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Chapter 200: Tournament: Lira

As the Marquis shifted his gaze to the arena, a figure stepped onto the stage with a quiet but undeniable presence. A young girl, slender and poised, made her way into the ring. Her dark hair was tied into a neat bun, and her blue-golden robe fluttered with her movement, the emblem of the Cloud Heavens Sect glinting on her shoulder. The crowd quieted slightly, sensing something different about her, a calm amidst the storm of the ongoing battles.

The Marquis observed her closely, his expression thoughtful, a faint smile tracing his lips. "The 'Silent Thunder,' was it?" he mused aloud. "Lira Vaelan, if I'm not mistaken."

Elder Xue's gaze sharpened, the hint of pride evident as she nodded. "Yes, Marquis. Lira Vaelan is one of our recent rising stars. Her talents have distinguished her quickly among her peers."

The Marquis's gaze lingered on Lira, his expression revealing little beyond a faint, thoughtful smile. The girl carried herself with calm poise, though he knew the whispers and rumors that trailed behind her like shadows.

'Interesting,'

he mused silently, his fingers tapping against the side of his glass.

'The Cloud Heavens Sect continues to turn out talents, but their standards are more flexible than they might care to admit.'

He glanced sideways at Elder Xue, noting the pride in her eyes as she watched her disciple take her stance in the arena. Despite the stringent image the sect projected, he was well aware that Cloud Heavens' internal culture allowed certain… liberties among its disciples, a freedom often masked by their rigorous training and public image.

Still, he chose to speak neutrally, letting his words carry a subtle undertone. "A rising star in both skill and, it seems, intrigue. Lira Vaelan has gathered much attention beyond the arena," he remarked his tone light but with a hint of suggestion.

Elder Xue met his gaze, her eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. "Her talent speaks for itself, Marquis," she replied, her voice steady but slightly cooler. "She has earned her place here through merit alone, despite what others might imply."

Marquis Ventor inclined his head in polite acknowledgment, shifting his attention back to the arena. "Indeed. It will be fascinating to see her approach—a balance of technique and composure if I'm not mistaken?"

Elder Kael's chuckle was low, yet it sliced through the air with deliberate disdain. "Composure, you say… quite ironic, isn't it, given that some in her sect can't control even the simplest of desires," he remarked, his tone thick with derision. His gaze flicked toward Elder Xue, though it lingered on the arena below, where Lira had taken her stance.

"People like her," he continued, his voice measured yet biting, "often let their impulses blind them to reality. They're so easily led by… carnal whims. And the consequences, well, they're as predictable as they are severe."

Elder Xue's eyes narrowed further, her fingers still tapping lightly on the armrest. "Those who indulge in slander often speak from ignorance, Elder Kael," she replied, her voice cold but restrained. "Lira's skills and dedication are a testament to her worth, whether or not others have the depth to recognize it."

Marquis Ventor observed the exchange, his gaze moving between the two elders with veiled amusement. He sensed the unyielding tension between the sects, brought now to a sharper point by the bitterness Kael held toward Lira.

"Yes, technique and discipline," the Marquis commented, his voice smooth, aiming to ease the biting silence that followed. "Every fighter has their path. But paths, as we all know, can be… winding." His words carried a tone of neutrality, though he couldn't help but study Lira more closely, watching as she moved with unwavering calm despite the weight of their words.

Kael's lips twisted into a bitter smile, clearly unimpressed by the Marquis's attempt at subtlety. "Winding indeed," he murmured, his eyes hard. "Let's just hope her path doesn't end in more disgrace for those she represents."

Elder Xue stiffened but remained silent, her gaze fixed on the arena. At that moment, Marquis Ventor felt the pressure shift back to Lira.

In the arena, Lira stepped forward, her gaze settling on her opponent with a calm appraisal. Across from her stood a young man, perhaps a year or two her senior, his stance tense, his expression determined but betraying a hint of apprehension. He wore no sect's colors, no sigil or mark that would denote any allegiance. To the crowd, he might look brave, even bold, for facing a disciple of the Cloud Heavens Sect. But to Lira, his energy betrayed his limitations.

'Just a peak 2-star,'

she thought, her assessment quick and efficient.

'This should end swiftly. There's no need to waste time on a pathetic bastard like him.'

Her hand moved to the hilt of her blade, fingers curling around it with practiced ease. The weapon slid free from its sheath with barely a sound, its polished steel gleaming as it caught the light. She held it low and steady, her stance balanced, her gaze unwavering.

Her opponent shifted uneasily, gripping his weapon—a worn, practical blade—with both hands. He was clearly here to prove himself, to earn recognition but sadly he met the wrong opponent.

Lira's lip curled almost imperceptibly as she regarded the young man before her. His stance was all bravado, his posture rigid with forced confidence. But his eyes gave him away—there was no real strength behind them, no steel in his gaze, only a shaky determination masking his fear.

'Pathetic,'

she thought with a hint of disdain.

'Just go and die in some war, like the rest of the fodder. Why stand here, shivering like a weakling before me?'

Her grip tightened on her blade as the urge to strike rose within her. She could end this now, slice through his defenses in a single motion. But that wouldn't do. She had to restrain herself, to hold back and play the role her mother had so insistently drilled into her. After all, Lira Vaelan, daughter of a noble family and a disciple of the Cloud Heavens Sect, had appearances to maintain.

