"Some victories are not won by strength, but by how much you're willing to lose."
The arena was a cathedral of thunder.
Stone seats climbed high like cliffs, packed with nobles dressed in silks and armor, their cheers echoing beneath the open dome. The banners of every House fluttered in the wind, crimson and gold and black. At the very center, under the blazing light of noon, stood two figures — the last duel of the Grand Tournament.
Lucian Ardelion.Arden Veyra.
The air itself trembled between them.
Lucian's hair, once neatly tied, hung loose, whipping in the wind. His uniform was torn from earlier rounds, and faint streaks of blood traced his jawline — his, and others'. But his eyes… his eyes burned calm and silver, the stillness before a storm.
Arden was the opposite. His veins pulsed faintly with blue light, mana-laced ichor coursing beneath his skin. His once-soft features were carved sharp by pain, his pupils fractured like glass. Even breathing made the ground beneath him hum.
He smiled. "You always were the clever one, Lucian. But cleverness isn't strength."
Lucian's voice was steady, almost gentle. "And you always mistook cruelty for power."
The referee stepped back. The sigil of the Empire pulsed on the ground, sealing the arena. A shimmering dome of energy rose around them.
"Final match—BEGIN!"
Arden moved first.
He blurred forward, leaving cracks in the marble with each step. His blade — the alchemic Revenant Edge — ignited with pale fire. The swing came down like a falling star.
Lucian pivoted, parrying the strike. Sparks exploded. The sheer force drove him to one knee. The crowd roared as he was pushed back, but his mind was calm, dissecting every movement, every flaw.
Another strike. Another block. Another shockwave.
"Come on, Lucian!" Arden's laughter was half-mad. "Where's that arrogance? Where's the Crownless Prince?"
Lucian's lips curved faintly. "Still learning when to kneel before fools."
Arden snarled and slammed his foot into the ground. Mana exploded outward, sending a shockwave that threw Lucian across the arena. He rolled, landing in a crouch. Blood dripped from his temple, his chest heaving.
Then he whispered, "It's begun."
Because he'd seen it — the slight distortion in Arden's steps, the instability in the mana flow. The forbidden alchemy that made him strong was also eating him alive.
Arden charged again, faster now, his movements jagged with fury. Lucian dodged, parried, let himself be grazed. His left arm trembled from a near-hit; the skin burned, but he didn't retreat. He was watching. Counting. Waiting.
In the stands, the crown prince leaned forward, intrigued. "Show me your worth, Ardelion."
Lucian's right hand slid to his belt, drawing a slim dagger — plain, unimpressive. To the crowd, it looked like desperation. To Lucian, it was a memory of his past life — of the blade he'd once used to end a tyrant's breath.
He flicked his wrist. The dagger caught the light and disappeared into Arden's blind spot.
Arden deflected it easily.
"Pathetic!"
Lucian smiled. "Not yet."
Because the dagger wasn't meant to hit. It was meant to mark. The alchemical poison on its edge barely nicked Arden's shoulder — but that was enough. The mana veins along his arm flickered, spasmed.
He stumbled.
Lucian's eyes sharpened. There.
He surged forward, his sword moving faster than before. Not with raw power — but with precision. Each strike forced Arden to defend where his corrupted veins faltered. A thousand calculations danced behind every move.
Arden's fury grew desperate. "You think you can outthink death?"
Lucian whispered, "No. But I can make it hesitate."
The crowd barely understood what was happening. To them, it looked like chaos — two streaks of light clashing, dust and flame rising, roars echoing. But in the center of it all was something terrifyingly controlled.
Lucian's breathing slowed. The world blurred at the edges.
He remembered dying. The blade on his neck. The smile he'd worn then. The vow.
And now — he could feel the past and present folding together.
The reincarnated heir. The crownless prince. The boy who had once begged for mercy now stood against the empire's chosen monster.
Fate bends for the patient.
Arden lunged again, driving his sword downward with enough force to split the floor. Lucian stepped inside the arc of the blow, grabbed Arden's wrist, and twisted. The crack of bone echoed.
Arden screamed — then slammed his other fist into Lucian's ribs. Blood sprayed. Lucian staggered back, gasping, clutching his side.
But his smile returned. "You bleed too, don't you?"
The glow in Arden's veins grew erratic. Mana leaked from his body like smoke. The forbidden alchemy was unraveling.
"You… planned this?" Arden hissed, trembling.
Lucian raised his sword, the point steady. "You thought yourself immortal. I just needed you to prove you weren't."
The ground erupted. Arden screamed, mana consuming him. His body became a pillar of blue light, the energy tearing through his flesh.
Lucian stepped into the storm. Every instinct screamed to run, but he advanced anyway — one step at a time, coat whipping, eyes locked forward.
The heat seared his skin. His vision blurred. But he didn't stop.
Arden roared, swinging wildly. Lucian ducked under the arc, slid forward, and drove his blade into Arden's chest — right where the unstable core pulsed.
"Impossible—!" Arden gasped.
Lucian leaned close, voice like a whisper of ice."No. Inevitable."
The explosion swallowed them both.
Silence.
Then — light.
Dust drifted down. The arena floor was cracked, scorched. A crater lay where two fighters had stood.
When the smoke cleared, only one remained.
Lucian stood at the edge of the crater, cloak shredded, blood down his arm, sword planted in the ground for balance. His eyes glowed faintly — silver against the haze.
Arden lay motionless behind him, veins blackened, the light gone.
The crowd didn't cheer at first. They were afraid.
Even the nobles who hated him felt it — that raw, inhuman will. The quiet madness of someone who had already died once and didn't fear it anymore.
Then the first voice broke the silence."…He won."Another joined."Lucian Ardelion!"
The arena erupted.
But he didn't raise his sword in triumph. He just looked up toward the royal balcony — where the crown prince's smile had faded into something colder.
For a heartbeat, their gazes met.
And Lucian smiled that same smile he had worn at his execution — calm, knowing, dangerous.
Later, as the healers worked, a hooded figure approached him in the quiet of the medical tent.
The Masked Teacher.
"You defied every rule of the tournament," the teacher murmured. "You used poison, strategy, and deceit."
Lucian looked up from his bandaged hand. "And yet, I live."
A pause. Then a faint chuckle. "Perhaps the Empire deserves someone like you."
Lucian's gaze hardened. "No. It deserves worse."
That night, as he stood on the balcony overlooking the capital's lights, he whispered into the wind:
"From ashes, I rose once.From fire, I rise again.And this time… no crown will be safe."
The silver in his eyes flickered like a dying star—Or perhaps, like one being born.