The silence after the clash was deafening. Not a soul moved. Not even the wind dared to breathe through the grand hall. Aden stood alone in the center, his sword heavy with blood, his crimson aura still lingering in the air like a dying flame.
Lord Verrien writhed at his feet, his severed arm staining the polished marble floor, his breath ragged and shallow. Lord Verrien, once proud and untouchable, now looked up at Aden with a mixture of hatred and disbelief.
The Emperor rose from his throne, his voice slicing through the tension like a whip.
"The duel is over. Victory belongs to Aden Vasco."
His words rang across the court, final and unquestionable. A ripple of murmurs began to spread, but no one dared speak too loudly.
Verrien's lips curled in disgust. "This clearly wasn't a duel," he spat, blood flecking his chin. "He striked me with clear killing intent."
Aden didn't move. Didn't flinch. He simply looked down at him, eyes unreadable.
The Emperor's gaze turned to Verrien, cold and absolute. "You stepped into the circle. You drew your blade. And you lost."
Two knights approached and began lifting Verrien from the ground. His family, seated near the eastern columns, watched with clenched jaws and trembling hands—silent in their disgrace.
All eyes returned to Aden.
Still, he stood motionless, like a monument forged from rage and resolve. The blood on his blade slowly dried, flaking away as the air grew heavy again.
It was done.
But the hall was far from calm.
The silence fractured like glass.
Murmurs turned into whispers, whispers into voices, and soon the entire hall rippled with conversation. Nobles leaned toward one another, fanning themselves with silk-gloved hands, their faces flushed with awe or twisted in unease.
"A red aura… could it be true wrath manifestation?"
"He's barely seventeen…"
"Did you see how he moved? Like a seasoned warrior."
"Just like the Black Knights. No, perhaps even more refined."
The words swirled around Aden like a storm cloud he refused to acknowledge. He could feel it all—envy, fear, admiration, dread—pressing in from every corner of the hall.
From the gallery above, the King of Sael leaned forward slightly, a rare frown etched into his stern face.
"So this is the Vasco heir…" he muttered, more to himself than to his children.
The prince looked down at Aden, eyes narrowed in cautious intrigue. "He could turn out to be a bigger problem in the future."
"It's better we take him to our side," the princess added softly. "Maybe we could use him."
The king let out a low sigh. "A man like that is either a shield—or a sword waiting to fall on someone's neck."
Their conversation faded beneath the rising chatter.
Further along, in the elegantly adorned booth of the Chrono family, a different kind of conversation took place. The Queen leaned into her husband's side, her eyes fixed on Aden's unmoving figure.
"He hasn't changed much," she said softly.
"Not in form," Emperor replied. "But there's something about him now."
Althea Chrono, the princess, turned to her older brother, Clovis. "Brother , You knew him once, didn't you? when you were kids"
Clovis didn't answer immediately. His gaze remained on Aden, a quiet war playing in his mind.
"He used to laugh easily," Clovis finally said. "Challenged me to duels we weren't supposed to fight. He was reckless, but… human."
Althea tilted her head. "And now?"
"Now he looks like someone who's forgotten how to be anything but a weapon."
The Queen gently clasped her son's hand. "Even so, you should speak with him after this. He may still need a friend."
Clovis nodded faintly. But in his heart, he wondered if the Aden Vasco he once knew was already gone.
As the hall gradually returned to its rhythm, one figure rose from the upper dais—measured, quiet, and cold as marble.
Ed Vasco.
His footsteps echoed through the vast chamber, and though no words passed, the crowd instinctively parted for him. Nobles who'd moments ago spoken freely now watched in hushed reverence, some stiffening, others bowing their heads slightly.
He stopped in front of Aden.