The next morning.
As sunlight spilled through the windows into the room, a sudden knock came at the door.
Lux stood patiently outside, waiting for Duke to get up.
Moments later, the sound of shuffling reached her ears, and the door opened. Duke, wearing only a pair of trousers, appeared before her. Seeing his bare chest, Lux's face instantly flushed with color.
"Duke-nii!"
"Huh?"
Duke blinked, only then realizing he hadn't put on a shirt. Scratching his head with a sheepish smile, he said, "Had a few things to deal with last night, so I woke up a bit muddled this morning."
He stepped aside to let Lux in, then quickly returned to his bedroom. By the time he came back out fully dressed, Lux had already instructed the servants to bring breakfast into the room.
"Duke-nii, eat first. Weren't you planning to register for the Grand Tournament today?"
She had already set the table, carefully arranging the utensils. Duke tossed his white coat over the chair back, sat down, and stabbed at a fried egg with his fork, popping it into his mouth without ceremony.
"Mm, after breakfast. You want to come with me?"
He kept shoveling food into his mouth at a brisk pace. Lux sighed, taking out a handkerchief to dab at the oil stains on the corner of his lips.
Her teacher always carried himself this way, indifferent to anything outside his own interests. If something fascinated him, he could focus endlessly. If not, it wasn't even worth a second glance.
"Eat slower. No one's stealing it from you."
Lux sometimes felt that ever since she became his disciple, her responsibilities had doubled. Not only did she have to fill in his gaps in knowledge and watch over his daily life, she even had to keep an eye on him in the lab so he didn't suddenly drop dead mid-experiment.
"Breakfast is just too good today," Duke said with a grin.
Lux pressed a palm to her forehead, sighing. Why did he feel so off this morning?
Once Duke had eaten his fill, Lux had the servants clear the table and bring in a fresh setting for herself, she hadn't even touched her own food yet, too busy fussing over him.
Duke, meanwhile, leisurely pulled out a cigar. As he trimmed it with a cutter, he asked, "So, what's the Grand Tournament usually like?"
"It's where warriors from all over the country gather to compete for the crown of glory," Lux explained.
"Oh, right!" She snapped her fingers, eyes brightening. "Every year at the tournament, alchemists from the capital set up stalls to sell their potions."
"Potions?"
"Bull's Strength, Stone's Endurance, Lynx's Agility, things that greatly boost a person's abilities. They have permanent effects, but only the first time. After that, they only give temporary boosts."
"I remember my uncle used to swear by them," Lux added with a wry smile. "But my father always said true warriors should rely on their own effort and training. The two of them argued constantly about it."
Duke chuckled. "And yet when your old man used my exoskeleton, he was grinning ear to ear."
Lux tilted her head, thought for a moment, then shrugged without comment.
Before long, Lux finished her meal. The two left together, with Ang summoned to serve as their transport. Demacia was not Piltover, summoning Pride or Gluttony here would cause too much commotion.
Demacia was a constitutional monarchy, steeped in tradition, resistant to outside influences. Its people were not yet ready for the shock of foreign culture.
With a badge hanging from his neck, Ang trotted along briskly, pulling the carriage out of the garden district toward the nearest arena.
After passing Guardian Avenue, they arrived at the front gates. The paving stones were white marble, flanked by statues of past champions. The arena itself was like a colossal bird's nest, completely open to the sky. Even from a distance, the roar of the crowd inside was deafening.
"Pretty lively," Duke remarked.
He looked up as Ang stopped before the gates. There were three entrances: the central one for guests, the left for competitors, and the right for staff.
The walls of the arena bore the crests and banners of Demacia's noble families.
Staff at the gates greeted arriving guests, explaining the schedule of matches. To either side of the entrance stood two simple pavilions.
Lux leaned close and whispered, "The left one is for betting. Except for honor duels, wagers can be placed on every match. The right one's for potion vendors. Many warriors stock up there before entering."
"I see." Duke nodded. "And where do I sign up?"
"We'll have to ask one of the staff."
She pointed to the attendants. Duke gestured to Ang to move closer.
"Excuse me," Lux said politely.
The attendant looked up with a professional smile. "Beautiful lady, how may I assist you?"
"I'd like to register for the Grand Tournament. Where do I sign up?"
Duke cut in directly, his voice steady. The attendant's eyes lit up. "Ah, registration? Please, follow me."
"Lux, watch the carriage. I'll handle the paperwork."
"All right, Duke-nii."
She nodded, while Duke dismounted and followed the staffer inside. Ang squatted by the carriage, its twin heads curiously observing the bustling crowd.
Not far away, a woman with a high ponytail approached the arena. Her turquoise eyes narrowed as they caught sight of a familiar figure.
"What is he doing here?"
Her gaze darkened with confusion, then hate. Memories of that night flickered in her mind, quickening her breath.
"That bastard!"
She clenched her fists. She had intended to leave, yet her feet betrayed her, carrying her after him.
Inside the arena.
The staff led Duke to the registration window, bowed slightly, then departed. Duke accepted a form, pulled out a steel pen, and filled it in swiftly.
When he returned the form, the clerk glanced over it, frowning.
"Sir, you're not Demacian?"
"That's right. Is that a problem?"
"Not at all. But according to the rules, your preliminary matches will be against other non-Demacian fighters."
"Oh?" Duke raised a brow. Interesting rule. Outsiders forced to fight each other first, with the survivor earning the right to face Demacian natives.
Blatant regional bias, but this was their turf. He shrugged.
"All right. When's my first match?"
"Tomorrow afternoon, in the opening round. You'll face a warrior from Freljord."
"Freljord?" Duke looked surprised. "The northerners can compete too?"
"We welcome all who seek glory."
The clerk's voice was official, detached. The message was clear: as long as competitors came with honorable intent, they were welcome. Beyond that, the arena bore no responsibility.
"Fine. And the match starts when?"
"The tenth toll of the bell in the afternoon."
Duke nodded. Roughly three o'clock. Demacia's ancient system of timekeeping still relied on bells.
As he turned to leave, he suddenly stopped.
"Well, well. We meet again, beautiful."
Hands in his pockets, Duke smirked at the woman blocking his path, the Duelist. Fiora looked exactly as she had yesterday, but with an even heavier killing intent in her eyes.
"You registered too?" she asked coolly, eyeing the token in his hand.
"That's right. And you?"
"I did. I hope we cross blades in the arena."
She gave a curt nod before striding away.
"Always with that stone face. Doesn't she ever get tired of it?" Duke muttered, shaking his head.
Exiting the arena, he instantly sensed eyes on him. He turned, but the gaze vanished as quickly as it came.
"Someone watching me?" He rubbed his chin. Not surprising. Ever since he revealed his method of awakening Galio, Demacia's upper echelons had been circling like hawks.
Everyone wanted a piece.
"Whoever it is, better not provoke me," Duke muttered.
He returned to the carriage, only to find someone waiting by it, a man with a stern, square jaw.
"Are you Duke Sanchez?" the man asked in a deep voice.
"That's me."
"His Majesty requests your presence."