Especially after the mistake that she made.

If she did not make such a mistake….if she was not caught….

Well, it was too late now.

She took a steadying breath, forcing her thoughts to calm. Her mind drifted back to the previous night—a memory that brought ease over her, quieting the restless anger that simmered beneath the surface. She had spent the late night hours in a certain place thanks to her Junior Sisters, indulging in the kind of "quality" time that soothed her spirit. The night had been a welcome escape, an oasis where she could let go of her public mask and her duty-bound composure.

But now, here she was, back under the crowd's scrutiny. Her mother's words echoed in her mind.

Virtue, poise, control.

She had been warned to uphold a dignified image, one befitting her lineage and her sect. Anything less would be disgraceful.

Lira exhaled, her face smoothing into a mask of serenity, her gaze softening ever so slightly as she approached her opponent. She made a show of adjusting her grip on her sword, slowing her stance, allowing the tension to build. To the audience, it would look as though she were giving him respect, a chance to gather his courage, though in truth, it was only to mask her annoyance.

'Hold yourself, Lira,'

she reminded herself, letting a faint smile cross her lips—a graceful gesture for the crowd to see, a lie to cover the truth simmering beneath.

With deliberate patience, she took a single step forward, drawing her blade into a defensive stance, the perfect picture of composed humility. Her opponent swallowed, visibly bolstered by her apparent generosity. She almost laughed at his naivete.

'Play the part,'

she reminded herself, lifting her chin slightly, her voice calm and controlled as she addressed him, though her words were laced with irony only she would understand.

"Come, then," she said softly. "Show me what brought you here."

The young man took her cue, gathering himself and charging forward. Lira's gaze remained fixed, unyielding. She had no patience for men like him, men who sought validation without merit. But as he lunged, she sidestepped gracefully, her blade moving like a whisper, a mere flick of her wrist that sent his sword flying from his hand.

'Pathetic indeed, not even worthy of licking my boots.'

Her opponent stumbled back, disarmed and helpless. The match was over before it had truly begun, the crowd erupting in awe at her effortless technique. Lira merely inclined her head, offering the fallen warrior a faint, graceful nod—a final gesture of "respect" that concealed the satisfaction simmering within her.

'Yes,'

she thought as she turned from the ring, leaving her defeated opponent in the dust.

Chapter 201: Tournament: Varen

As Lira stepped out of the ring, her movements graceful and measured, Marquis Ventor's admired quietly.

'Not bad.'

He turned slightly toward the elders at his side, his gaze flickering with a hint of appreciation. "Indeed," he said, his tone smooth, almost indulgent, "she is not only strong but truly striking to behold. A force of beauty and skill combined."

Elder Xue allowed herself a rare smile, pride evident in her expression. "Thank you, Marquis," she replied, inclining her head slightly. "Our Lira has worked hard to reach this level. Her diligence reflects the standards of our sect."

Elder Kael, however, snorted derisively, his tone laced with contempt as he watched Lira exit the arena. "Praise for a trifle," he muttered, his voice loud enough for both the Marquis and Elder Xue to hear. "It's hardly impressive to defeat a nameless whelp. Any true disciple of a proper sect wouldn't waste time on such a weakling."

Elder Xue's smile thinned, her gaze icy as she glanced over at him. "A true disciple of our sect learns more than brute strength, Elder Kael. Discipline, poise, the very qualities you so clearly lack."

Marquis Ventor intervened smoothly, though the amusement in his eyes did not entirely mask his enjoyment of the tension between the two. "Ah, but every match has its purpose. Even a minor contest can reveal much about a fighter's essence."

Kael's lips twisted in a humorless smile, his gaze turning cold as he regarded Lira's retreating form. "Essence, you say…It really is coming from someone like you…." His tone was mocking, and he was clearly implying. "Someone whose body has been touched everywhere…."

The moment Elder Kael's words lingered in the air, a biting chill settled over the lounge. The subtle, regal atmosphere seemed to shift, the temperature dropping as an unmistakable pressure filled the space. It was the unmistakable aura of a 6-star Awakened—Elder Xue's cold fury manifesting as frost edged along the corners of the room.

Her voice was low and sharp, a warning that cut through the silence. "Watch your mouth, Kael."

Elder Kael's smirk remained, unfazed by the sudden change in atmosphere. He met her gaze head-on, his stance unwavering as he dismissed the ice-laden pressure surrounding him with casual disdain. "And where," he sneered, his voice laced with mockery, "is this so-called 'essence' now, Elder Xue?"

Xue's eyes narrowed, her posture rigid as she held his gaze. The room seemed to tense, the air thick with her barely restrained anger. But Kael did not falter. He stood there, indifferent to her challenge, his smirk only deepening as he raised his chin slightly in defiance.

Marquis Ventor let a delicate, almost amused smile play at his lips. "Impressive, truly," he said, his tone dry yet measured, cutting through the tension with the ease of a master. "Both strength and restraint are admirable qualities, wouldn't you say?"

Elder Xue's aura retreated slightly, though her eyes remained sharp as she looked at the Marquis, her fury tempered but not fully quenched. Elder Kael chuckled softly, a look of smug satisfaction on his face. He had proven his point, at least in his own mind, and did not need any further words.

