The throne room smelled of wax and aged tapestries; sunlight filtered through the high windows, casting golden lines across the polished marble. Laurence Douglas, his cloak still dusted from the road, knelt before King Felipe. In his hand he held a small leather case—the evidence—but its weight was symbolic, nearly unbearable.

  "Your Majesty," he said gravely, his voice echoing through the chamber. "I have confirmed that the primary culprits behind the treason are the Denisse family. But they are not alone. Three other houses are involved: the Sneider, the Brown, and the Armett. All maintain ties to the Empire."

  King Felipe sank slowly into his throne, covering his face with one hand. Though the crown was light, it seemed to crush him.

  "What a disaster," he muttered, frustration tightly restrained. "Four families… at a time like this. I should have expected such foolishness."

  Laurence did not reply at once. His silence weighed heavier than any accusation. The Douglases rarely spoke more than necessary. The king knew this—and it unsettled him.

  "How do you intend to proceed?" Felipe finally asked, striving for authority, though caution tinged his voice.

  Laurence raised his head, gray eyes cold as steel."The Denisse are mine, Your Majesty. My son died by their hand, and I will eradicate them myself. The fate of the other families is yours to decide."

  The king nodded, yet Laurence did not move.

  "There is more," he added calmly. "The Denisse appear to have dealings with the demonic cult. I lack conclusive proof—for now—but I will have it soon."

  Silence stretched so tight that the crackle of a candle sounded like thunder. Felipe studied him, fully aware of what those words implied. The Douglases did not speak lightly; when they named a threat, they had already resolved to eliminate it.

  "Our house has served the kingdom since its founding," Laurence continued. "We are the sword that cuts through darkness so the crown may shine. We will act as we always have—without noise, without warning."

  The king narrowed his eyes, uneasy. When the Douglases "acted in silence," the kingdom's enemies simply… vanished. And at times, so did allies who had strayed too far.

  "Laurence," the king warned softly, "remember that only I decide to whom the kingdom's justice applies."

  A faint smile touched Laurence's lips."Of course, Your Majesty. But remember… our sword serves not men, but the kingdom."

  Without awaiting permission, he turned and departed.

  His footsteps echoed across the marble like an ancient oath, reminding the king that—even upon his throne—there were forces within the realm that did not wholly belong to him.

  The sun blazed over the training grounds, gilding the sand in golden flashes. Apprentices paused to watch. At the center, Lusian held his sword calmly, facing Adel Douglas—Adela's twin brother—whose expression was firm, pride gleaming in his eyes.

  "My lord, with your permission… I wish to fight properly and prove my strength," Adel said, bowing respectfully before assuming his stance.

  Lusian gave a slight nod."Very well. Show me how strong you've become."

  Steel clashed, ringing across the arena. Adel advanced with vigor, blade cutting the air with precision. Blow after blow sought an opening, but Lusian deflected each strike with measured, almost elegant movements. His breathing remained steady; his gaze anticipated every motion, as if he could read the rhythm of the fight itself.

  Frowning, Adel stepped back. With a twist of his wrist, he summoned a magic circle beneath his feet; the air grew dense and damp. From his blade erupted a compressed arc of water, sharp enough to cleave a man in two.

  A murmur rippled through the crowd.

  Lusian waited until the final instant. A dark glint flashed in his eyes; he shifted sideways almost instinctively, the watery slash grazing his shoulder before shattering the ground behind him.

  Before Adel could recover, Lusian channeled dark mana into his sword. An ethereal beam shot from the blade toward Adel's left flank while Lusian himself moved right, striking from a second angle. Adel blocked the physical blow, but the mana struck him squarely, forcing a groan as he staggered.

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  Lusian wasted no time. With one fluid motion, he brought the edge of his sword to Adel's throat.

  Silence fell over the arena.

  "Well done. You're quite skilled, Adel," Lusian said, withdrawing his blade with a faint smile.

  Adel drew a deep breath, still stunned by his lord's speed. He knelt, head bowed."Thank you, my lord… I am unworthy of such praise."

  For a moment, only the wind could be heard.

  Throughout the week, the academy's arenas witnessed relentless duels. Among the most discussed was Jean's match against Walker Wall, newly promoted to Class A. Walker fought fiercely to prove himself, but within a few exchanges, the gap was undeniable. The power and experience of an intermediate legionnaire overwhelmed him. Jean claimed victory without arrogance, letting his performance speak for itself.

  Across campus, the mages' arena thrummed with a different tension.

