"I demand that if you lose, you will break your engagement with Emilia," Lucas said.
The words hung in the air, a shocking, foolish demand. The room fell into a heavy silence again.
The instructor, a man of unflappable composure, had no words for such a brazen act of idiocy. His mouth was a thin, tight line. Every student, even my inner circle, was frozen.
This was a line you simply didn't cross.
You didn't gamble with a noble's betrothal. You didn't use a person as currency. Lucas, in his desperate fury, had just stepped off a cliff.
I chuckled, shaking my head. The sound was low, a single, amused puff of air that seemed to mock the solemnity of the moment. "Well, just give them a finger, and they go for the whole hand…" I muttered to myself. This was exactly the kind of unscripted chaos I had been waiting for.
"Lucas, what the hell are you saying?!" That voice wasn't mine—it was Emilia's.
She had pushed through the crowd, her face a mask of disbelief and anger. Her eyes, usually so soft and gentle, were blazing.
I held up a hand, stopping her advance. "Yes, Lucas, even Emilia thinks so. What kind of fuc— I mean, absurd things are you saying? Are you even in the right state of mind?" I made sure to send a look of mock concern toward the instructor.
"I am perfectly in my right mind," he said firmly, his voice cracking with the strain of holding himself together. "And I'm doing this for her."
I raised a brow, lips curling into a smirk. "Huh, really? And why's that? Are you saying that breaking our engagement would somehow do her a favor?" I took a slow step forward, closing the distance between us. The crowd held its breath.
This wasn't a duel anymore; it was a psychological dismantling. "Let me guess. You believe I'm some kind of monster, and by freeing her, you're saving her from a fate worse than death?"
I chuckled darkly, shaking my head. The act was so delicious, so simple and perfect. "I think this boy's going full retard. Someone take him to a psychiatrist before he hurts himself."
"Stop mocking me!" Lucas snapped, his voice shaking with fury.
"Oh my…" I tilted my head, feigning pity.
"Everyone here might be blind to your true nature, but not me. I see you for what you are—a vile monster hiding behind a mask. And all I'm doing… is freeing her from the chains of a devil like you!"
"Lucas, stop this!" Emilia's voice cracked with desperation, a sound so raw it made me feel a flicker of something close to guilt. She was caught in the crossfire, and she didn't deserve it. "What's wrong with you today? Please, just stop it!"
I sighed, scratching the back of my head. "Hash… man, Lucas. Why are you so delusional? But fine, let's set that nonsense aside. Let's just say I accept your ridiculous condition. What's your end of the bargain? What price tag are you putting on your side?"
"Not you, Evan! Why are you encouraging him?" Emilia's voice cracked, caught between anger and desperation. She was pleading with me, her eyes begging me to put an end to this farce. But I only chuckled, unable to resist the sheer absurdity of it all. This situation was getting better by the second.
"If I lose," Lucas finally said, his voice a low, burning whisper, "I'll promise never to show you my face again, and I'll never interfere with you."
"Wow." My lips curved into a smile, a slow, predatory thing that was meant for him and him alone. His offer was so grand, so noble in his mind.
"And… I'll also leave the academy as compensation."
I slowly clapped my hands, the sound echoing like mock applause in the heavy air. "Lucas, Lucas, my stupid friend. Do you really think leaving the academy—or anything else you just said—is something I'd care about? Do you really think that would affect me in any way?"
I leaned forward slightly, lowering my voice so only he could hear. I was no longer a performer, but a puppeteer pulling at his strings. "You just demanded something precious from me without even considering Emilia's permission—thinking you had every right to decide her future. Then it's only fair I demand something precious from you as well."
His eyes flickered with unease, but I didn't let him speak. I was in control of this conversation, this entire scene. "If I win, Lucas…" I let the pause drag, savoring the weight of it, "…you will abandon your mother."
The words were like a physical blow. Lucas's eyes widened, a flicker of something unreadable—shock, disbelief, pain—passing through them.
Emilia gasped, covering her mouth, and even the instructor stiffened—but he didn't intervene. He was a man of strict rules and customs, and this had just become a matter far beyond his jurisdiction.
"See?" I said, my voice sharp but calm. "That's the kind of absurdity I felt when I heard you, Lucas. Think about it next time before you run your mouth." I turned, walking past him. "If you're still considering that nonsense, I'll take the fight. Otherwise, I'm done wasting my time."
I was already halfway across the hall, leaving the stupid man behind, when—
"I acce—"
The word stopped me mid-step. I turned instinctively.
"What did you say?"
"I said…" Lucas straightened, his voice louder now, trembling but resolute. "I accept."
For a moment, silence pressed in around us. I raised a hand to my face, letting it cover my expression.
To them, it looked like annoyance. In truth, I was hiding the twisted grin threatening to crawl up my lips.
A smile no one should see. I had set a trap, a stupid, unbelievable trap, and he had walked right into it. This was the unscripted chaos I had been craving, and now, it was finally here. The hero, the commoner, had just gambled away the only thing he had left.
"...Hah. Let's just get this over with," I finally said after a long moment, my voice carrying more weariness than resolve.
The game was over. All that was left was the victory.
I stepped toward the dueling arena, each footfall echoing louder than it should. The others trailed after me, their own matches long forgotten. Who cared about their fights? When drama like this unfolded, nothing else mattered.