The Marquis watched them both, his gaze thoughtful. This wasn't just about the disciples in the arena; it was a reminder of the unspoken battles waged between the sects and the delicate balance of power that governed these ancient rivalries.

"Hmm…."

As Marquis Ventor's gaze lingered on the figure entering the arena, he recognized a stark contrast to Lira's poised elegance. This young man, cloaked in a silvery-red robe that caught the light like embers against steel, radiated a fiercer energy. His expression was serious, his jaw set in a look of cold determination that mirrored the intense aura around him. He moved with a controlled yet volatile presence, as if restraining a fire within.

This was Varen Drakov, the senior disciple of the Silver Flame Sect and one of their most promising talents. His every step was purposeful, his silvery-red robe a striking mark of his allegiance and status within the sect. The crowd's reaction was immediate, a mixture of awe and anticipation. They knew of Varen's reputation, of his merciless skill and the passionate ferocity that defined the Silver Flame Sect's approach to combat.

Marquis Ventor noted the rigid, focused expression on Varen's face, a mask of cold resolve that hinted at the underlying tension between him and Lira. The rivalry between their sects was well-known, but between these two, it was more personal—far deeper and more intense than the usual tournament rivalries.

Elder Kael's gaze held a hint of satisfaction as he watched his prized disciple take his place. "There he is," he murmured with pride barely concealed. "Now, this… this is true strength." His voice was calm, but the undertone of vindication was unmistakable.

Marquis Ventor's interest deepened as he watched the young man's approach. This promised to be a far different match than the ones before, not only a showcase of strength but also a clash of ideals and personal vendettas simmering beneath the surface.

Elder Xue's gaze hardened as she regarded Varen stepping into the arena, her lip curling slightly in distaste. "Nothing but a brute," she remarked icily, her voice low yet clear. "Acting on a whim, lacking restraint. A reckless fire, nothing more."

Elder Kael let out a soft, derisive chuckle, shaking his head with a look of bemusement. "Brute? You misunderstand, Xue." His tone was calm, edged with pride. "The Silver Flame Sect's fire doesn't just burn anyone. It only consumes those deserving of its heat. We wield our strength with purpose. Calling us brutes, while pursuing 'carnal' desires under the guise of discipline… now that is hypocrisy."

Elder Xue's expression turned even colder, her posture rigid. "We pursue mastery in all its forms, Kael. The Cloud Heavens Sect is not so shallow as you imply."

Elder Kael's smirk lingered, his gaze sharp as he leaned slightly forward. "Mastery in all its forms, hmm? Tell me, Xue, does that include the 'mastery' over infidelity… or has the Cloud Heavens Sect chosen to exclude that particular art?"

Elder Xue's expression remained cool, though her fingers pressed against the armrest with restrained tension. "Acting on mere rumors," she replied smoothly, "is the mark of a brute, Kael. Baseless accusations do nothing to strengthen one's position."

Kael shook his head slowly, his smile deepening with a touch of disdain. "Rumors?" he echoed, voice low and almost amused. "Come now, Xue. We both know the truth. There's no need to hide it. And fire… it burns brightest when exposing falsehoods."

Marquis Ventor glanced between the two, his amusement clear as he sipped his wine, observing the thinly veiled barbs with a glint of interest. He sensed that, while the verbal exchange might be over, the true confrontation had only just begun.

On the other side, inside the arena, Varen stepped onto the stage, his stance poised and commanding.

His eyes remained steady as he regarded the man standing before him, noting the furrowed brow and his opponent's controlled breaths, each one measured. The man's determination was evident, yet Varen knew how this would end. The gap in their power was insurmountable, but perhaps his opponent hadn't yet realized it.

'Such unfortunate timing,'

Varen thought, feeling the weight of his responsibility as the Silver Flame Sect's senior disciple.

'This man—he's reached a decent rank, even a respectable one. But here and now, it will count for nothing.'

The announcer's voice signaled the start, and Varen's hand moved to his hilt, his every movement unhurried. His aura unfurled around him, a burning silver that contrasted starkly against the blue-grey of his opponent's mana.

'This is not about honor for me,'

he reminded himself, feeling the slight pulse of energy from his opponent as he prepared his opening move.

'I cannot give him a chance; this match is an obligation, not a personal challenge. I am here to prove the strength of the Silver Flame Sect.'

As they engaged, the man lunged with admirable speed, his eyes focused and his form solid. Varen sidestepped gracefully, his sword catching his opponent's blade mid-air. The sound of steel clashing echoed sharply, and Varen felt the faintest spark of frustration from his opponent.

'A wasted effort,'

Varen mused, watching the man recover his stance.

'But perhaps he still thinks he can turn this around.'

Another strike, this time with greater force, cut through the air toward him. Varen countered effortlessly, his silvery mana swirling around him in controlled bursts.

His blade met the strike, redirecting it without an ounce of hesitation. The ease with which he moved spoke volumes, each step light.

'He's giving everything,'

Varen observed.

'But against me, effort alone cannot bridge the chasm between us. He deserves to know where he stands, even if it means facing defeat.'

Seeing his opponent falter, Varen pushed forward, his movements gaining momentum as he closed the gap. When the man finally attempted a desperate, overhead strike, Varen didn't hesitate.

