Lindarion's father's voice thundered through the chamber, echoing off the marble walls.
"Begin the duel!"
Sylas moved first, lunging forward with a swift, decisive strike. No hesitation, no testing Lindarion's defenses—he was trying to overwhelm him with sheer force from the start.
Lindarion moved instinctively. Dodging was almost effortless. His reflexes were sharp, honed, and as Sylas's blade cut through empty air, Lindarion countered, slashing toward his exposed side.
'He's pretty clumsy.'
Steel clashed against steel, ringing through the hall. Sylas managed to block at the last mont, but Lindarion felt the slight tremor in his stance—he had caught him off guard.
"Hm. Not bad."
Lindarion's voice was calm, almost indifferent. The flicker of irritation in Sylas's eyes told him he didn't appreciate the remark.
Lindarion didn't give him ti to recover. His blade cut through the air again, pressing the attack. The wind from his strike ruffled Sylas's hair as he barely pulled back in ti.
Sylas's gaze sharpened. Now, he was taking this seriously.
"This is getting boring, Sylas."
The chamber fell into stunned silence. The gathered nobles' eyes widened as if Lindarion had just insulted their entire lineage.
Sylas's response was imdiate. He charged, his movents faster, more precise. His strikes carried weight now, his attacks relentless.
But it still wasn't enough.
The sharp clang of tal rang out as Lindarion parried each blow, feeling the surge of adrenaline with every deflection. Sylas tried to force his own rhythm onto him, to make Lindarion fight on his terms.
Lindarion refused.
With a sharp movent, he drove his hilt into Sylas's stomach. Sylas staggered back, gasping, before jumping away to regain his footing.
For a brief mont, they simply stared at each other.
Sylas's breathing was uneven, his grip on his sword tightening. His frustration was written across his face, barely contained.
"This isn't over!" he roared.
And then, the air around him trembled.
A ripple of energy surged from Sylas's body. The gathered nobles tensed, eyes flickering with alarm.
From the corner of Lindarion's eye, he saw Seraphine prepare to step in—but his father stopped her with a simple gesture.
"What are you doing?!" lion turned to Eldrin, her voice tense.
"Trust our son," Eldrin answered calmly.
His gaze never wavered from the duel.
Sylas's mana erupted like a storm. The floor beneath him trembled as raw energy coiled around his arms, crackling with power.
His sword pulsed with glowing blue light, the air around him growing heavy.
He launched himself forward, his speed now completely different from before. The stone beneath his feet cracked as he propelled himself toward Lindarion, his blade cutting through the air like a hurricane.
Lindarion didn't wait for him to reach him.
"It's over—"
Sylas barely got the words out before Lindarion moved.
[Phantom Step. Mana Threads.]
Golden threads of mana shot through the air, wrapping around Sylas's limbs, locking his body in place.
The montum of his attack was stolen in an instant. His sword froze mid-swing, his eyes widening in shock.
Lindarion materialized behind him like a shadow, pressing the cold edge of his blade to the back of Sylas's neck.
A hush fell over the chamber. Whispers spread like wildfire as the nobles processed what they had just seen.
"It is over."
Lindarion's voice was calm, firm, undeniable.
Sylas's jaw tightened. He clenched his teeth, but he didn't move.
He knew—if this had been a real battle, he would already be dead.
A humiliating defeat.
The silence stretched.
Then, suddenly, a single clap echoed through the room.
It was Eldrin.
The applause spread slowly, hesitantly, until it filled the chamber. So nobles looked stunned, others nodded in reluctant approval.
Zael strode forward to retrieve his son as Lindarion released the mana threads.
"So, the boy already has a mana core at six years old, huh?!" Zael's voice was sharp, laced with indignation as he stepped toward Lindarion.
A new voice cut through the tension.
"Try to do anything funny."
A figure erged from the shadows—Seraphine, standing behind Zael, a sharp needle pressed to his neck.