I finally stood in the ring. My steps had carried me here, and now Lucas and the instructor joined as well. It seemed even the teacher had given up, leaving the resolution in our hands. He was a spectator now, like everyone else.
I rolled my shoulders and stretched my side, more to test the stiffness in my body than anything else. That's when Emilia hurried up to me.
"Evan… are you really doing this?" she asked, her voice carrying both worry and disbelief. She was looking at me, her eyes pleading for a reason, any reason at all, to make sense of this.
"You're asking the wrong person, Ema. It's that boy who started all this," I replied flatly, flicking a glance toward Lucas. "But don't worry. I'll finish it. So you don't have to worry about me."
"That's not… what I'm worried about," she murmured, her eyes lowering. "I'm worried about what you're doing to him. To Lucas. And to yourself."
"Then what?" I pressed, catching her gaze for a moment. Her eyes were full of a painful, complicated empathy. But she looked away.
"Can you please reconsider your demand—it's too cruel."
"Emilia." My voice cut sharp, intercepting hers. "Maybe you should go to the sidelines and watch. The match is about to start."
Emilia lingered there, hesitant, her lips parting as if she wanted to argue again.
But in the end, she only lowered her gaze and gave a small, reluctant nod before slowly retreating to join the others. She was still a noble. She knew when a line had been drawn, and she knew she couldn't cross it.
"…Tch. Why am I getting irritated now?" I muttered under my breath. My eyes shifted to my opponent. Lucas stood opposite me, sword in hand, his face etched with resolve. The fear was gone.
The desperation was gone. All that remained was a burning, hateful determination.
I exhaled and rolled my shoulders into position. Enough talking.
The instructor stepped forward, voice carrying across the arena. He looked tired, but he had a job to do.
"The duel will be held between Evan Ravenshade and Lucas Stout. The conditions are simple: the one who yields, or the one unable to continue, shall be declared the loser—and must accept the victor's demand."
The instructor words echoed across the arena, and the atmosphere grew taut, anticipation pressing down like a storm about to break.
"There will be no mana, no aura, and no elemental arts in this match. Only weapons and raw strength shall decide the outcome."
A hush fell, the crowd leaning forward.
"Then, without further ado… the match—begins!"
As the signal rang, we moved simultaneously—no hesitation, no wasted motion.
I lunged forward with my spear, grip tightening as I swung it in a wide arc, treating the shaft like a blade. The air whistled sharply at its edge. I was a force of nature, a controlled storm. I knew exactly where his blade would go, where his feet would be planted. I had watched him fight, and I knew his every weakness.
Lucas met me head-on, his sword flashing upward in response. Steel collided against steel.
Clang! Sparks burst from the impact, scattering like fireflies in the dim light. The force of the collision sent a tremor up my arm, but it was Lucas who faltered.
His posture wavered for just a moment—his knees dipping, his stance flickering with strain. He was weaker. The difference in our training, our upbringing, was clear in every muscle.
"Tch…" I caught the shift instantly, the weakness flashing like a beacon.
He recovered quickly, teeth clenched, pushing back with all his strength to steady himself. He had heart, I'd give him that. But heart wasn't enough against skill.
I didn't give him a chance to breathe. The longer you let the so-called main character stand, the more the story bends in their favor. I wasn't about to play along.
Closing the distance in a heartbeat, I spun the spear and swung its back end like a hammer.
Thud! The strike crashed against his sword, forcing him back a step. The dull sound of the impact was so satisfying.
Lucas gritted his teeth and retaliated, his blade cutting toward me in a desperate arc. I caught it on my shaft, locked it down, and pushed through his guard with brute force. My knee shot forward, ramming into his abdomen.
"Guh—!" His breath exploded out in a ragged gasp.
I didn't stop. My elbow snapped upward, smashing into the bridge of his nose.
Crack!
Blood spattered. Lucas staggered, his eyes wide with shock. He felt that one.
"What, man? All that drama and still nothing worth replying to." I smirked, mocking him. This was too easy.
"AAAAA!" Lucas roared, hurling himself at me, a wild, cornered animal.
I braced, spear ready, keeping him at mid-range. Sparks scattered across the grand ring as steel clashed, every strike echoing like thunder. This time, he was faster, more aggressive.
He forced his way inside my guard, his desperation giving him a surprising amount of speed.
He kicked out. I caught the blow on my arm.
"Quite a kick," I muttered, before ramming my forehead into his.
Crack!
"—Ouch. Okay, maybe not doing that again," I winced, shaking off the sting. It was a stupid move, but the sight of his head snapping back was worth the dull ache in mine.
Pulling back, I lashed out with a flurry of precise spear swings. First, second, third—blocked. He was a stubborn one, I'd give him that. But the fourth came low, a sharp curve that punched straight into his side.
"Well, that's enough. I'll consider my deal—"
I stopped.
Because Lucas didn't.
Even bleeding, even staggering, he moved like a man possessed. The hesitation was gone. The shame was gone. The only thing left was pure, unadulterated hatred. His blade cut the air with a speed and weight I hadn't felt from him before. He wasn't a noble. He was a survivor.
I raised my spear, blocked one strike—then another slipped past.
A white-hot sting sliced across my cheek.
I froze, fingertips brushing the fresh line of blood. The warmth of it was a shock.
He had actually touched me. He had left a mark. My grin faded, a cold, hard line replacing it.
"...Now I'm pissed."