Chapter 13: Chains and Breakers
"Cousin..."
Of all those present in the arena, the most stunned by this word was Princess Aurelia.
She stared in surprise at the boy standing before Richard. Though he was dressed in a slave's simple rags, something in his bearing proclaimed noble birth—royal even.
The princess couldn't help but wonder about the true identity of this 'slave'. Without delay, she glanced toward Viktor, their unspoken exchange clear.
"Yes, Princess! I'll return shortly," Viktor said, and quietly slipped out of the training grounds.
With Viktor gone, Princess Aurelia let out a breath and turned her attention, once again, to the match.
In the ring, Tyler was taken aback himself. No one had called him "cousin" in so long.
He remembered when Richard was small, always following Tyler through the palace, calling him "cousin" or "big brother." Whenever Richard was bullied, he never sought help from anyone but Tyler.
That single word now brought back a rush of bittersweet memories. How beautiful those days had been!
He'd never dreamed that growing up would mean civil war in Silverdale, fathers dying by the hands of brothers, families torn apart. These last three years… had been endless misery.
Tyler shook himself from the memory and his face changed, hardened. "Cousin Richard, let's begin."
"Good. I heard people say you never truly accepted your slave identity. I didn't quite believe them. But now, hearing you call me 'cousin'... Seems the rumors are true," Richard laughed bitterly. "That's why I called you cousin, just to test you. Did you really think you still had any privileges left? Hahaha! Today, I'll end all that. You die by my hand now!"
Richard's derisive tone sent an icy wave of anger through Tyler. His face went cold, emotionless, his last familial empathy erased.
Richard enveloped himself in blue light, took several measured steps, then suddenly charged Tyler with a savage roar.
BOOM!
Richard slammed his fist into Tyler's chest with all his strength. Tyler was forced back several paces, barely finding his footing. There was no doubt: after consuming the sacred Divine elixir, Richard had awakened his Sacral Core.
In the past days, Tyler had been frustrated by how tough his body had grown—ordinary trainees no longer triggered the cleansing warm current he needed. But now, Richard's ruthless blows brought that energy rushing back. His body again filled with the burning, purifying essence.
A slight smile crept onto Tyler's lips. He resolved to use this unexpected opportunity to expel more of his impurities.
While Tyler was secretly thrilled, Richard pressed his assault without mercy.
A punch to the chest. Another to the gut. Before Tyler could react, Richard followed up with an unending barrage of fists—his elbow at Tyler's back, his heel at Tyler's waist, a fist at his skull. Wave after wave of relentless attack.
With every impact, Tyler could feel heat coursing through, cleansing his bones a bit more each time.
"Good! Prince Richard, kill him!" Bartlett shouted excitedly from the arena's edge, almost as if he himself were delivering the blows.
Several disciples cheered Richard. But many others stood silent, secretly praying for Tyler.
Most of Silverdale's trainees came from simple families, and in their hearts, they remembered the era when Tyler's father ruled. It had been an era of fairness, where everyone had a chance, regardless of birth—when effort and talent, not privilege, were rewarded.
But the day Richard's father and uncle took over, everything changed. A select few seized control of every resource, while the rest struggled for crumbs.
Tyler had been the true prince—the city's hope. After his uncles locked him away, the honest officials of Silverdale held onto their last hope in Tyler's survival. If he died now, any chance for justice and fairness in the city would die with him.
"Is this some sort of conspiracy?" Princess Aurelia wondered, watching the match unfold, noticing the crowd's mood. Could it be that "slave boy Tyler" was the son of the former king, the target of a deadly scheme?
Her heart trembled at this thought, but she forced herself to wait for Viktor's return.
In the ring, Richard kept attacking.
On the royal dais, Julius Windrider watched with disbelief. He knew his son: after swallowing the sacred elixir and awakening his Sacral Core, Richard's fists should deliver over five hundred kilograms of force.
He was the second-strongest youth in Silverdale—only David rivaled him.
He saw Richard unleash dozens of vicious combos, every hit at full power. Tyler simply stood there, taking the punishment, but never seemed truly hurt.
"Why isn't Tyler dead?" Julius muttered, astounded by Tyler's resilience.
Could Tyler have learned some hidden body technique? Had his brother Viren passed on a secret method to strengthen the body, one kept from the rest of them, and revealed to Tyler alone before his death?
The fact that Tyler had spent three years being used as a human punching bag, yet survived—this could be no coincidence. Julius's eyes flashed with a new understanding.
Inside the arena, Richard started to panic. No matter how violently he struck, Tyler would not fall. His attacks went from frantic to desperate. He began using every underhanded move and trick he knew.
"Oxen's Thousand Fists!"
Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang! Six thunderous shockwaves exploded.
Richard had been sure Oxen's Thousand Fists would end things—but Tyler stood, unmoved, unwavering, undefeated. Richard couldn't believe it.
This boy… How could his body endure such brutality?
When he saw Tyler's sly, composed smile, Richard grew even more furious. At his peak, he should have sent Tyler flying with a single blow—so why was this happening? Was Tyler mocking him?
Anger blazed in Richard's eyes.
