The young Valmere noble stormed into the chamber, throwing the door wide open. His father, Viscount Darien Valmere, sat in a high-backed chair of polished obsidianwood, sipping red wine.
His elder brother lounged lazily near the hearth, polishing a rapier lined with gold.
"Father! Brother! You must hear this!" the brat spat, his voice shrill with indignation.
The viscount arched a brow. "You have returned disheveled and without the herb, I suppose. Explain yourself."
The brat slammed a hand against the desk. "A nobody—filthy, nameless scum from the streets—dared to strike me! He claimed the treasure herb I rightfully found and humiliated me in public! Worse, he commands a summoned wolf-like monstrosity. The crowd saw it! If not for my mercy, I might have been killed!"
The elder brother gave of a slight laugh, sheathing his rapier with a snap.
"Killed? By a commoner? Don't make me choke on your lies. You're saying some gutterborn urchin wields a summon strong enough to rid you of your guards?"
The brat's face reddened. "He wasn't just anyone! He carried himself arrogantly, like some hidden heir! The way he fought.....he has training, I swear!"
Viscount Darien set down his goblet, eyes narrowing. His voice was calm, but sharp as a drawn blade.
"You claim you were disgraced by a commoner and why are you here?"
"Yes! But he'll spread word—"
The viscount cut him off with a sneer. "No. You will spread word. And you will twist the tale to our advantage."
He leaned forward, fingers steepled.
"You will say he was a thief—a foreigner who dared strike a Valmere heir while attempting to sell contraband.
You will claim his beast was summoned through a cursed artifact. When this story spreads, the guilds and merchants will shun him. Even if he has the bearing of a noble, no house will side with a man accused of theft and dark magic."
The elder brother smirked, flicking his rapier in lazy circles. "And if this… upstart shows his face again, I'll cut him down in the square before the city dwellers. Then no one will doubt the superiority of the Valmeres."
The brat brightened, licking his split lip. "Yes… yes, Father. I'll ruin him. By the time the city hears his name, he'll be branded nothing but a dangerous pretender."
The viscount raised his goblet again, voice low and oily.
"Good. Let the rebel frolicking like a lamb waiting for slaughter. This will be delicious."
The late afternoon sun slanted gold across the busy avenue. Adrien walked at a measured pace, his new attire drawing glances from every direction.
Gone was the battered armor caked with dirt and beast blood. In its place: a dark silk tunic trimmed with silver thread, fitted leather boots that clicked softly against the cobblestones, and a long coat of deep indigo stitched with subtle patterns resembling shadowed waves. The ensemble made him look less like a wandering sellsword and more like the heir of some forgotten noble line.
At his side padded Nyxaris, fur sleek after feeding, crimson eyes gleaming like twin rubies in the dusk. The beast's aura alone kept most commoners at bay, but whispers trailed Adrien as he passed.
"Who is he?"
"A young master, surely—no one else would keep a beast like that…"
"Did you see his face?! I could die to marry a man like him!" A maiden tending to a stall gossiped giddily to a fellow woman.
Adrien smirked faintly, hands tucked into his coat pockets. The murmurs gave him a strange feeling rubbing his ego like balm. For once, he wasn't the nameless wanderer fighting for coin in dangerous corners. He was a presence.
At a shop, the owner nearly bowed over herself, hastily offering more fabrics and perfumes than Adrien could stomach.
At the weapon smithy, apprentices whispered nervously but offered respectful nods, recognizing the lingering aura of blood and battle. Even the innkeeper, who only days ago treated him like another broke adventurer, straightened his posture and addressed him as "lord" without hesitation.
Adrien let them talk. He didn't correct them. He didn't need to.
Shade's voice slid into his mind, dry and amused.
"Interesting. Wrap yourself in rich silk and humans and the likes will bow to you like a servant to a god."
Adrien chuckled under his breath. "Let them think what they want. If playing young master gets me doors opened, I won't complain."
Nyxaris rumbled approvingly, brushing against Adrien's leg like a attention seeking puppy.
