The morning sun spilled across the training yards of the Academy, painting the cobblestones gold. Class A students lounged near the fountain, their uniforms immaculate, their laughter sharp as glass. Class B clustered nearby, eager to bask in the prodigies' reflected light.
And from the far archway, Class D trudged in, their boots scuffing dust, their eyes wary of every jeer.
Lucian walked at the center of them, his stride measured, his gaze steady. He ignored the snickers, the muttered "lowest seat," the mocking bows. Words were wind; only steel mattered.
It didn't take long for the storm to arrive.
"Ardelion!"
The voice cracked across the yard like a whip.
Lucian turned slowly.
Calvus Renard stood with his hand resting casually on the hilt of his practice blade, golden hair gleaming in the light. His posture radiated confidence—the confidence of one who had been told all his life that he was destined to rule.
Around him, Class A students murmured eagerly. This was a spectacle they had been waiting for.
Calvus smirked. "I've been meaning to test the… legend. The crownless heir who thinks himself a wolf."
Lucian's lips curved faintly. "A test, then. Curious. Do prodigies often waste their time on failures?"
Laughter rippled, sharp and cruel. But not all of it was at Lucian's expense. Some of the Class A students shifted uncomfortably at his calm tone, as if he were the one baiting the golden heir.
Calvus's eyes narrowed. "You insult me, crownless?"
"I answer," Lucian said, voice steady. "Insults are born only in thin skin."
Gasps broke out. Calvus's smirk hardened into a grin—sharp, predatory. "Then let's see how thick your skin is when your back's in the dirt."
The courtyard erupted in cheers as the instructors allowed the duel. They didn't stop it—why would they? Letting students clash was tradition. The strong rose; the weak broke.
A circle formed, hundreds pressing in to watch.
Lucian stood at the edge, his practice sword light in his hand. He had studied Calvus in his past life. Renard was a prodigy not just in swordsmanship but in manipulation. His strikes were clean, calculated, designed to humiliate rather than kill.
He'll try to toy with me. To turn the crowd against me. Good. I'll make his arrogance my weapon.
Across from him, Calvus rolled his shoulders, loose and easy. He saluted with mock grace. "Try not to embarrass yourself too quickly, Ardelion. I want them to enjoy the show."
Lucian gave a slight bow, his smile glacial. "As you wish."
The duel began.
Calvus struck first, a flash of gold and steel. His movements were dazzling, a dance of speed and precision meant to awe the crowd. His blade swept low, then high, forcing Lucian back.
Lucian parried, each block economical, each step measured. To the onlookers, it looked like survival, not skill. Exactly what Calvus wanted them to see.
Cheers rose. "Renard! Renard!"
Calvus grinned, pressing harder. He slashed at Lucian's side, forcing him to stumble. He feinted high, struck low, then shoved Lucian back across the cobblestones.
Gasps of delight. "The crownless is finished!"
Lucian's breath came steady. He let the rhythm build, let the humiliation brew. His grip tightened, not with desperation but with timing.
Calvus thrust, a showy move designed to end it with flourish.
Lucian's eyes sharpened.
He pivoted.
The thrust missed. Lucian's blade snapped up, striking Calvus's wrist with brutal precision. The golden prodigy's sword clattered to the ground.
Gasps erupted, shocked silence cutting through the cheers.
Before Calvus could react, Lucian stepped in, sweeping his leg and sending him sprawling across the cobblestones. His own blade pressed to Calvus's throat.
The courtyard froze.
Lucian's voice was soft, but it carried like thunder.
"You mistake theater for battle. I do not dance for the crowd. I cut for the throat."
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Then the whispers exploded.
"Renard lost—?""To the crownless?""How—?"
Calvus's face burned red, fury twisting his features. But with Lucian's blade at his throat, he couldn't rise. Not here. Not now.
Lucian withdrew, letting the silence hang. Then he turned his back deliberately, walking out of the circle.
Every eye followed him.
By the time he reached the dormitory, the academy was already buzzing. The duel would spread by nightfall, whispered in every hall, distorted in every retelling. Some would call it luck, others trickery. But all would remember the sight of Calvus Renard on his back.
Lucian sat at his desk, quill scratching across parchment.
Calvus Renard → Humiliated. Dangerous when cornered.
Crowd → Witnessed. Narrative shifting.
Class D → No longer invisible.
He paused, setting the quill down.
A soft knock came at his door. Seren stepped in, her gaze sharp, her lips twitching in the faintest smirk.
"You planned that."
Lucian leaned back in his chair. "Planned what?"
"The stumble. The humiliation. You let him think he was winning until the moment you cut him down."
Lucian's smile was cold. "Arrogance is easiest to kill when it's fat and satisfied."
Seren studied him for a long moment. "You've just painted a target on your back, you know."
"I've painted many." Lucian's eyes gleamed. "But the more they aim at me, the more they forget to watch their own throats."
Seren shook her head, almost laughing. "You're insane."
"Perhaps."
But when she left, Lucian's smile faded. He leaned forward, hands steepled.
Humiliating Calvus Renard was not victory. It was bait.
The prodigy would not forgive. His allies would not forget. And somewhere, in the shadows of the academy, others would already be recalculating.
Lucian whispered to the empty room:
"Let them come. The crownless wolf feeds on the pride of lions."
That night, the courtyard duel was all the academy spoke of. But in a tower overlooking the grounds, a masked professor watched from the shadows, eyes glinting behind polished steel.
The professor murmured softly.
"So… the crownless heir bares his fangs. How interesting."
And the web around Lucian Ardelion drew tighter.