The silence that had swallowed the arena after Charles Trévér's death was heavy, not reverent. Not even respectful. It was simply… stunned.
The officiator—an elder wizard robed in obsidian black with a silver sash—stepped into the ring slowly. His wand glowed as he walked, scanning for lingering curses or unstable magic. With a sweep, he ended the enchantments binding the dueling ground. The arena's glow faded, its runes vanishing into dust once more.
Then a ripple moved through the crowd.
Alina Trévér had arrived.
Clad in a blood-red robe stitched with silver threading, her dark heels clacked against the stone as she walked, each step echoing with disdain. Her expression was unreadable at first—until her gaze landed on Charles' body.
She stopped in front of her husband's corpse.
For a moment, she said nothing.
Then, she sneered.
A dry, sharp sound cut through the air—she spat on his body.
Gasps erupted throughout the noble stands. The gathered pure-bloods leaned forward in shock, many of them whispering in disbelief.
Alina turned sharply toward the remaining members of her family, her voice cold as steel.
"Get this waste out of here," she commanded. "Jack his body, burn it, throw it in a dumpster for all I care. He's not going into the Trévér family's sacred grounds. Not after this embarrassment."
No one moved. Not even her cousins.
Then, as if disgusted by their hesitation, she turned her back to the corpse.
The officiator cleared his throat. "As per the terms of the Duel of Honor, the winner is granted the right to declare one condition upon the loser's family. This has been our way since the 14th century. We go by tradition."
Maximilian, leaning against a support column with a blood-soaked bandage wrapped around what remained of his hand, was barely conscious—but his voice cut through the arena like a whip.
"I claim my prize," he rasped. "I want the Trévér family stripped of its noble status. I want every parchment, every vault, every magical privilege they possess removed. Let them be exiled and remembered only as traitors. I want the execution of their legacy."
He raised his wand high with his good hand, blood still dripping from his elbow.
Chaos.
Dozens of voices erupted at once—some in agreement, others shouting in protest. Emma, beside Eira in the stands, narrowed her eyes. "He's going for blood now. That wasn't a demand… that was annihilation."
Fleur held Eira's hand tighter. "They won't accept that. No sane person would accept this kind of outrageous demand."
And indeed, Alina Trévér was already moving.
She strode toward the officiator and hissed through clenched teeth, "I reject the victor's request."
The officiator stiffened. "You cannot reject tradition. That is the rule of this duel, Madame Trévér. You must comply or offer counter-resolution."
Alina's eyes flared. "You want a counter-resolution?"
She raised her chin, turned toward the entire assembly of pure-blood families, and declared:
"Then hear me now. I, Alina Trévér, Head of House Trévér, reject this charade of tradition. The duel may be over, but my family's blood is still on the stone. I will not kneel. I will not surrender. I will pursue vengeance—not compensation. I hereby declare war against the Voclain family. Total war."
"I've had enough of this game of hide and seek," she said coldly, her voice sharp as glass.
Her words boomed through the magically enhanced acoustics of the arena.
The crowd erupted into cries.
Gasps. Boos. Angry shouts. Protest from many of the older families.
One elderly witch from the Belgian line stood and shouted, "Stop this madness! You dishonor the tradition!"
Another wizard from the Scandinavian circle cried, "Enough! France cannot afford a civil war among the noble houses!"
But Alina was unmoved.
Maximilian, barely able to stay upright, sneered from his end of the ring. "So be it. If war is what you want, you'll have it. But let me warn you, Alina—you'll regret this."
She laughed bitterly. "Regret? I regret nothing. You think you won something today? All you did was make this personal."
The officiator tried to intervene. "Perhaps a council can be formed to mediate the outcome—"
"No." Both heads spoke in unison.
On one side, Maximilian.
On the other, Alina.
The officiator sighed. "Then so it is recorded. No resolution. No restoration. No surrender." He turned, wand glowing, and tapped the runes beneath the dueling ring. "Let it be written that the Duel of Honor has failed to produce peace. War has been declared by House Trévér."
At that, silence fell again.
Not even the audience had words.
And then Maximilian collapsed, the blood loss finally taking hold. A squad of white-robed mediwizards rushed to him.
Alina turned her back and began to walk away.
Back in the stands, Isabella Voclain stood beside Eira, arms folded, watching everything unfold with stormy eyes.
Emma whispered to Eira, "It seems this duel did nothing but make the war official—and far more justifiable in the eyes of the public."
"So now, even the law can't stop this," Eira said, her voice eerily calm. "The Ministry won't be able to enforce anything now, for years , duels and honor duels were dismissed as barbaric. But today… even the International Confederation of Wizards may find itself powerless to intervene in a feud like this."
Fleur squeezed her hand again. "Well, it doesn't concern us. This is between them—the two families. It has nothing to do with the rest of the French community. They can destroy each other all they want, as long as they don't drag innocent people into it."
Eira didn't respond. She didn't nod, didn't offer Fleur any agreement.
Because deep down, she was furious. This wasn't the outcome she wanted. The Trévér family hadn't been destroyed—far from it. They had only lost a man said to be powerless, a figure with no true authority. But the real threat, the real force behind it all, was still standing. Alina Trévér—unshaken, untouched, and stronger than ever.