The arena was a mess.
Chunks of marble lay scattered across the ground, the once-pristine floor now cracked and smoking in places. Pillars of ice jutted out at odd angles, cutting through scorch marks and splatters of blood. The air was thick with the smell of ozone and burned mana, sharp, metallic, alive.
And there I was.
Standing at the center of it all, calm as ever, four blades pressing lightly against my neck. The knights who held them were shaking not much, but enough for me to notice. Sweat beaded on their foreheads, their eyes darting between each other like they weren't sure if I'd explode or just laugh.
I smiled. Not the smug kind. Just... friendly.
"Easy there," I said, tilting my head slightly, feeling the edge of a sword follow the motion. "You'll cut me if you keep shaking like that."
No one answered.
Can't really blame them. The arena looked like the aftermath of a small war, and I was the only one still standing.
The prince was somewhere under that pile of shattered ice. Probably alive. Hopefully.
I let out a quiet sigh, glancing up at the ruined stands. The nobles were sitting there watching with wide eyes.
Now, before you get the wrong idea...
I closed my eyes, the smile never leaving my lips.
"To understand how I ended up like this, you need to know what happened after that useless prince decided to duel me."
And just like that, the memory started bleeding back in.
The banquet.
The challenge.
And the moment I went a little overboard.
---
"I, Vincent von Velkaris, challenge you," the prince declared, his voice booming through the hall, dripping with self-importance.
"To a duel!"
The orchestra stilled mid-note. Forks froze halfway to mouths. Dozens of noble eyes darted between us like spectators waiting for blood.
I stared down at the glove lying on the polished marble, then up at him, then back at the glove again.
Was this idiot serious?
In my head, Bastard gave a low chuckle.
{You really should've seen this coming.}
I leaned back in my chair, resting one arm over the backrest and taking a slow sip of wine, pretending the glove didn't even exist. "Right. A duel," I muttered. "How original."
Then, instead of dignifying His Royal Ego with a response, I turned to Belle.
"What's his problem?" I asked, lazily twirling the stem of my glass. "Did I step on his royal toes without noticing?"
Belle didn't even look up from her plate. She was slicing her steak with surgical precision, expression calm, voice soft. "Vincent tried to become my student once."
"Oh?" I arched a brow. "And?"
"I rejected him." She took a bite. "Before he finished his name."
I blinked, then laughed quietly.
She smiled faintly, clearly enjoying herself. "He's always been the dramatic sort. I suppose watching someone else take the position he wanted must've been… difficult for him."
"Ah." I nodded, feigning sympathy. "So this is about rejection trauma. Poor prince. Maybe I should buy him some therapy sessions instead of wasting time on a duel."
Belle snorted, actually snorted but quickly hid her smile behind her glass. "You're terrible."
"I'm realistic," I said, flashing a grin. "Besides, if I fought everyone who got jealous of me, I'd never have time for lunch."
A sharp, indignant shout broke through our little conversation.
"You—! You plebeian!" Vincent's voice cracked as he stormed forward, his expression contorted between outrage and disbelief. "How dare you ignore a royal decree! Do you not understand who I am!?"
I sighed, finally setting my glass down with deliberate slowness.
"Not really," I said. "Should I?"
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Belle leaned back, amusement dancing in her blindfolded expression. She didn't stop me if anything, she looked like she was enjoying the show.
I tilted my head at the prince, wearing my best "polite confusion" face. "Wait... your name was what again?"
Vincent's jaw tightened. "Vincent von Velkaris!"
"Right, right." I snapped my fingers. "Prince Onecent! My mistake."
The nobles erupted into barely suppressed laughter. Someone coughed to hide a chuckle. Even a few knights failed to keep straight faces.
Vincent's face went red. Then purple.
I let the silence stretch, savoring it. "So," I said finally, voice dripping with mock civility, "Prince Onecent. To what do I owe the pleasure of meeting such a distinguished figure as yourself?"
"You—!" he started, fists shaking.
Belle quietly reached for another slice of bread, utterly relaxed. "You shouldn't provoke him too much," she said between bites. "He's royal. They tend to explode under pressure."
"Then maybe I'll test how much pressure it takes," I murmured, smirking.
Bastard laughed in the back of my mind.
{Oh, this is going to be fun.}
The air in the hall grew heavier, charged with tension and anticipation. Nobles whispered. The orchestra dared not breathe.
And through it all, I leaned back in my chair, calm, composed, and just arrogant enough to make an entire empire's prince look like a child throwing a tantrum.
If I'd learned anything over these last few months, it was this — nothing unsettled arrogance quite like indifference.
I sighed and finally stood, slow and deliberate, letting the sound of the chair scraping against marble fill the silence.
Every head in the banquet hall turned. The tension that had been simmering suddenly sharpened into something electric.
I rolled my shoulders once.
"Fine," I said at last, voice carrying cleanly across the hall. "If you're that desperate for attention, I'll humor you."
Vincent's expression shifted instantly, anger melting into triumph. He stood a little taller, chin lifting, pride already gloating in advance.
"However," I continued, my tone soft but cutting through the air like a blade, "I'll only accept under two conditions."
The murmurs stopped again. The prince frowned, thrown off-balance. "Conditions?"
I held up a single finger. "First, it's a duel to the death."
A collective gasp swept through the crowd. Someone dropped a glass.
"And second," I said, lifting another finger, "the loser gives the winner five hundred million thalgar."
For a heartbeat, no one dared to speak. Then a dozen whispers exploded at once.
"Five hundred million?"
"Is he insane?"
"That's a year's tax revenue from three provinces!"
Vincent blinked at me, as if trying to decide whether he'd misheard. "Five hundred million—?"
I smiled. "You're a prince. Surely that's not too much."
Behind me, I heard Belle's quiet, stifled laugh. She was resting her chin on one hand, the faint curve of amusement tugging at her lips. Making no effort to hide how much she was enjoying herself.
{You're provoking royalty for fun now,} Bastard muttered in my head, his tone equal parts impressed and exasperated.
It's not for fun, I thought back. It's practice.
Because deep down, I really did want this. A real test. A fight worth remembering.Even if Onecent was an arrogant idiot, he was still imperial blood, trained since birth, fed mana-rich meals, and taught by swordmasters from the cradle.
If I wanted to measure how much stronger I'd become since I arrived here, this was the perfect chance.
Vincent's pride, predictably, wouldn't let him back down now.
He straightened his collar, glaring at me like he'd just been handed his greatest challenge.
"Fine," he spat. "I accept your terms. You'll regret mocking me."
"Great, then Belle will be our witness." I glanced back at her, and she nodded once.
The hall broke into an uproar. Nobles began whispering frantically, placing bets, speculating, exchanging gleeful looks. Someone shouted for the servants to prepare the dueling arena.
I smirked and looked back at Belle. "Five hundred million thalgar," I murmured. "Think he even knows how many zeroes that is?"
She chuckled softly. "I doubt he could count that high."
I gave her a grin, turned back to the prince and then did something that no one in that hall expected.