He sidestepped, his own sword flashing as he knocked the man's weapon from his grip in one decisive stroke.

As his opponent stumbled back, disarmed and defeated, Varen caught the look in his eyes—resentment mixed with reluctant respect.

"Sigh…..Have a better luck next time…"

He could only mumble to himself.

'But, not bad. Definitely qualified for a recommendation.'

Varen took a quiet breath, his gaze still locked on his disarmed opponent, who looked up at him with a fire that hadn't quite dimmed, despite the swift defeat. There was something in the man's stance—a resilience, an unyielding spark that spoke of a martial spirit far from shattered.

Varen nodded slightly, a rare hint of approval flickering in his eyes as he inclined his head.

"You…" he asked, his voice calm but carrying an undertone of curiosity. "What is your name?"

The man straightened, meeting Varen's gaze directly, his voice steady and filled with unwavering vitality. "My name is Hao Ren."

Hearing the strength behind his words, Varen's lips curved into a faint smile. 'Good,' he mused to himself. 'Even a loss hasn't quenched his resolve. This one's spirit still burns strong.'

He stored the name in the corner of his mind, quietly impressed. This Hao Ren had potential, and though he had lost today, the future held many roads yet.

With a final nod, Varen turned and left the stage, his silvery-red robe catching the light as he moved. The spectators' eyes remained on him, their murmurs a mixture of awe and respect, as he returned to the place where his Junior Disciples gathered.

Chapter 202: Tournament: Valeria

While the tournament was progressing, on the one hand, inside the area reserved for female fighters, Valeria tightened the straps of her armor, her gaze steady and focused. The preparation space was clean and relatively quiet, the sounds of the ongoing battles outside muffled by thick walls. She took a steadying breath, savoring the calm. This area, unlike the bustling spaces filled with male fighters, felt like a sanctuary—few came here, especially close combatants like herself.

'At least I can prepare in peace,'

she thought, appreciating the solitude. Though the strength of an Awakened wasn't determined by gender, it was true that most female Awakened chose to master magic over melee.

As a result, the close-combatants here were few and far between, and Valeria was grateful for the space this afforded her. It allowed her time to center herself, to focus on the match ahead without distraction.

At least, compared to the male prepping room which was filled to the brim, with the smell of sweat and other things, this one was much better.

'It's not as if I mind it,'

Valeria thought, briefly comparing her preparation room to the crowded, humid space set aside for the male fighters. The smell of sweat, the clamor, the gritty, unfiltered atmosphere that came with the territory of warriors—she didn't find any of it unpleasant. She understood it as the byproduct of hard work, of hours spent training and pushing oneself to the limit.

But she was still meticulous about keeping herself clean. Being a knight wasn't an excuse to neglect her hygiene; she had always held herself to high standards in every regard. Clean armor, clean gear, and a clear mind were all part of her preparation. Just as she'd spent hours polishing her sword, she took care in keeping herself presentable, though it wasn't out of vanity—it was about respect and discipline.

With a steadying breath, Valeria closed her eyes, centering herself, pushing away stray thoughts of cleanliness or routine. This was her first time facing something like this alone. She'd fought countless battles and sparred against formidable opponents, but during those times, she had always known her family's knights stood by her side, ready if needed. Here, however, she was solely responsible for herself, and the weight of that reality settled on her shoulders.

'It's nothing,'

she told herself, feeling the faint unease but keeping it tightly controlled.

'This is just another fight, like any other.'

Her fingers brushed the hilt of her sword, grounding her as she steadied her breathing. She couldn't afford distractions—not from the noise of the crowd, not from thoughts of Lucavion, and certainly not from the small flickers of doubt that surfaced in moments like these.

'I've trained my whole life. There's nothing to be uneasy about,'

she thought, her jaw tightening in determination.

"Contestant Valeria."

Just then a voice echoed through the preparation room, calling her name with a booming resonance that left no room for hesitation.

Valeria straightened, exhaling slowly as she stepped toward the arena entrance. Each step felt deliberate, grounding her as she readied herself for what lay ahead. The moment she emerged into the open, a wave of noise washed over her—the roar of the crowd, the cheers, and the clash of metal on metal from the surrounding fights.

The stands were filled with spectators, their faces blurred together in the excitement and chaos. She scanned the crowd briefly, feeling an odd sense of pressure settle around her. Though fights were happening all around, she couldn't shake the sensation that eyes were on her, sizing her up, watching her every move.

'Focus,'

she reminded herself, brushing the thought aside as best as she could. It was easy to fall into the trap of thinking the crowd's attention was directed solely at her, but in truth, most of them were likely engrossed in the other matches.

Still, the feeling lingered—a mix of anticipation and self-consciousness that set her nerves alight.

As Valeria scanned the crowd, trying to center herself, her eyes caught on a familiar figure, seated casually amidst the spectators. Her breath hitched, her jaw clenching as recognition dawned.

There he was—Lucavion, seated among the spectators with that same infuriating smile plastered across his face. He looked utterly at ease, his posture relaxed, arms draped over the back of his chair as if he were merely lounging in a park instead of watching an arena full of clashing warriors. His gaze was unmistakably fixed on her, and the glint of amusement in his eyes made her blood boil.

'Of course he'd be watching,'

she thought, annoyance flaring.