  Emily faced Melodi Denisse, the fourteenth-ranked mage of the academy. Many expected Emily to fall quickly; some even wagered against her. But when her magic circles ignited, the air shifted. Pure, trembling light rose above her, condensing overhead.

  Then, a rain of radiant bolts descended like divine judgment.

  Melodi attempted a barrier, but the assault shattered it, leaving her stunned. The silence that followed was heavy with awe—everyone knew they had witnessed something extraordinary.

  Emily stepped down from the platform, sweat lining her brow, breathing uneven but triumphant. Then she saw him—Lusian in the stands.

  "Congratulations on your victory, Emily. You've perfected the spell. You're a very talented mage," he said warmly.

  "Thank you, Lusian. I didn't know you were coming to support me," she replied, gratitude softening her voice.

  "Of course. I wanted to witness your victory. I knew you'd win. You'll be one of the best this year."

  A blush crept across her cheeks."I'll try to meet your expectations. You won't be disappointed if I lose someday, will you?"

  "Of course not," he answered with a rare, genuine smile. "Even defeat is part of growth. What matters is giving your best and learning from every challenge."

  Soon after, Elizabeth stepped onto the platform with poised elegance. Before assuming her stance, her gaze drifted instinctively toward the stands.

  There was Lusian, standing beside Emily, leaning close, saying something that made her laugh.

  A sharp pang crossed Elizabeth's chest. Not jealousy—at least that was what she told herself—but something bitter, unfamiliar. She buried it beneath pride and looked forward.

  "Elizabeth Erkhan versus Nora Rymer! Begin!" the judge called.

  Lightning exploded across the arena. Nora launched a chain of thunderbolts, but Elizabeth deflected them gracefully, drawing a crackling arc through the air.

  Something in her had shifted.

  Her movements were faster, her attacks more aggressive; the mana around her vibrated with restrained fury. She gathered electricity into her palm, forming a roaring orb of wild power. With a single motion, she hurled it.

  The blast shook the banners. When the light faded, Nora knelt, unable to continue.

  "Victory for Elizabeth Douglas!"

  The crowd roared. Elizabeth barely heard it. Her eyes searched the stands.

  Lusian met her gaze and gave a subtle nod, as though sharing a secret.

  A mischievous spark curved her lips. She answered with a proud, coquettish smile as a flicker of lightning briefly illuminated the space between them.

  Three days after Laurence's meeting with King Felipe, an ominous silence settled over the region.

  Noah Armett listened rigidly as Sofía declared the conditions: his army would fall under Douglas command, and Isabella would be handed over to them. Pride burned within him, but surrender was inevitable.

  Then came the unexpected—Laurence declared war on the Denisse.

  The news struck Tomas Denisse like lightning. He had expected a wrathful man bent on crushing the Armett. Instead, he faced a cold strategist who had dismantled his plans with precision.

  "Human… you've made your choice, haven't you?" Bragoz's deep voice echoed through the chamber.

  "If I make a deal with you… will you fulfill my desires?" Tomas asked, barely steady.

  "That depends on your actions," the demon replied. "If you truly desire power, I can grant it."

  "I need more than power. I need troops. My family is on the brink of extinction."

  "Give me sacrifices—human lives—and you shall command an unstoppable army."

  Tomas felt a chill crawl down his spine."I can provide what you ask… but I have only thirty days before the Douglases attack."

  The countdown to war had begun.

  Back at the academy, whispers followed Lusian through the classroom. Corwin Armett stood before him, arms crossed, anger and fear clashing in his eyes.

  "So that was your plan," Corwin accused. "You wanted to keep my sister for yourself."

  "I won't tolerate misunderstandings," Lusian replied coolly.

  Before the confrontation escalated, Umber lifted Corwin effortlessly off the ground. Lusian continued walking, ignoring the murmurs. To others, his act of protection looked depraved—not brave.

  Emily slid into the seat beside him.

  "So… that was your solution?" she asked gently.

  "I know I'll be judged," Lusian sighed. "But I did what I believed was right. Thank you for seeing that."

  She smiled faintly."By the way… could you call Umber? Corwin's suffocating under him."

  Once freed, Corwin collapsed into his seat, humiliated.

  "Do not disrespect me again," Lusian said coldly. "Even in the academy, you should know your place."

  Silence settled over the room.

  Lusian closed his eyes briefly, a dull ache throbbing at his temple. Acting as the original Lusian drained him more than any duel or spell.

  For a fleeting moment, he longed for something simple and safe—for the days when he could sit in his room, turn on his computer, and forget the world for a few hours.