Welco, Damaris of House Nubis!" the announcer's voice rang out, sharp and proud, carried by the wind across the colosseum. "The fad Dark Knight! Slayer of three hundred dire wolves at fifteen! Hunter of the giant shark of Myr's Deep at seventeen! The butcher of Grape Valley, now known to all as Grave Valley, after he felled four thousand barbarians in a single campaign!"
A hush swept through the crowd. And then, the roar.
From the left portcullis, chains clanked as iron groaned. The gate lifted, and out marched a knight like a siege tower given life.
Clad in gleaming silver armor that glinted under the high sun, a blue cape trailing behind like a river of dusk, Damaris rode atop a black-plated destrier bred for war. The sheer weight of the duo made the earth tremble, and dust rose with each hoofstep.
Damaris lifted a massive spear and aid its point skyward.
Cheers exploded from the stands. Banners waved, voices cracked. Nobles and commoners alike bellowed his na, reveling in his bloody legend.
Then, the voice of the announcer returned, this ti less confident.
"From the right… we have…"
The pause hung like a knife above the arena. Murmurs bubbled from the crowd.
"…the Sand Knight, sword of Duke Asher. Kill count… unknown…"
Scattered laughter broke out, mostly from foreign nobles and smug warriors. A few even snorted, mocking the vagueness of the title.
But those seated near the announcer saw sothing the others didn't: the man's trembling hand, the sweat that dripped from his temple as he stared down at Nero's scroll. The words were brief, but the implications bone-deep.
The BloodBlade had no long-winded chronicles. No dramatic battlefield tales. His na had only ever been listed in skirmish reports, his kills scattered across minor engagents. Individually, the numbers ant little.
But collectively? His blade had spilled more blood than so battalions.
Still, as a bodyguard, his duty was to protect, not to claim glory. And yet…
The right portcullis groaned as it lifted.
The crowd went still.
Too still.
"Nero, the BloodBlade!" the announcer called, but the energy was gone from his voice. The cheer never ca.
Silence reigned.
A figure stepped forward—without fanfare, without music or announcent tricks.
He wore only his deep green gambeson. No golden armor. No crest or sigil. Twin swords hung at his hips, but neither drew attention.
He walked beside his steed.
A black horse, lean and muscled, eyes red as smoldering coals, its hooves silent against the ground. It looked half-nightmare, half-phantom. Even the warbeasts in the noble stables would not have claid kinship with it.
Nero mounted without effort. No flash. No salute. He simply waited, eyes downcast, like a man either too bored… or too dangerous.
One yellow, one gray.
Not a single sound in the colosseum.
Until a little boy's voice rose, shrill with fear and wonder.
"Papa… will Nero lose?"
His father didn't answer. Because in that mont, even he wasn't sure.
"He trained day and night for this mont," Sapphira whispered, eyes softening as she watched Nero sit motionless on his mount, cloaked in silence and scrutiny. "Only to be received so coldly…"
"Will he be able to handle it?"
Asher leaned back, arms resting loosely. His gaze never left the field.
"Who knows?" he said calmly. "Damaris is one of the reasons House Nubis held back the forces of House Intis. He's not their best knight… but he's in the top echelon."
Alec leaned forward, knuckles white around the edge of his seat. In Nero, he saw a shadow of Alex—his brother, his fallen comrade. This wasn't just a duel. It was legacy being tested by fire. His only fear: that the pressure, the judgnt, the weight of those countless watching eyes, might crush the boy before the fight had truly begun.
Then ca the drum.
A slow, thunderous beat.
Both knights kicked forward.
Damaris twirled his massive spear with a flourish, the wind singing around its tip. The crowd roared, ignited by his showmanship.
"Let's see what you've learnt best!" the silver knight bellowed, his destrier surging ahead. In a flash, his spear lunged—aid straight for Nero's throat with ruthless precision.
But—
Nero leaned.
A subtle shift of his upper body. Clean. Silent.
The spear missed by a breath.
Steel sang as his blade ca out, swift and silent like an adder in the grass. He struck at Damaris's flank—only for the knight to twist, catching it with his own blade just in ti.
"I heard your father was a knight," Damaris spat with a sneer, wheeling around. "Fad for his skill before his fall. I felt your hand tremble at the first bout. Don't tell I ca all this way for this?"
His voice rang loud, condescending, as he prepared for the next clash.
But all he saw was a hand.
Right before his face.
What—
BOOM!
The world shook.
Nero's hand had caught Damaris's face mid-charge—and slamd him clean off the horse into the ground. The sound was like a thunderclap. The earth cracked and folded, dust and debris flaring outward in a sudden shockwave.
When it cleared—
A crater. A massive one. At its center, Damaris lay motionless, his spear broken, his helt bent inward.
An imperial-ranked knight… flattened.
The arena went silent.
It wasn't a duel. It was an execution.
Though Damaris wasn't dead…. He wasn't far off either.
Mouths hung open. No one moved. No one cheered. They had co expecting a clash of titans, a storm of blades and will.
What they got was sothing else entirely.
Nero turned his head toward the left gate, blade still in hand.
"Who's next," he said, voice calm, yet sharp enough to cut the silence itself.
A hush followed.
Then—
"There's no need."
A figure leapt from the noble stands, her descent graceful yet powerful, like a falcon falling from the sky. She landed in the arena, the impact kicking up dust around her boots.
Water spiraled around her arm, twisting into a shimring, single-edged blade.
"I shall be your opponent," Abigail of House El declared, eyes locked onto him.
Reviews
All reviews (0)