The arena was silent before the storm.
Torches flickered along the walls, casting long shadows over the marble floor. Tonight was not a tournament in the usual sense. The Grand Tournament had ended, but whispers of Lucian's victories had reached ears few dared to name.
The organizers had summoned a challenger, one whose name was unknown, whose face was hidden beneath a hood, whose presence alone carried a weight that made seasoned nobles uneasy.
Lucian Ardelion stepped into the center of the arena, silver eyes glinting. His wounds from the tournament still burned faintly, but pain was meaningless now. He had survived death once — he could endure anything.
A shadow moved at the opposite end. The hood fell back, and Lucian froze.
The face that greeted him was his own.
Same sharp jawline. Same piercing gaze. Same faint scar that Lucian remembered from his past life — the mark of betrayal he had once carried into his execution. But this one… smiled differently. There was cruelty in the curve of his lips, arrogance in the tilt of his chin.
"You…" Lucian breathed.
The other boy inclined his head. "Lucian Ardelion," he said, voice smooth, dark, almost mocking. "Or should I say… the reborn wolf?"
Lucian's fists clenched. "Who are you?"
"I am what you could have been," the boy said, stepping closer. "Same life. Same memory. Same opportunity. And unlike you, I chose to take it all — the empire, the power, the throne."
A murmur ran through the spectators, though none dared speak too loudly. The tension was unnatural. Even the air seemed to hold its breath.
Lucian's mind raced. Another reincarnate. Another chance to rewrite history. And here, face to face, was a reminder that vengeance and cunning were not enough — choices shaped destiny.
Without warning, his reflection lunged. The blade moved like lightning, slicing air with precision that mirrored Lucian's own style.
Lucian parried, the clash ringing through the arena. Sparks flew. Sand and marble cracked beneath the force of their strikes.
"You fight like me," the other said, grinning. "But do you think your tricks will save you tonight?"
Lucian's silver eyes narrowed. "I fight like myself. That is all that matters."
Their swords met again, and again, each clash resounding like thunder. The other's movements were eerily familiar, anticipating Lucian's instincts before he even acted.
"You remember," the boy said, voice low, almost a whisper. "You remember everything."
"I remember," Lucian replied, and in the same breath, struck — feinting, drawing a slash that barely touched his opponent, more to test than harm.
The other recoiled, a flash of surprise in his otherwise cold mask. "Clever. But not enough."
Shadows of the Past
As they fought, memories pressed in on Lucian.
The execution stand. The cold steel. The smile he had worn when he had whispered vengeance into nothing. The House of Ashes, the Spider's Web, the duel he had rewritten. Each moment felt like a knife against the present.
But this was different. This opponent was not a noble, not a prince, not a servant of the empire — he was Lucian, twisted by choice and ambition, a mirror that refused redemption.
"You could have ruled without this," Lucian shouted mid-strike. "Without blood on your hands!"
"You are weak," the other spat, twisting his sword to strike Lucian's ribs. "Weak, because you care. Weak, because you hesitate."
Lucian staggered, pain burning in his side, but his eyes flared with silver fire. "Weak? No. Patient. Calculating. Watching. I will not repeat the mistakes you made."
The duel escalated. Each movement of Arden — no, this wasn't Arden, this was the Mirror, the other Lucian — was faster, smarter, more brutal.
Lucian grinned. Let him overextend.
He feinted a step left, then vaulted over a downward strike. He rolled, drawing the dagger hidden at his belt — the one he had used before in the tournament, tipped with a trace of poison. This time, it was not meant to maim. It was a warning.
The other Lucian hesitated for a fraction of a heartbeat — enough for Lucian to slash across the other's forearm. Sparks of mana leapt from the wound. His reflection's lips curled, not in pain, but in furious recognition.
"You… remember," the boy said. "You always remember."
"I remember everything," Lucian replied. "And I learn from it."
With that, the duel became a blur. Steel clashed against steel, sparks and dust filled the arena, and the crowd felt as if they were witnessing not a fight, but a war between two souls.
Then Lucian did the unthinkable.
He drew on every memory of past life, every lesson from betrayal, every manipulation, every duel and assassination attempt survived. He became not the boy who had once knelt, nor the student who had survived the Grand Tournament, but the culmination of every failure, every victory, every shadow and light of his reborn life.
He moved faster than the eye could follow, striking at angles his reflection could not anticipate. The Mirror faltered, slipping in the sand. A flinch, a momentary hesitation — and Lucian struck.
The dagger found its mark, slicing across the Mirror's chest. Blue mana flared and burned, crackling like wildfire, and the other Lucian staggered backward.
"You… will never…" he gasped.
Lucian stepped closer, sword poised, voice cold, feral, unwavering. "I do not forgive. I do not hesitate. I am the wolf who rises from ashes and fire alike."
Victory and Reflection
The final strike was clean, precise. The Mirror fell, disarmed, chest smoking faintly from the alchemical reaction of mana and blood. He looked up at Lucian with eyes full of recognition, regret, fury, and—astonishment.
"You… are not me," he whispered.
Lucian's lips curved into that same smile he had worn at execution, at every duel, in every whispered victory. "No. I am better."
The arena was silent for a heartbeat. Then the crowd erupted, roaring their approval, fear, and awe. The nobles, the instructors, even the crown prince watching from the balcony — all had witnessed something beyond mortal skill.
Lucian lowered his sword, breathing steady. The Mirror lay defeated, not dead, but broken in spirit. A reflection shattered, revealing the impossibility of matching him.
Later, in the shadows, the Masked Teacher appeared again. "Few can survive what you just did," he murmured.
Lucian's silver eyes met the teacher's. "Few are meant to."
He glanced down at the Mirror — the boy who remembered a past life, now kneeling in dust and failure. "Let him live. Let him remember. Let him see what it costs to choose cruelty over patience."
The teacher inclined his head. "And the empire? The crown?"
Lucian smiled thinly. "Let them whisper. Let them fear. Let them watch the wolf rise. That is enough for now."
That night, Lucian stood alone on the balcony overlooking the city, his body bruised, his spirit burning. The moonlight reflected on his blade, silver as vengeance, sharp as destiny.
"Another shadow has fallen. Another path has failed. But I…""…I endure. I rise. I am the wolf reborn, and no crown, no empire, no reflection of the past will stop me."
The city slept below, unaware that the age of the Crownless Wolf had truly begun.