9 hours before the duel, the castle’s training area was quiet. Lethe sat on a wooden bench, staring at a wooden board with his stats written on it. Aren stood beside him, arms crossed.

  “Time to check your stats, Lethe,” he said.

  Lethe read the board aloud:

  Lethe Riven Age: 16 Weight: 64 kg Height: 5'9"

  Below that, another set of stats was written:

  Iron Calder Age: 28 Weight: 92 kg Height: 6'3"

  Lethe sighed. “He’s way bigger than me.”

  Aren smirked. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you’ve lost. Fighting isn’t just about size—it’s about how you use your power.”

  Lethe looked down at his hands. “Our family has protected the royals for generations. You learned our bloodline’s full fighting style and magic. But me… I only know the basics because I want to create my own way of fighting.”

  Aren studied him for a moment. “You know that means you’ll have a harder time reaching your full potential, right?”

  Lethe clenched his fists. “I know. But I’m not trying to follow the same path as everyone before me. I’ll make my own way.”

  Aren chuckled. “Fine. But don’t expect me to go easy on you in training.”

  They headed to the training field behind the castle. The grass was soft, and the cool evening air made it perfect for practice. They sparred for hours, Aren testing Lethe’s speed, endurance, and reaction time. Every time Lethe made a mistake, Aren corrected him with sharp words and quick strikes.

  At one point, Lethe collapsed onto the ground, breathing heavily. “This job isn’t hard for us, right?” he said between breaths. “We’ve been trained since we were kids for endurance, speed, intelligence… even resistance to torture. I should be fine.”

  Aren sat beside him. “It’s not that simple. Our parents died protecting the royal family. If you want to fight differently from our bloodline, you need to be even better than us.”

  Lethe wiped sweat from his forehead. “I’ll prove you wrong.”

  Aren raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

  Lethe grinned. “You always say I won’t match up to trained warriors because I don’t use the family’s full style. But I’ll show you I can win in my own way.”

  Aren laughed. “Alright. But don’t cry if Iron knocks you flat tomorrow.”

  Lethe smirked. “We’ll see.”

  The sun was starting to set, turning the sky into streaks of orange and pink. Aren stood up and stretched. “Thats enough... You can rest for the duel”

  Lethe got up, shaking off the exhaustion. The castle banners hung proudly above them, displaying the golden sun and silver crescent of House Aurif. In the distance, blimps floated in the sky, carrying the emblem of the nation.

  Just as he was about to step inside, a sharp voice cut through the air.

  “Lost in your own head again?”

  He sighed. "What do you want, Princess?"

  She tilted her head slightly. "Heard you're fighting Iron Calder in the arena soon."

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  "And?"

  "And I’m wondering if you’ll actually win, or just pretend you don’t care when you lose."

  Lethe Confused. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

  Aery took a step closer, her voice lowering. "You have skill, Lethe. No one denies that. But you don’t fight to win—you fight to prove a point."

  Her gaze hardened. "Stop pretending you don’t care. Stop running from your own bloodline."

  Lethe stiffened. His bloodline. Riven blood. It was a weight he had carried his entire life, one he wanted to be free of—but the world never let him forget.

  Aery studied his expression, then exhaled, shaking her head. "You're going to fight Calder in a few hours. Figure out what you actually want before then."

  And with that, she turned and walked away, leaving Lethe alone with his thoughts.

  The Arena

  The coliseum roared with excitement. The energy was suffocating, the weight of countless eyes pressing down on the two fighters standing in the center.

  "Lethe Riven vs. Iron Calder!"

  Lethe barely heard the announcer. His focus was locked on Calder—broad, powerful, an opponent that could break him in a single mistake.

  The signal flashed.

  Fight.

  Lethe exploded forward.

  He didn't hesitate, didn't waste time gauging distance. He lunged straight for Calder’s solar plexus, aiming to end the fight before it could begin.

  And then—

  A blur of motion.

  A hand like iron snatched his wrist mid-strike.

  Lethe barely had time to register what had happened before Calder twisted—his entire body shifting with bone-crushing force.

  Lethe's world spun. His back slammed into the ground, breath ripped from his lungs.

  The crowd erupted.

  Calder didn’t stop. A shadow loomed over Lethe as a massive fist came down—

  Lethe rolled.

  His palm struck the ground, a pulse of energy sending him skidding out of the way just as Calder’s fist shattered the stone where his head had been.

  Lethe flipped to his feet, heart hammering. Too close.

