Much to my astonishnt—and mild relief—the New Year's Party concluded without the catastrophic drama that had seed inevitable. I had braced myself for chaos, particularly where Cecilia was concerned, but it appeared that the presence of her father had kept her sches safely under wraps. Perhaps even Cecilia Slatemark had her limits.
As the evening wound down and the opulence of the Creighton estate began to quiet, the guests, one by one, began preparing to leave. The parents, titans of their respective realms, made their final rounds, exchanging asured pleasantries and calculated farewells that seed more like diplomatic negotiations than casual goodbyes.
Marcus Viserion approached first, his golden eyes gleaming with what might have been amusent—or the subtle pressure of expectation. "You need to co visit the South one day, Arthur," he said, his hand clapping down on my shoulder with the weight of a man who wrestled dragons for fun. "Fighting against the dark beasts will be valuable experience for you."
"Thank you for the kind offer, King Marcus," I replied, bowing slightly. "I will certainly visit the Viserion estate in the future."
It wasn't just politeness. I ant it. After all, I would eventually need to et Tiamat, the Radiant dragon who protected the South. Though "eting" a creature like that was a bit like saying you'd "et" a hurricane. It wasn't so much a eting as a fervent hope you'd survive the encounter.
Arden Windward, the Dark King himself, stepped forward next, his piercing gaze practically weighing like a jeweler inspecting an uncut gem. "I hear your swordsmanship is quite refined," he said, his tone sharp but not unkind.
"Thank you, Your Majesty," I replied, bowing again, though I couldn't help but feel like I was being appraised.
His thoughtful silence lingered long enough to make uncomfortable, but then, finally, he spoke again. "If you defeat Lucifer and claim Rank 1 this year, you may choose any treasure from the Windward vault that isn't currently in use."
The room stilled. I wasn't sure if I'd heard him correctly. Around , there were audible gasps, as though the very air had been punched in the stomach. Even Lucifer, who was rarely ruffled, turned toward his father, his usually confident expression flickering with disbelief.
I, anwhile, felt as though soone had dumped a bucket of cold water over my head. Any treasure from the Windward treasury? That wasn't just a casual incentive. That was a challenge with teeth. The Windward vault was legendary, containing artifacts of unimaginable power, including several Legendary-rank items. These weren't just trinkets. They were the kind of artifacts that chose their masters, that carried histories longer and bloodier than most nations.
"Father?" Lucifer's voice, uncharacteristically uncertain, broke through the silence.
"What?" Arden's tone was almost mocking, his sharp gaze flicking to his son. "Do you think you will lose?"
Lucifer's erald eyes locked onto mine, his jaw tightening. He was gauging , probably reassessing my abilities—or lack thereof. After a mont, he shook his head, his confidence reasserting itself like a fla catching wind. "No. I will win."
Of course, he believed that. And why wouldn't he? Right now, even Rachel would struggle against Ren, and I was still a step behind her. The gap between Lucifer and was a chasm. To him, the idea of catching up in just a few months probably seed absurd. To anyone else, it would have been.
But not to . I'd closed impossible gaps before, and I would do it again. Especially now that I had another reason: the chance to claim an artifact from the Windward vault. The weight of Arden's offer wasn't lost on —it was as much a declaration of faith in Lucifer as it was a challenge to .
Alastor, ever the diplomat, broke the tension with a laugh that echoed warmly through the room. "I never thought I'd see the day Arden Windward wagered sothing like this. What's gotten into you?"
"Is it that surprising?" Arden retorted, though there was a faint smirk on his lips. "I simply wish to reward Arthur if he proves himself worthy of the title of the greatest genius of this generation by defeating my son."
The arrogance in his tone was palpable, but it wasn't the mindless bluster of soone underestimating their opponent. Arden wasn't careless. He was daring , challenging to rise to the occasion. But even in his confidence, there was an unspoken understanding: this wasn't just about . It was about Lucifer, too. Pushing him further, harder, until he beca sothing untouchable.
The conversation shifted, but the weight of the challenge lingered. Quinn, ever the quiet observer, finally spoke, his crimson gaze sharp with intrigue. "You've certainly made things more interesting, Arden. The Sovereign's Tournant will be worth watching this year."
"I hope it remains a tournant and not sothing else entirely," Alastor muttered, his tone half-joking but half-serious.
Quinn shrugged. "Friendly competition can be healthy. As long as it stays... friendly."
Marcus chuckled, though his golden eyes flicked to with a glint of curiosity. "Friendly or not, I suspect Arthur will make the finals very interesting."
It was only after the parents began departing that the atmosphere lightened again. Marcus bid a farewell with another hearty pat on the shoulder, and Arden's parting words were a simple but pointed, "Don't disappoint."
Cecilia gave a lingering look before licking her lips in a way that made my skin crawl. That family truly had a knack for unsettling theatrics.