The day passed with money spent, eyes following, and rumors quietly shifting: a mysterious person, rich in gold appeared in the city and was drawing a lot of un-needed attention.
Adrien could feel it—the faint gaze as the city watching him, weighing him. For now, he enjoyed it.
But far across the district, in gilded halls of schemers, the Valmere lies began to slither.
....
-A week later
The stone amphitheater was overflowing. Merchants, guards, even adventurers crowded the steps, all drawn by the scandal: the mysterious newcomer who dared lock horns with noble House Valmere.
At the center of the arena, Adrien stood relaxed, coat drifting slightly in the breeze, his blade resting casually against his shoulder. Nyxaris lounged at the arena's edge, crimson eyes glowing like banked coals.
Across from him posed Darius Valmere, elder son of the Viscount. Unlike his bratty younger brother, Darius carried himself with the air of a duelist who had tasted real combat. His polished rapier gleamed, his armor was light but fitted, and his family's crest was proudly displayed.
The younger brat sat smugly with his father in the noble's box, pointing down at Adrien as if he had already secured victory.
"That peasant will crawl today," the boy sneered.
"Let him taste the weight of our family's honor," the Viscount replied, eyes sharp.
Fenrik and Galvir had claimed seats not far from the common rabble, uninterested in currying noble favor. Fenrik leaned on his cane, looking wholly unimpressed.
"Fools," he muttered, voice gravelly. "They think bloodlines win duels. Adrien's killed more beasts this week than that noble whelp has seen in his life."
Galvir smirked but shook his head. "Public opinion will never side with him. Nobles see a vagabond in fine clothes, and the people follow. Even if Adrien wins, they'll twist it."
Fenrik spat. "Let them. We don't care about court gossip."
A herald's voice rang out, amplified by arcane glyphs.
"By challenge of honor, Darius Valmere of House Valmere faces… Adrien Ashblade!"
The crowd erupted. Some jeered, some cheered, most leaned toward Darius's victory.
Adrien rolled his neck and gave a faint smirk, speaking under his breath.
"Shade… this'll be fun."
"Indeed," the system spirit purred.
The duel began.
Darius lunged, rapier flashing with practiced precision—faster than the brat Adrien had swatted earlier. The crowd gasped.
But Adrien only stepped back, dodging the sword in time, his movements too fluid, too sharp. His coat flared dramatically, making him look every bit the young master the crowd whispered about.
With one lazy motion, Adrien's Umbral Construct bloomed, a black blade of pure shadow crossing his real weapon to parry. Sparks hissed as steel met void.
The crowd roared.
"Is that sorcery?!"
"Some forbidden trick!"
"No—he's trained. Look how calm he is!"
Adrien's eyes narrowed, voice low and sardonic.
"Not bad. But you're telegraphing every strike. You duel nobles. I hunt beasts."
Darius snarled, embarrassed by Adrien's casual tone, and unleashed a rapid flurry. Adrien flowed between strikes, mana clinging to his sword ready for his next spell. With Phantom Echo, a blur of shadow misdirected the noble's thrust, leaving his chest exposed.
Adrien smashed his strengthened sword into Darius , driving it deep into his gut—enough to make him cough in pain
The amphitheater fell silent.
Darius froze, fury in his eyes, pride burning hotter than pain.
Adrien tilted his head, smirking faintly. "Surrender before you embarrass yourself further. I don't have time to play with children."
The insult cut deeper than the blade. Darius's face twisted, but before he could charge again, his father's voice boomed from the noble's box:
"ENOUGH!"
The Viscount's eyes burned into Adrien, cold and hateful. The brat beside him smirked with venom, already plotting how to twist this outcome.
Adrien lowered his blade, shadows dispersing with a whisper, then turned his back on Darius as if the duel had been nothing more than a chore.
The crowd erupted again, split between awe and outrage.
Fenrik barked a laugh. "Hah! That boy's walking a path that nobles won't soon forget."
Galvir only grinned. "That was barely a duel, more like a confrontation between opposing forces.
Adrien, unbothered, walked off with Nyxaris at his side, cloak flowing. He hadn't won the duel. He had humiliated it.