  Calder was already turning, already moving to close the distance.

  Lethe couldn't let him control the pace.

  The Counterattack

  Calder struck first.

  A fast, brutal straight punch.

  Lethe didn’t dodge. He stepped in.

  His foot slammed into Calder’s knee, putting every ounce of his weight into the attack.

  The force disrupted Calder’s balance.

  His footing wavered.

  His momentum betrayed him.

  And then—he fell.

  Lethe was already moving.

  Before Calder could react, Lethe’s hand slammed against the ground, fingers pointed at his opponent’s throat.

  Silence.

  Then—

  The crowd exploded.

  The announcer’s voice boomed across the arena.

  "Would you look at that—Lethe Riven wins the first round! You just love to see it—"

  And then—a cold gust swept through the air.

  Lethe’s instincts flared.

  He turned.

  Aery March had stepped onto the battlefield.

  Her gaze was steady, unreadable.

  "This match is over," she said, voice calm but firm.

  "I’ll be your opponent now." Lethe barely had time to process Aery’s words before the referee hesitated, then gave a reluctant nod.

  “Fine. Lethe Riven vs. Aery March!”

  The crowd’s cheers turned to murmurs—this wasn’t part of the schedule. Some of them recognized Aery, though, and excitement quickly took over. A sudden twist. A new fight. A new test.

  Lethe exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders. Aery was no Iron Calder. She was smaller, faster, and fought with absolute precision. And unlike Calder, she knew exactly how he fought.

  Across from him, Aery raised her fists, her stance relaxed yet prepared. A faint chill spread through the air around her.

  Lethe narrowed his eyes. The moment the fight started, she'd start applying pressure.

  Fight.

  Aery moved first.

  She was fast. Not just in a straight line—fast in how she read movement, how she cut off options.

  Lethe sidestepped immediately, forcing an angle that wouldn’t let her get a direct line—

  Too late.

  Aery’s foot slammed against the ground. A pulse of frost spread out, coating the stone in ice. Lethe’s boots skidded for just a second—a second too long.

  Aery was already on him.

  A feint to the right. Lethe shifted—

  Her elbow slammed into his ribs.

  He stumbled back, breath hitching. She didn’t hit with raw force—she hit where it counted.

  Keep moving.

  He twisted away before she could capitalize, regaining footing. Aery didn’t press, just watching with that same unreadable look. She wasn’t going all out yet.

  That meant she was testing him.

  Fine.

  Lethe lunged, feinting high—then vanished low, aiming for her blind spot.

  Aery turned. She was too slow.

  He went for a sweep—but the moment his kick connected, ice burst outward.

  Numbness crawled up his leg.

  He cursed, shifting weight before it could fully take hold. That was her plan. Every hit he landed would just slow him down more.

  No time to think.

  Aery’s fist blurred toward his temple—he barely dodged. A sharp pain lanced through his shoulder—a grazing hit, but it was adding up.

  This wasn’t like fighting Calder. He couldn’t let her set the pace.

  So he didn’t.

  He pushed forward.

  Aery’s eyes widened slightly as Lethe stepped inside her reach—where her speed meant nothing.

  She started to backpedal—Lethe didn’t let her. A flurry of attacks—fists, elbows, anything to keep her off-balance.

  For a moment, it worked.

  Then—Aery smiled.

  Ice exploded beneath him.

  His feet went out from under him—a split second of imbalance.

  That was all she needed.

  Aery struck.

  A single, sharp palm to the chest—his entire body locked up.

  Lethe hit the ground hard.

  His vision spun. He tried to move—his limbs were sluggish, his nerves screaming.

  Aery’s Chilling Strike wasn’t just about ice. It was about control.

  She stood over him, expression calm but firm.

  "You're fast," she admitted. "You know where to hit. But you’re still holding back."

  Lethe clenched his jaw, trying to push himself up. His body wasn't responding fast enough.

  Aery exhaled, offering a hand.

  "You can’t just fight around your bloodline, Lethe." She met his gaze. "You have to face it."

  Silence.

  Then—Lethe took her hand.

  Outcome: Aery Wins

  Lethe pushed her, but she always had control. The moment she locked him down, the fight was over. She forced him to engage, made him react to her pace, and once he hesitated? She ended it.

  But Lethe wasn’t crushed. He had openings. He had potential.

  And the fight wasn’t just about winning. It was about proving something.

  Aery saw it.

  Now, the real question was—would he?