'Probably just waiting to see me slip up so he can rub it in later.'

She tried to ignore him, tried to focus on her opponent who would soon step forward. But Lucavion's presence seemed to loom larger than life, his expression a silent challenge, as if daring her to prove herself.

'Fine, then,'

she told herself, her grip tightening on her sword.

Yet little did she notice that, as she shifted her focus back to the arena, the lingering irritation from Lucavion's smirk gradually dulled the restlessness she had felt moments before. Without realizing it, her earlier unease had faded, replaced by an unexpected sense of calm. His presence, frustrating as it was, had redirected her thoughts, grounding her in a strange way.

'Let him watch,'

she thought, her pulse steadying as her grip on her sword became more confident.

'If he's here to see me fight, I'll make sure he doesn't forget it.'

The energy from the crowd and the intensity of the arena faded to the background, her thoughts centered now not on the noise, but on the steady rhythm of her own heartbeat. Lucavion's infuriating confidence acted like an anchor, something familiar amidst the chaos.

She didn't notice her shoulders relaxing, her stance becoming looser yet more focused. There was no more room for nerves or doubts

Just then, her opponent made his appearance.

He was a slightly elderly fighter, with silver streaks in his hair and the strong, steady posture of a seasoned warrior. A longsword hung at his waist, and his aura indicated the power of a peak 2-star Awakened, not one to be underestimated.

A small sigh of relief escaped her lips as she assessed him. Though skilled, he was not as overwhelming a presence as some of the other fighters she'd seen in the tournament.

The man's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing as he took in her reaction. It seemed her quiet exhalation had not gone unnoticed. His jaw set, and a deep scowl crossed his face, lines of irritation marring his otherwise dignified features.

"Girl, are you looking down on me?" His voice carried a rough edge, disdain evident in his tone.

Valeria's eyes widened slightly, realizing her mistake. "No, that wasn't my intent," she replied, her voice steady, but her words didn't seem to ease the older warrior's mood. He took her measured tone as further disrespect.

"Humph….You look like a spoiled brat," he muttered, loud enough for her to hear, his gaze hardening. "I've fought in dozens of battles, while you've probably spent more time polishing that sword than actually using it."

Her grip on her Zweihander tightened, but she kept her expression calm, letting his insults wash over her without reaction. His words, though meant to provoke, only served to clarify her focus.

'Let him think what he wants. It'll change soon enough.'

"START!"

The announcer's voice echoed across the arena, signaling the start of the match, and the crowd's cheering rose to a fever pitch. The man unsheathed his longsword, his stance wide and low, indicating his readiness.

Valeria raised her sword, mirroring his intensity. They circled each other, each movement deliberate, measured. Her eyes never left him, studying the tension in his posture, the way his gaze flicked to her feet, her grip, every detail revealing his experience.

–SWOOSH!

Without warning, he lunged forward, his longsword arcing toward her side with surprising speed for someone his age. Valeria sidestepped the blow, her movements fluid and controlled, her Zweihander swinging to parry the strike.

–CLANK!

Their blades met with a loud clang, and she felt the force of his attack reverberate up her arms. He was strong, his experience evident in the precision of his strike, but Valeria held her ground, her own stance unwavering.

He pressed forward, his strikes relentless, his longsword sweeping in powerful arcs. Valeria parried each blow, her breaths controlled as she moved with purpose. His attacks were steady and forceful, but as she defended herself, she noticed a rhythm—a slight predictability to his movements.

'He's relying on power and experience,'

she thought, her confidence growing with each deflected strike.

'But he doesn't vary his approach much.'

As the man's eyes narrowed, his expression hardened, and a faint glint of mana flared along the length of his blade. He charged forward with renewed vigor, his sword arcing toward her with deadly intent.

Valeria's grip tightened around her Zweihander as she focused her own mana, channeling it through her arms and into her sword. The familiar warmth of power surged within her, igniting the blade in a soft, radiant glow. She steadied herself, anticipation threading through her stance as she waited for his approach.

His blade came down in a powerful, mana-fueled strike, but Valeria moved with purpose, deflecting his sword with a precise twist of her wrists. The force of his attack diverted, she sidestepped, her mind flashing back to her duel with Lucavion. She remembered how he had used her own momentum against her, his movements effortlessly dismantling her guard.

'Just like Lucavion…'

With a subtle shift, she guided the man's weight forward, twisting her sword to redirect his momentum past her. It wasn't perfect, but the effect was enough—his stance faltered as he stumbled forward, thrown off balance by his own strength.

Seizing the opening, Valeria pivoted, her stance grounding her as she channeled mana down through her legs. She drove her heel into his side with a powerful, mana-fueled kick. The impact sent him hurtling back, his body lifting off the ground before he crashed to the arena floor, the sound of his fall echoing in the silence that followed.

She stepped forward, her Zweihander steady in her hands as she leveled its gleaming edge right at his throat. Her violet gaze met his, her breath controlled and her stance unwavering, and though she said nothing, the message was clear.

The man, dazed and breathless, could do little more than stare up at her in shock.

Chapter 203: Real

After Valeria's victorious fight, the exhilaration simmered beneath her calm exterior. She held her Zweihander with confidence, its gleaming edge still casting a faint sheen under the arena lights. Lowering it, she spared one last look at her defeated opponent, then scanned the crowd for that familiar smirk, fully expecting Lucavion's face to appear somewhere in the vast sea of spectators.