"Are you going to leave?" Rachel asked as the last echoes of the party faded into the vast halls of the estate. It was just the three of us now—Rachel, Aria, and .
"We've got tickets for the morning flight," I replied. "So I suppose we can stay here tonight, right?"
Rachel's face lit up like the chandeliers above us. "Of course! No hotel compares to this place."
She wasn't wrong. The Creighton estate wasn't just luxury; it was an architectural declaration of dominance. The kind of place that could make even a seven-star hotel look like a quaint bed-and-breakfast in comparison.
"Well then, the ladies can get settled in," Alastor said with an easy smile, his tone still warm and welcoming. "anwhile, Arthur, why don't we have a chat?"
"Okay!" Rachel chid, her hand already tugging Aria's arm. "Co on, Aria. Let's get you settled."
I watched them walk off, Rachel's golden hair swaying behind her, Aria's chatter a distant murmur. But as soon as they disappeared around the corner, Alastor's expression shifted. The warm fatherly exterior lted away, replaced by sothing cold and calculating.
The temperature seed to drop several degrees, the air around us suddenly heavier. His piercing blue eyes locked onto , and I felt it—a crushing, invisible weight that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
How could I have forgotten, even for a second? The man standing before wasn't just Rachel's father. He was one of the most powerful individuals on the planet, both in strength and influence. A low Radiant-rank Archmage. A man who could obliterate with less effort than it took to raise an eyebrow.
"Arthur," Alastor said as he began to walk, his steps echoing ominously through the empty hall. "My daughter, Rachel, is a kind soul. But make no mistake—kindness is not the sa as naivety. Rachel is far from naive. She sees people for what they truly are. Those she allows close to her… they're good people. No question."
His gaze bore into , and I felt like a bug pinned under a magnifying glass. "And you, Arthur Nightingale, are a good man. Talented. Hardworking. Smart. Kind." He paused, his voice carrying the faintest hint of amusent. "Of course, I'm basing this assessnt entirely on the fact that my daughter chose to get close to you. She has impeccable judgnt."
I didn't respond, sensing he wasn't finished. This wasn't a conversation. This was a verdict being delivered.
"I don't believe in rushing things," Alastor continued, his tone softening just a fraction. "Rushing is idiotic. It leads to mistakes, and mistakes in our world are… expensive." He exhaled slowly, his expression thoughtful. "But I also don't believe in wasting ti. So let's not dance around it. I'll make you an offer."
He stopped walking, turning to face fully. His eyes glead with a quiet intensity that made my stomach knot.
"Surpass Lucifer Windward."
The words hit like a bolt of lightning. My mind stumbled over them, trying to make sense of what he'd just said. Surpass Lucifer? The sa Lucifer Windward who was widely acknowledged as the greatest genius humanity had seen since Emperor Julius? The sa Lucifer who was practically Alastor's son, raised and ntored by him alongside Rachel?
"I—" I started, but he cut off with a raised hand.
"You're surprised," he said, his tone matter-of-fact. "That's fair. I've been Lucifer's greatest supporter since the day I t him. I've taught him spells and techniques that even so of my own family haven't learned. I've defended him. Trained him. Raised him. And yet…" He paused, his expression darkening. "Lucifer Windward is not the person who should be the Second Hero."
The weight of his words settled heavily in the air. My breath caught in my throat. The Second Hero. The title wasn't just symbolic. It was a prophecy, a destiny that lood over our generation like an unscalable mountain.
"I don't bla him," Alastor continued, his voice quieter now, tinged with sothing that might have been regret. "But he's… warped. Not irredeemably so, but enough that it worries . He's capable, yes. Unstoppably so. But my daughter? Rachel? She wouldn't be happy with him."
I blinked, the full weight of his aning hitting . Was this about Rachel?
"I'm not asking for miracles," Alastor said, his tone sharp again. "I'm asking for you to surpass him. And I will help you. As long as you show you're willing to climb that mountain."
"But why?" The words slipped out before I could stop them. "Why ?"
Alastor's expression softened, just for a mont. "Because I see in you what I once saw in myself. The drive to be more, to be better. And because Rachel sees sothing in you. I trust her judgnt."
I swallowed hard, the enormity of his words settling in my chest like a boulder. This wasn't just about power or rivalry. This was about legacy. About trust. About Rachel.
Alastor straightened, his gaze unyielding. "You don't have to answer now. But think about it. Because if you accept, you'll have my full support. And if you don't…" He trailed off, letting the unspoken implications hang in the air.
I nodded, my throat dry. "I'll think about it."
"Good." His tone lightened, the warmth returning to his eyes. "Now, get so rest. Tomorrow is a new day, Arthur. And if you're serious about this… it's going to be a long road."
As he walked away, the weight of his presence lifted, leaving alone in the quiet hall. My thoughts were a tangled ss, but one thing was clear: Alastor Creighton had just handed a challenge that would define the rest of my life.
And I could't refuse the offer.
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