The more he thought about it, the more Richard realized he'd have to use his secret weapon to finish the job. Swiftly, he took a small box from his pocket—red seals glowed on the lid, inscribed with ancient runes. He thrust the open side toward Tyler and, with a wild shout, snapped it open: "Go to hell!"
Tyler's eyes widened. As the former prince, he knew what it was—"The Lightning Wielder's Axe," one of the royal family's greatest secret weapons!
A forbidden artifact, always kept sealed. Its single strike contained the power of true lightning—meant to kill instantly.
But it was only usable once, a treasure jealously hoarded for the royal youth's defense.
"So that's how low Richard's sunk—willing to use something this murderous against me," Tyler thought grimly. His body might be tough, but not even he could withstand the Lightning Axe.
Suddenly, with a clap like thunder, a gigantic lightning-axe shot from the box, roaring straight at Tyler.
He rolled instantly to the floor as the electric axe carved the air above him—a single spark singed his hair, burning a few strands.
But one unfortunate slave behind Tyler caught the blow in the chest. In a flash, his body was enveloped in searing flame—reduced to ashes in moments.
Whole sections of the crowd froze in terror. Richard had gone too far: his weapon could have struck anyone, slave or student or guest. Did he care for no one's life but his own?
With the cries still echoing, Tyler rose from the ground, his face burning with molten anger. He clenched his fists and shouted, "You've toyed with me long enough. The game ends now. My turn, isn't it?"
"No!" shouted Julius, leaping from the platform. He'd begun to suspect there was a deeper reason Tyler had survived all these years—a trick, a power he'd not revealed.
Unfortunately, there was too much distance—Julius would never reach the ring before Tyler could act.
"Oxen's Thousand Fist!"
Before Richard could react, Tyler's fist slammed into his abdomen. Seven muffled explosions sounded deep inside Richard's body—
Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang!
Blood erupted from seven points on Richard's torso. The blow had broken his body in seven vital places. He would live, but he would never practice martial arts again.
"One punch…"
The arrogant prince, Richard, had fallen with a single strike.
The entire arena fell silent in awe.
Who could have guessed? The "slave" they'd all abused and mocked for three years possessed such strength?
Some disciples who'd been most cruel to Tyler felt cold sweat trail down their spines. All this time, they'd thought him weak, a nobody—a weakling to bully. Who could have known he was hiding so much power?
"He beat Prince Richard with a single blow. What if he were to ever come after me?" That thought haunted several of them.
Princess Aurelia, watching every moment, was equally shocked. She'd never expected Tyler to be hiding this much strength—and realized: had Richard not resorted to a lethal attack, Tyler probably would have kept taking the hits, silent as always. She was now also appalled by Richard's cruelty—her image of him, once favorable, was ruined.
Meanwhile, Richard lay flat on the arena floor, an expression of disbelief frozen on his face. He'd thought Tyler was just a damaged child, someone who could take a beating, nothing more. He had been certain he'd win easily—after all, he'd even drinked the divine elixir, his cultivation outpacing Tyler's by leaps.
But now he found his legs weak, unable to rise. Julius rushed to him, cradling his son. "Richard, my son! Are you all right?"
"I only wounded him. He'll live." Tyler muttered.
Julius glared at Tyler, gentle features now blazing with pure rage. He ordered attendants to rush Richard to the healers, then rounded on Tyler, roaring, "How dare you? Why would you harm my son, you wretch!"
"Oh? And now a traitor lectures me on cruelty? Everyone knows—the Death Match is life and death. The fight's not over until one is dead. You should be grateful I let him live," Tyler retorted, voice unflinching. "Now, as per Silverdale's law, by winning this match, I am free. I can leave this city."
Julius laughed coldly, supporting Richard. "I let you live all these years, and this is how you repay me? Did you really think I'd just let you go? Don't make me laugh!"
Tyler's face twisted with bitterness. He said, "Uncle Julius, the law of Silverdale is clear—victory in the match equals freedom."
"Law?" Julius's scorn replaced his anger. "Only your useless father cared for laws. Now I make the laws of this realm. ME! I decide all law in Silverdale!"
Hearing this, Tyler was flooded with rage.
He wanted nothing more than to kill this man, avenging his family. But he forced himself to wait. He was not yet strong enough for justice, not yet ready to settle the blood debt of his father's murder. For that, he must leave Silverdale—he needed strength, time, and training.
Tyler had placed all his hopes in the Assessment Day, hoping victory would finally secure his freedom. It had never crossed his mind that Julius would betray him at this crucial moment.
After so many years enduring injustice—now, just as he was poised to break free—his uncle's words crushed his last hope.
He thought back on every humiliation he'd suffered these three years. "How naïve I was… that I ever thought a man like you would respect the law. How could I forget? You betrayed your own brother, stole his throne, gave away our family's treasures to your sons. You… you are no human! Someday, I will take your head with my own hands, and avenge my father!"
What happens next? Can Tyler escape Silverdale alive, having bested Richard in the ring? Or will Julius trap him once more? Continue reading the next chapters…
[ A.N : compensation of previous short chapter ]