But he was gone. The spot where he had been lounging only moments before was now conspicuously empty, as if he'd vanished without a trace.

Valeria felt a faint flicker of irritation, one she suppressed just as quickly as it had come. Typical of him, she thought, her lips tightening. Always drifting in and out as it suited him, never quite where she expected him to be—and never entirely absent from her thoughts, even when she wished he would be.

She turned back toward the exit, the lingering tension of the fight easing from her body. With each step away from the arena, she refocused, allowing herself to settle into the familiar rhythm of her breath. Today had proven she was capable of fighting her own battles, of holding her own ground without anyone's support—even without the quietly maddening presence of that bastard Lucavion.

She then stepped into the changing room, letting the heavy door shut behind her with a dull thud.

The quiet within the room offered a stark contrast to the roaring arena outside, giving her a moment to finally breathe. She removed her armor piece by piece, her fingers still buzzing with the aftermath of battle.

She let her hand rest on the hilt of her Zweihander one last time before setting it down.

The weight of the blade was as familiar, steadying her as she slipped out of her battle-worn attire and began changing into her more comfortable clothes.

Her tunic and trousers felt like a release from the confining armor, letting her move freely, unburdened by the heaviness of steel and leather.

As she fastened her belt, she couldn't ignore the faint annoyance simmering just below the surface. It wasn't about the fight or even her opponent's belittling remarks—those were nothing she hadn't dealt with before. No, this was something else, a frustration that gnawed at her thoughts, all because of a certain missing observer.

'Of course, he'd leave before the end,'

she thought, brushing out the last of the stray locks that had come loose during the fight. Her irritation swelled again at the memory of Lucavion's relaxed smirk, the way he'd looked at her from the stands with that infuriatingly amused expression. He'd seemed so certain that he understood her, confident in his assessment—almost as if he was waiting for her to make some kind of mistake.

But then he'd simply vanished. Typical.

"Leaving before the finale," she muttered under her breath, securing her sword to her side. "Seems he's as impatient as he is smug."

She brushed it off with a small exhale, focusing instead on the satisfaction of her recent victory. She had proven herself, and nothing—not even Lucavion's unpredictability—could diminish that.

Just as she pushed open the door, voices trickled through the narrow hallway, their calm cadence familiar yet carrying a subtle intensity. She recognized them almost immediately—the Cloud Heavens Sect disciples.

They were moving down the corridor in quiet conversation, each step carrying the collective grace of disciplined training. Their dark blue robes, embroidered with golden thread, caught the light as they walked, marking them with the prestige of their sect.

Valeria's shoulders straightened as she met their gaze, her own expression reserved. She had turned down an invitation from their Senior Disciple to share a meal previously, a decision that had left her with an unsettled feeling. Now, that same unease stirred within her as she faced them again.

A younger disciple stepped forward with an unassuming grace, bowing her head slightly. Her expression was polite, though her eyes held a glimmer of admiration.

"Miss Valeria," she began, her tone respectful yet earnest. "I had the honor of watching your fight. You were… exceptional."

Valeria nodded, accepting the praise with a slight inclination of her head. "Thank you," she replied, keeping her tone neutral. Compliments were familiar, yet the reverence in this disciple's words felt weighted, almost as though it held an expectation.

The girl continued, her gaze steady. "Our Senior Disciple mentioned she'd offered to accompany you for a meal before," she said, her voice gentle but probing. "She thought you might appreciate her guidance in matters here in the city… and that the offer still stands."

Valeria's lips pressed into a thin line. The offer sounded innocuous enough, and the disciple's expression was sincere. Yet, there was an undercurrent—a quiet insistence, as though they wanted something beyond mere companionship.

The disciple offered a gentle, almost shy smile, her expression carrying a hint of warmth that softened her composed demeanor. "If it's alright with you, Miss Valeria," she continued, her voice low and unassuming, "I'd really like to get to know you better. There aren't many female warriors like us—especially outside the disciples of Cloud Heavens Sect. It would… it would be good if we could stick together."

Valeria considered the girl's words, her mind weighing the possibilities. There was truth in what the disciple said; strong female warriors were indeed rare, and forming alliances—even casual connections—could prove valuable in the long run.

Normally, Valeria would welcome the opportunity to foster camaraderie with others who shared her path, finding comfort in their similar struggles and aspirations, as she helped quite a lot of young girls when she traveled.

The girl's sincerity was clear, and Valeria could tell she genuinely admired her.

Or at least, that will be how it looked.

'Something…'

And yet, something held her back—a quiet but unyielding instinct that flickered at the edge of her mind, urging caution.

'Why do I feel like this?'

It was subtle but insistent, a warning that settled just beneath her thoughts, stirring an inexplicable unease. She'd felt it before, the first time she had met the group and declined their invitation. Now, the sensation returned, a faint prickle along her spine that whispered of something she couldn't quite place.

But what to do?

If she were to refuse once again, that would mean a clear disregard for the Cloud Heavens Sect. But at the same time, she really did not want to.

'Really….Why now of all times?'

Her gaze lingered on the disciple's hopeful face, and she forced a polite smile. "I'm honored by the invitation," Valeria said slowly.

