Olivia turned toward Aeren the moment he looked at her, a smile naturally rising on her face. His expression told her he had noticed the same thing she had—and it only made her more excited.
The man who had stepped onto the stage… She recognised him instantly. And by the look in Aeren's eyes, he recognised him as well. She remembered Jarek Umberton clearly.
He was the boy who had challenged Aeren to a fight on his birthday—the same day she witnessed something she could never erase from her memory.
Aeren's blood.
Pouring from him.
Shimmering.
Beautiful.
Those few terrifying moments, when he bled endlessly, had frightened her at first. But when she truly saw the color, the shine, the beauty of that blood… she could never forget it again. It haunted her thoughts for months. It tempted her. Obsessed her.
And after that day, Aeren vanished from the empire.
For an entire year, she didn't see him—not even once.
In that time, she took people from the city and ran countless experiments, desperate to find blood that resembled his.
But she never found it.
She didn't know then that no one else in the world possessed such blood—only Aeren.
Her gaze returned to the stage, eyes sparkling.
"Isn't he your friend, Jarek Umberton?" Olivia asked, her voice soft but filled with excitement.
She respected Jarek for one thing only—because of him, she first saw Aeren bleed.
She saw that beautiful, otherworldly blood.
But talent-wise, she never thought much of Jarek. Compared to Aeren, he was ordinary.
Still, she smiled. Because now, Aeren would not win the sword through bidding.
He would have to fight for it.
Jarek stepping onto the stage meant one thing:
He had just declared war for the legendary sword, Blank.
And Olivia was thrilled to watch it happen.
Aeren blinked, surprised by Olivia's words.
Friend?
He had no memory of anyone named Jarek.
Although he had never thought much of people like that—faces that came and went—he could see Jarek standing confidently on the stage, clearly intending to claim the sword.
But Aeren felt nothing toward him.
Not recognition.
Not curiosity.
Not even irritation.
He only needed a gift.
Everything else was unnecessary.
So Aeren decided to wait and observe.
When the "fight" began and inevitably came to an end, he would simply step onto the stage and take what he needed with little effort.
"Yeah… he's my friend. Jarek," Aeren said calmly. He lied without hesitation, his expression perfectly flat.
There was no pause, no uncertainty—his voice carried as if he genuinely remembered the boy.
There's no need to explain anything to her, he thought. If she calls him my friend, then Jarek must have known me. Perhaps I once considered him useful for something.
Aeren kept his gaze steady, showing no hint that the name meant nothing to him.
He understood himself well—his past self, his present self, the nature of every connection he had ever made.
He knew exactly what it meant if he had truly called someone a "friend."
There was only one reason he would have done so:
He must have wanted something from them.
Something that could help him progress.
Nothing more.
And as Aeren watched the stage, he wondered—briefly, almost clinically—what his past self had hoped to gain from Jarek Umberton.
Olivia's eyes widened at his words.
He didn't care about his "friend."
Not even a little.
She had expected him to intervene, to confront Jarek, or at least react. But to her surprise, Aeren did nothing. He didn't help. He didn't obstruct. He didn't even flinch.
But he promised to gift me the sword…
If he stayed seated like this, there was no way he could retrieve it.
A sudden thought flashed through her mind:
If he can't take the sword… doesn't that give me the perfect chance to demand what I truly want?
Her heart fluttered with excitement—but irritation rose just as quickly.
Because even though the situation favored her plan, Aeren's indifference bothered her.
It annoyed her that he wasn't doing anything for her, even if she stood to gain everything she desired.
Her perfect plan was unfolding exactly as planned.
And yet… she felt angry.
Annoyed.
Conflicted with herself.
"Won't you do something about this? I want that sword!" she burst out, unable to hold back the frustration any longer.
Her voice had risen more than she intended.
The moment it escaped her lips, shame prickled beneath her skin—but she kept her expression composed, refusing to let him see the weakness.
Aeren did not reply.
He didn't even look at her.
