once lived in my house. I recognize that face. A prince?"
"Damerius...?" Meruz repeated, his voice now a blend of rage and fear. "You... you can't be that prince... You're still alive?!"
From the royal tribune, the princes remained silent. Dorges squinted, trying to match the man in the arena with the boy he once knew—his childhood rival in the palace. Meanwhile, Magnoli leaned back, exhaling deeply.
"So you've finally returned," he thought. "My instincts were right all along."
But none were more shaken than Brisena. She stood, her eyes locked onto the figure in the center of the arena. Tears welled up.
"Damma Lorexius..." she whispered. Then, without caring who was watching, she ran down the steps—ignoring the stares—and embraced him before thousands of eyes.
"Brother... you've finally come back..." she sobbed into Damerius's arms.
He returned the embrace gently, his right hand stroking her hair.
"You've grown so much, Brisena… Strong, wise, and still beautiful as ever… though you dress like a boy. To me, you're still my little sister," he said softly, tenderly.
Brisena looked up at his face, her eyes shimmering.
"Where have you been all this time? And Mother? Is she… is she well?"
"She's fine. She misses you every day. I promised her I'd bring you to her."
Dorges remained seated, saying nothing, but his fingers curled tightly into fists. The world he knew was shifting beneath him. The fact that Damerius lived—and now stood as a symbol of hope for the common people—shook something deep within.
In the guards' gallery, Rogg watched with narrowed eyes. Brisena's face triggered something in him.
"That face... it's familiar," he thought. "Is she Robb? No… the build is different. But... why does she feel so deeply known to me...?"
He fell silent. Memories stirred—of surviving in the forest with a boy named Robb. A wound from long ago reopened.
Damerius turned back to the crowd, still holding Brisena's hand tightly. Then he spoke again, his voice firmer than before:
"This is only the beginning," he said. "I haven't returned for the palace's glory. I don't want the throne. I've come back for one thing: justice. For those you trampled on. For the slaves you called worthless. For the people you've scorned all your lives!"
The crowd exploded again. Thousands roared the name Damma Lorexius. But in the nobles' seats, faces darkened.
"He sides with the slaves... This is madness," muttered a nobleman in a purple cloak.
"If he really is Brovon's son, then we're looking at a threat to the throne itself!" another said, panicking.
Damerius stood tall, his voice booming across the arena:
"Any of you who believe you're worthy—step forward and face me now! But remember, I'm no longer a slave. I am your prince! And I stand here, not as a symbol of power—but as a shield for the oppressed!"
He pointed toward the commoner stands—toward the people.
"I will stand with them. I will fight against slavery, against corruption, and every injustice you've nurtured for generations!"
Suddenly, a calm yet commanding voice rang out from the royal tribune.
"Little brother… Your fire is stirring. And I honor that."
Magnoli stood, smiling wide.
"But as your brother, I believe you deserve a worthy opponent. Someone not only strong… but someone who knows how you think."
Damerius looked up. "What do you mean, Prince?"
Magnoli turned to his guards and raised a hand.
"I would like to introduce my companion and protector—Rogg the Wraith, warrior of unmatched skill, and King of the Migase. Let it be a battle between rulers. He has never lost."
Scattered murmurs rippled among the nobles. Rogg—a name unfamiliar to most.
"I accept the challenge," Damerius declared without hesitation.
He turned toward the royal seats and bowed low with respect.
"To Prince Magnoli, Prince Dorges, and my sister Prince Brisena—I do not stand here for titles. I stand for our people. I ask for your blessing."
The two princes exchanged looks. Dorges gave a curt nod. Brisena squeezed his hand, worried. Magnoli simply grinned and said:
"Fight, little brother. Today will be remembered in the annals of Whiteheaven. The return of its true heir."
After a moment of silence, Magnoli turned toward the commoner stands. He raised his hand and called out boldly,
"A greeting to my dear friend, Rogg!" he declared with enthusiasm. "I trust you to stand against my brother, Lorexius—the prince long thought lost, now returned among us. We want to see his skill in full, and I believe only you are worthy to match him."
The name Rogg echoed across the arena.
Rogg, standing among the royal guards, froze. His eyes widened in disbelief. Hundreds of gazes were now locked on him. But his confusion wasn't just from being named—it was from being called friend, and suddenly thrust into a duel against a prince.
In his mind, none of it made sense.
"Why me? What does this fight have to do with me? I came here to return my people, not to put on a show of strength."
Still, he knew—refusing openly in front of tens of thousands could spark chaos.
Sensing his hesitation, Damerius stepped toward the edge of the arena and addressed him directly, his voice calm yet firm.
"Rogg," he said, "I don't ask you to fight for me. Not for a title, not for royalty. I ask you to fight as a man of honor. No hatred. No vengeance. Just a fair duel—one on one, in front of the people who deserve to witness justice made real."
The arena quieted again. All waited for Rogg's reply.
He stood still for a moment, then gave a nod to Magnoli's translator to relay his words. His voice was low, but steady.
"Tell them," he said, "I'm no one's friend here. I'm no slave, no servant, and certainly no actor in this spectacle. My duty is only one—to protect my people and ensure Magnoli remains safe."
The translator repeated the words. Some in the crowd laughed, thinking it amusing. But Magnoli's face turned serious.
He walked into the center of the arena, smiling faintly, though disappointment touched his tone.
"Well then, little brother," he said, turning to Damerius, "hit me. Gently. At least the show must go on."
Damerius frowned. "Brother, what are you—?"
Before Magnoli could answer, heavy footsteps echoed down the stands. Rogg descended, his stride steady and resolute. The once-roaring arena fell into hushed anticipation. All eyes were on him.
He stopped a few paces from Damerius, then spoke out loud and clear.
"I never intended to fight you, Prince. I respect your cause—standing for the oppressed. But listen closely... I don't care about your title or royal blood. To me, all men are equal. What makes one noble is not their name, but their actions."
His words froze the arena.
In the royal tribune, Prince Dorges shot to his feet. His face was red with fury. He stormed to the edge of the platform, glaring at Rogg.
"How dare you compare yourself to us—blood of the Empire!" he bellowed, and without warning, leapt into the arena.
His attack was fast, but Rogg was faster. With one swift motion, he deflected Dorges' arm, causing the prince to stumble sideways.
The crowd gasped.
"Enough!" Damerius stepped forward, trying to defuse the situation.
But Dorges shoved his hand aside.
"Stay out of this, Damma! I'll beat this insolent savage until he learns his place!"
Rogg stood firm, unfazed. He looked between the two princes and slowly raised a hand.
"If both of you want to come down," he said flatly, "then come together. I don't mind."
Magnoli, still at the edge of the arena, turned his head slowly toward his brothers. His face had gone pale.
"He's really challenging both of them at once..." he whispered.
Brisena rose from her seat, her eyes full of worry.
"Please don't... This won't end well..."
But it was already too late.
In the center of the arena, three men stood—each from a different background, each with clashing fates and bloodlines—facing one another in silence.
And around them, the entire arena held its breath… waiting to see who would strike first, and who would fall.