And then just as she opened her mouth once again, still unsure of her answer, a sudden warmth pressed against her side, and an arm slipped around her shoulders, drawing her close. The move was so swift, so unexpected, that she barely had time to register the sensation, let alone react. The faintest hint of familiar sandalwood and mint teased her senses, and she tensed instantly.

"Apologies, ladies," came the smooth, unhurried voice beside her, carrying an air of effortless charm. Lucavion's tone held just the right blend of politeness and mockery as he looked at the disciples. "But I'm afraid she's already engaged—she's graciously agreed to escort me for the rest of the evening." He flashed them an insincere smile, one that spoke of his complete lack of regard for any objections they might raise.

Valeria's eyes shot to him, irritation simmering beneath her otherwise composed expression. He gave her a subtle, knowing squeeze on her shoulder as if to remind her to stay silent, his own gaze still fixed on the disciples.

Their reactions varied; the young disciple's face fell slightly, disappointment flashing across her features, while the others exchanged looks, clearly unsure how to respond to the unexpected interruption.

But at the same time, there was also something else.

'Disgust?'

It was a small moment, but Valeria saw it.

A clear expression of disgust on the faces of the disciples.

The polite mask the girl wore strained as she forced a small smile, but her tone carried an edge that hadn't been there before.

"And who might you be?" she asked, her gaze flicking over Lucavion with thinly veiled disdain. "What, exactly, do you have to do with Miss Valeria?"

Lucavion cocked his head to the side, letting a small, dramatic pause hang in the air. He gave a light, exaggerated

tsk

, as if truly considering how best to answer, and then he looked back at the girl with a smirk that could only be described as gleefully condescending.

"Now, that's a question," he replied with a slight shrug, his expression daring her to press further. "But tell me, why should I answer you?" His tone was soft, almost casual, yet there was an unmistakable challenge in his voice.

The disciple's eyes narrowed, a hint of color rising to her cheeks. "Miss Valeria has been invited by our sect," she said coldly. "It's only natural that we'd be concerned about those around her."

Lucavion's smirk only grew, and he dropped his arm from Valeria's shoulder with deliberate ease, stepping forward just enough to force the girl to look up at him. "Concerned, are you?" he asked, his voice low and mocking. "Or perhaps it's something else entirely. I noticed a little… expression back there. One that suggests you're far less 'concerned' and a lot more…" He let his words trail off, his gaze gleaming with sly amusement. "Judgmental."

Chapter 204: Not

"Concerned, are you? Or perhaps it's something else entirely. I noticed a little… expression back there. One that suggests you're far less 'concerned' and a lot more…"

"Judgmental."

The moment he said those words, the disciple's expression hardened. "A proper alliance requires respectable company," she replied, her voice tight. "We wouldn't want Miss Valeria to be surrounded by anyone… unsuitable."

At this, Lucavion's smile sharpened, his eyes narrowing as his amusement took on a dangerous glint. "Interesting," he replied, his tone dropping to a near whisper that only she and her companions could hear. "You know, I could say the same about those who believe they're entitled to Miss Valeria's time simply because they belong to a 'prestigious sect.'"

Valeria, who had been silently watching the exchange with growing irritation, cleared her throat, her gaze steady and unamused. "I think that's enough," she interjected, her voice cutting through the tension. Her patience was wearing thin, and she could already feel the weight of the disciples' unspoken resentment settling heavily in the air.

Lucavion turned back to her with a slight tilt of his head, his smirk softening as he met her gaze. He held up his hands in a show of mock surrender. "Of course, my lady," he said, his voice as smooth as ever. He took a step back, inclining his head toward her in a mocking bow. "After all, I wouldn't want to keep you from such… respectable company."

The disciples' expressions tightened, their gazes filled with open disdain now, but they held their tongues, likely aware that pushing the issue further would only reflect poorly on them.

As they turned to leave, one of the disciples couldn't help but mutter under her breath, her voice barely audible but laced with bitterness. "Tch… you men, always defiling another pure woman…"

Valeria caught the remark, her brows knitting slightly, though she held her expression carefully neutral. But Lucavion's smirk twitched as he clearly heard it too, his amusement unbothered, if anything, deepened.

The young disciple who had initially approached Valeria took a step closer, her face a mixture of forced composure and faint disappointment. She inclined her head politely, though her gaze lingered on Valeria's, resolute.

"Miss Valeria," she began, her tone firm but respectful. "Our offer still stands, regardless of… current company." Her gaze flicked to Lucavion with thinly veiled reproach before returning to Valeria, and she forced a small smile. "If you wish to take us up on it, our disciples can be found all around Andelheim. Simply say,

'Sister Zerah called me here,'

and they will know to take you to us."

With that, she offered one final bow, her expression softening ever so slightly, as though hoping Valeria would change her mind. But she didn't wait for a response. With a brisk nod, she turned, and her companions followed her down the hallway, their robes swaying as they moved, whispers passing between them as they disappeared from view.

The moment they were out of sight, Lucavion leaned back with a low chuckle, crossing his arms as he turned to Valeria. "Well," he murmured, raising an eyebrow, "you certainly attract… interesting admirers." His eyes gleamed with mischief as he glanced in the direction the disciples had gone. "Pure, indeed."