Instead, his gaze remained on the stage, fixed calmly on Jarek, who stood with a faint smile—one directed toward the VIP glass, as if he could see straight through it.
Aeren wasn't surprised.
If his past self had chosen to call someone a "friend," then that person must possess something beyond the comprehension of ordinary people.
Jarek's presence here only confirmed it. And so, Aeren simply watched… still, silent, and entirely unbothered by Olivia's outburst.
Jarek turned slightly, meeting Aeren's eyes for a brief moment through the glass before shifting his gaze back to the hall.
Pressure surged from every direction—greedy, suffocating, tense—but he didn't flinch.
He stood on the stage with steady confidence, his posture unshaken.
No one attacked him.
No one dared.
He understood why.
The sword had no master; its aura was unclaimed. If it had belonged to anyone, he would have been struck down the instant he approached it. But this blade was one that chose its wielder through a bond of worth—a bond of fate.
And now, Jarek had stepped into the space between two possibilities.
He had forced his own choice.
There was only one path left for him:
Take the sword.
But would anyone let him?
The answer was simple.
No.
No one here was foolish enough to allow a stranger to walk off with the legendary sword. That was why the hall remained deathly silent. Everyone was calculating, waiting, preparing to strike the moment someone else tried to claim it. Allowing someone else to take it meant potentially losing their life—or their future.
Jarek could feel their stares—sharp, hungry, waiting like hawks. He sensed killing intent, ambition, greed, and determination all tangled in the air around him.
And yet… he wasn't afraid. He believed he could handle them all.
Except one.
Aeren.
Jarek had never once defeated Aeren during their practice matches. But that was before Jarek awakened. Even so, he knew better than to underestimate him. That caution was the only reason he hadn't already taken the sword the moment he arrived.
Jarek inhaled deeply, eyes sharpening.
"But today… this sword will be mine," he whispered to himself. "And no one will stop me. Not even Aeren."
With that vow, he steadied his breath, lifted his head, and prepared to speak the words that would begin everything.
"Oh, dear friends of the Sacaler Empire," Jarek announced, his voice crisp and clear. "I am Jarek Umberton, son of Thaddeus Umberton."
He paused.
The reaction was immediate.
Gasps, widened eyes, murmurs breaking out like sparks on dry leaves. The hall rippled with surprise and subtle smiles as people exchanged glances.
"What did he say?"
"Why is an outsider here?"
"Aren't the Umbertons from Vorthis?"
Jarek could feel their emotions swirling—confusion, curiosity, unease—so tangible it was like flame brushing against paper. He offered a small smile.
"Oh? It seems some of you haven't heard the news." His voice softened, but carried through the hall. "Prince Aeren Vorthis and Princess Olivia Sacaler are soon to be engaged. That explains why I stand here today."
A sudden silence washed through the crowd. Shock stiffened their expressions. Even the air seemed to pause.
But Jarek didn't stop.
"You're imagining this situation too simply," he said, his tone shifting, becoming heavier, sharper. "The truth is far more dangerous than you realize."
He took a slow breath before speaking again.
"If any of you are unarmed… if you cannot defend yourselves in the middle of a conflict between the powerful—where a single punch can kill—then you must leave. Leave now. I urge you."
His eyes swept over the hall.
"This place will not remain safe. Either depart immediately… or wait for death to find you."
His words dropped like stones into deep water. The hall trembled with the weight of them. And though the crowd didn't panic, the truth settled in their bones. Quietly, quickly, they began to leave—some with clenched jaws, others with trembling hands. These were not battles they wished to witness.
Within half an hour, the hall had emptied drastically. What remained were only those too strong, too stubborn, or too foolish to walk away.
Jarek scanned the reduced crowd.
Aeren watched him calmly through the glass, expression unreadable—eyes sharp, absorbing every detail.
Olivia stood beside him, silent, relieved that Aeren hadn't abandoned the sword after all.
But the remaining guests who stayed behind kept their predatory gazes fixed on Jarek.
None of them intended to leave.
None of them intended to yield. And the tension in the hall thickened like blood in cold air.