Zael froze, frustration tightening his expression.
"And why hasn't the council been inford of this?" he growled.
"We have."
An elf with a long, silver beard stepped forward, his very presence radiating wisdom.
'A council mber?'
Zael was enveloped by the elder's aura and suddenly dropped to one knee, bowing his head.
"My apologies, Thalorin."
'So that's his na'
Thalorin studied Lindarion, stroking his beard, before letting out a chuckle.
"So, you're the boy who ford a mana core earlier than even our ancestors?"
The entire chamber stilled. Gasps echoed among the nobles—even the Silverleaf family, who stood beside Eldrin and lion, reacted with shock.
The Vaerath family's expressions twisted in displeasure, their narrowed eyes focused on Lindarion.
Luneth, standing just behind her father, watched him with sothing different in her gaze.
'Admiration…?'
'What does she see in ?'
"Yes, my lord," Lindarion answered, bowing slightly before Thalorin.
Thalorin humd, his sharp gaze sweeping over Lindarion from head to toe as if asuring his worth.
Then, suddenly, a voice echoed in Lindarion's mind. But it wasn't his own. It belonged to the old elf standing before him.
'We will speak later, boy.'
'Telepathy. So he wants to speak to ..'
The weight of Thalorin's presence in his thoughts sent a chill through Lindarion. Instinctively, he bowed once more.
"Well then, I believe the festival should continue. Wouldn't you all agree?"
Thalorin's voice shattered the lingering tension. So noble families exchanged hushed whispers, their expressions wary.
With a snap of his fingers, every candle in the hall flared to life, casting a warm glow over the room. New dishes appeared on the banquet tables, their rich aroma filling the air.
The music swelled once more as if nothing had happened.
Eldrin stepped forward, inclining his head toward the elder council mber.
"Thalorin."
"Eldrin, King of Eldorath," Thalorin greeted him with an amused tone, stroking his long silver beard.
"It has been quite so ti since we last spoke, wouldn't you agree?"
'He's an odd one as well it seems.'
Lindarion sighed, turning toward lion, who stood nearby with a devilish smile.
"That was a little dangerous, don't you think, dear?"
Before Lindarion could react, she pinched his cheek, tugging at it like he was a baby.
"I had everything under control, Mom."
His voice was steady, unwavering, like a well-forged blade. It was enough to make her pause, montarily surprised.
Behind her, Seraphine simply nodded, giving Lindarion a subtle thumbs-up.
'…'
"Well fought, Prince Lindarion."
A cold voice cut through the air.
Lindarion turned to see Vaelion approaching, his family following closely behind.
"Thank you for the complint, King Vaelion," Lindarion responded smoothly, his tone carrying confidence that resonated through the chamber.
"I appreciate it."
"Yes, young prince," another voice added, equally distant.
Sylvaris. Her sharp, calculating eyes studied him, her tone and expression as unreadable as before.
"We didn't expect such strength from one so young."
Luneth, standing beside them, nodded in agreent, her expression unreadable.
'Even when they offer praise, they're as cold as ice… What a family.'
A sudden, high-pitched chi shattered Lindarion's thoughts, and in the next mont, a bright white system window materialized before him.
[Quest Completed!]
Quest: The Elven Festival - Completed!
Rewards:
2 Dexterity
2 Intelligence
2 Charisma
??? → Sovereign's Veil (Legendary!)
Bonus Reward: Mana Core advancent available!
[Congratulations, Host, on completing the quest.]
The glowing text lingered before fading into shimring particles.
'Another Legendary skill?'
Lindarion's eyes narrowed as he focused on the na—Sovereign's Veil.
'I'll check it out later..'
Lindarion exhaled slowly.
And then there was the Mana Core advancent as well.
The significance wasn't lost on him. His mana core was already leagues ahead of what it should be at his age, and now… another step forward.
He clenched his fist, feeling the lingering echoes of his earlier fight coursing through his veins.
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