The battle raged like a storm, a hundred skirmishes blooming and dying across the arena. But amidst the chaos, one man moved with purpose.
The Emperor leaned forward slightly, a glint of admiration in his usually unreadable gaze.
"Look at him," he murmured. "Like a war-born commander… A man shaped by fire and blood."
Aden Vasco danced across the battlefield, issuing swift commands, reading enemy formations like open scrolls.
His strikes were decisive, his evasion flawless, as if he had fought this very war a thousand times before. His movements weren't those of a prodigy—they were the movements of a veteran.
A new wave of formations surged toward him—spear lines bolstered by mages and shield bearers. It was a full press meant to smother even the most formidable.
But Aden halted his advance for just a breath, then turned to his allies.
"Stay back," he ordered calmly. "Clear the corpses. That's all. I will lead this to the end."
There was no protest.
The seven knights of the Bastion obeyed, falling back to sweep the battlefield clean. They understood. This was no longer a battle of numbers. This was Aden's war.
And so, he surged forward again, breaking lines, slipping between shield walls, cutting through illusion spells, dodging synchronized assaults by inches. Bodies fell in his wake, blood scattering like petals. He was untouchable—
Until finally, the field parted.
And she stood before him.
Lady Veris.
Clad in obsidian armor lined with silver filigree, her rapier drawn. Her expression was like porcelain—elegant and unyielding.
"You came far," she said, voice cool and poised.
Aden didn't respond. He simply raised his sword.
Their clash cracked like thunder.
The duel between Aden and Lady Veris was a spectacle even the gods would pause to witness. Her blade flashed with relentless precision—flicking, lunging, dancing with surgical grace. Aden, however, didn't meet her with raw power.
He flowed around her strikes.
He ducked under a horizontal slash, rolled past a stab aimed at his ribs, parried a crescent arc that whistled past his throat. His focus was unbreakable, gaze locked on her footwork, her feints, her timing.
Then it came to him.
"You're skilled," he said quietly, stepping to the side just before her blade kissed his shoulder. "But you're not enough."
Veris scoffed, sweat beading down her brow. "Is evasion all the great Aden Vasco has to offer? Hiding behind this pretty footwork?"
Aden's eyes narrowed.
Egmund gave a light smirk.
The shadows behind him quivered.
And then—Fear erupted.
Egmund's Authority was released at full force.
The entire arena went silent. Not just hushed—still. The sand stopped shifting. The air froze. Even the magic sigils from monitoring devices flickered.
Lady Veris staggered, her rapier trembling in her grip.
"W-What… is this?" she whispered.
The air around them forze, the countless people watching the battle quivered in fear before the power witnessed by them.
The air was crushed by the pressure of Fear.
Deep inside her, she knew that the battle was over, if she rose to fight him, it would mean certain death.
She dropped her weapon.
Then her knees buckled.
"Don't move," Aden said, voice calm, sword lowered but poised.
"if you try and do anything funny, i'll kill you."
Hands raised in surrender, she tried to speak through quivering lips. "If you spare me, Vasco… the Veris family will not retaliate. We will not go to war with you. I swear it… ... we will leave the Vasco family alo---"
That was all it took.
A flash of silver.
Her arms fell to the blood-streaked ground, flopping like dead branches.
She screamed.
But before her agony could echo too far—Aden's sword carved one clean stroke across her throat. The scream died with a gurgle.
Lady Veris collapsed, lifeless.
Aden stood above her body.
There was no anger in his eyes.
Only message
This was not a punishment. It was a warning.
To all watching, in the stands or behind magical screens. To all nobles and knights. To the Twelve Seats.