******

As Valeria and Lucavion disappeared from view, the disciple named Zerah's composed expression dissolved, leaving a hardened, icy gaze in its place. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and a shadow of resentment clouded her eyes. The casual audacity of that man—the way he'd spoken as if he had some right to stand beside a woman like Valeria—grated against her pride.

"He dares," she muttered under her breath, her voice barely above a whisper yet laced with venom. She knew Valeria was a talent, someone of potential and skill who would have bolstered the Cloud Heavens Sect's reputation if she had joined them. The fact that Valeria had shown even slight interest before only made Zerah's anger burn brighter. This was supposed to have been a straightforward acquisition, but that man had disrupted it all.

Turning to her fellow disciples, she met each of their gazes, noting the shared looks of disdain and disbelief among them. "That…

man

—find out who he is," Zerah ordered, her voice carrying an edge of quiet authority. "If he's also competing in the tournament, I want every detail. He cannot be permitted to interfere any further."

The disciples exchanged nods, their expressions resolute. One of them stepped forward, her tone hushed but eager. "And what should we do if he proves to be a threat to our plans, Senior Sister?"

Zerah's gaze narrowed, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she looked down the corridor where Valeria and Lucavion had gone. "If he's a problem, we'll make sure he doesn't last long in the tournament," she said smoothly, her tone cool and controlled. "The Cloud Heavens Sect does not tolerate interference from those who would tarnish the integrity of our alliances."

The disciples nodded, their expressions hardening in shared purpose. Zerah gave them a final look, her lips curving into a smile that held no warmth. "See to it," she said, and without another word, they dispersed, their figures melting into the shadows of the bustling halls of Andelheim.

*******

As the whispers of the Cloud Heavens Sect disciples faded down the corridor, Valeria turned her gaze on Lucavion, who remained comfortably close, still radiating that maddening mix of amusement and self-assurance.

The warmth of his arm around her shoulders lingered, though he'd removed it to address the disciples. She folded her arms, her lips pressed in a tight line.

"Did you even think before you did that?" she asked, her tone cool but undeniably edged. "You touched me. And you interfered without even a word."

Lucavion only chuckled, a slow smile spreading across his face as he shook his head. "Oh, don't tell me you're upset with me for lending a hand." He gave her a slight, knowing glance. "You looked like you were in trouble."

"I don't need help," she replied, leveling a hard gaze at him. "Especially not yours."

A faint trace of something close to pity flickered across his face, though it was quickly masked by that same, insufferable smirk. "Oh, is that right? Seemed to me they were pressing you, and you couldn't just outrightly refuse them…..You did not want to go with them, but at the same time you don't also want to offend them, isn't that right?"

Valeria's gaze flickered, the hint of admiration she felt buried deep beneath her lingering frustration. He had read the entire situation with unnerving accuracy, his insight sharp enough to cut through her initial irritation. It was exactly as he said—she didn't want to go with them, but outright rejection would have made things needlessly complicated with the Cloud Heavens Sect.

Lucavion's smirk softened as he watched her hesitate, almost as if he knew she wouldn't argue back this time. "Am I wrong?" he prompted, his tone gentler now, holding that unmistakable air of experience that she recognized only after a moment.

She exhaled, reluctantly giving him a curt nod before starting down the corridor. "You're not wrong," she admitted, her voice low, unwilling to give him more than that. "But that doesn't mean you needed to—"

"Save the day?" he cut in, falling into step beside her. He tilted his head with a faint glimmer of amusement, though there was something more thoughtful beneath his usual smug exterior. "Just to be clear, I was not saving you."

Valeria turned, casting him a sidelong glance, her curiosity piqued as he added, "I just saw an unpleasant sight and intervened, that's it." He shrugged his expression as nonchalant as ever. "It also works in my favor anyway."

She stopped mid-step, her brow furrowing.

Works in his favor?

The casual, almost dismissive way he'd said it stirred a flicker of suspicion in her mind. What did he stand to gain from interfering like that?

She started thinking about the possible outcomes of what he did. She started considering his move from different angles.

Inserting himself into that situation had been deliberate, a message as clear as a drawn sword: Lucavion wasn't someone to be overlooked, nor was he willing to let others set the terms around Valeria.

To those disciples of the Cloud Heavens Sect, his intervention would seem like a warning—a subtle show of dominance and a way to bare his teeth, revealing just enough edge to make them think twice before pressing their agenda.

She could almost picture how the disciples would respond. They'd start watching him more carefully, even as resentment simmered just beneath the surface. He had disrupted whatever plans they'd entertained, and if he was now on their radar, they wouldn't forget it easily.

But why take that risk?

she wondered, casting a brief, unreadable glance his way as they continued down the hall. His words echoed in her mind.

"It works in my favor."

For Lucavion, that could have meant keeping potential threats at arm's length while drawing just enough attention to himself.

'But, why does he think Cloud Heavens Sect is a threat, if that were to be the case? Why is he trying to gather their attention to himself?'

That was the part that she couldn't completely understand, as she could not see any reason for him to do such a thing.

"Valeria."

His voice cut through her thoughts, soft yet laced with a quiet urgency that drew her attention immediately. She turned, her gaze meeting his. Lucavion's expression was unreadable, his usual mask of amusement replaced by something deeper, something that gave her pause.

"Can you see what is beyond the surface?"