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Chapter 306: Understanding

The Silver Flame Sect's inn, a grand establishment suited for such a prestigious group, was blanketed in the quiet hum of night. The faint crackle of distant embers and the soft murmur of disciples conversing filled the air. The disciples, exhausted from the intensity of the tournament, were settling into their routines when it happened.

A sudden roar.

Not a roar of a beast or a person, but a deep, guttural rumble like the earth itself had awakened. It was followed by a surge of heat that spread like a wildfire, washing over the inn in an instant.

The walls trembled, and an explosion of fiery light erupted from one of the upper rooms, briefly illuminating the night sky. Flames danced against the windows, casting flickering shadows across the hallways. The air grew thick with mana, heavy and suffocating, as an overwhelming aura swept through the inn.

"What—what is happening?" a disciple stammered, his voice trembling.

Another disciple, wide-eyed and frozen in place, pointed toward the source. "It's… it's coming from Senior Brother Varen's room!"

The realization struck them all at once. Gasps echoed through the halls as the disciples exchanged looks of shock and confusion. Whispers broke out, frantic and uncertain.

"Senior Brother? Could he be injured?"

"No… this aura—it's his! But it's… different."

"Should we go check on him?"

"Are you insane? With that aura? He's in Ignis Ascension again—no, this is something else entirely!"

Meanwhile, inside Varen's room, the air was a maelstrom of fire and mana. Flames swirled chaotically, licking at the walls and ceiling but leaving them unscathed, held back by a thin veil of mana that controlled their destruction. The very space seemed alive, trembling under the weight of his power.

At the heart of it all, Varen knelt on the floor, his greatsword planted firmly before him, its blade ablaze with silvery-red fire. His breath came in heavy, labored gasps, each exhale releasing a plume of flame that dissipated into the air. Sweat dripped down his face, evaporating almost instantly from the heat radiating off him.

His eyes, once cold and calm, now burned with an intensity that rivaled the flames themselves. Gone was the stoic heir, the disciplined warrior who wore his restraint like armor. In his place was a man consumed by fire—raw, untamed, and utterly alive.

Varen released a long breath, flames spilling from his lips as if his very essence had been set ablaze. He closed his eyes, allowing the inferno within him to surge freely. For the first time, he didn't suppress it. He didn't fight it. He let it burn.

When he opened his eyes again, the fiery aura around him surged brighter, casting his shadow across the room like a flickering specter. There was no hesitation, no doubt in his gaze—only an unyielding fire that burned with purpose.

The door to his room rattled as a hesitant knock broke through the crackling silence. A voice called out, trembling but concerned. "Senior Brother? Are you… are you alright?"

For a moment, there was no response. The flames swirled, filling the room with a radiant heat that seemed to seep through the walls. Then, the door creaked open slightly, and a younger disciple peeked in, his face pale but determined.

What he saw left him speechless.

Varen turned his gaze toward the door, his fiery eyes locking onto the disciple. The sheer intensity of his presence made the younger man step back involuntarily, his breath catching in his throat.

"Tell the others," Varen said, his voice low but resonant, carrying the weight of his newfound resolve. "I'm fine."

The disciple hesitated, but the unwavering fire in Varen's eyes silenced any further questions. With a quick bow, he retreated, closing the door behind him.

The flickering flames within Varen's room dimmed slightly, their once chaotic dance settling into a steady, rhythmic pulse that mirrored the calm of his breaths. He sat cross-legged on the floor, his greatsword resting across his lap, its silvery-red flames reduced to a faint glow. The heat of the room remained, a constant reminder of the storm he had unleashed, but now it felt less oppressive. It was not the fire of destruction, but of renewal.

Varen closed his eyes, allowing his thoughts to drift. The roaring inferno within him was quieter now, but its warmth lingered, burning away the fog that had clouded his mind for so long.

'How long has it been?' he thought, his lips curving into a faint, rueful smile. 'How long have I been fighting against myself?'

He saw it clearly now, as though the flames had illuminated the truth buried deep within him. His discipline, his control—they weren't the noble virtues he had always prided himself on. They were chains. Chains forged by pain, by fear, by the scar left behind by Lira's betrayal.

Her face surfaced in his mind, unbidden but familiar. The woman who had once stood by his side, her smile a beacon of warmth and trust, now felt like a ghost haunting his every step. Her betrayal had been a firestorm, one that consumed not just their bond, but a part of him as well.

'I thought I was strong,' he mused, his hands tightening around the hilt of his greatsword. 'Strong enough to overcome it. To bury it. But I see now… that wasn't strength. It was cowardice.'

His brow furrowed, the flames around him flickering faintly in response to his shifting emotions. By suppressing his feelings, by locking them away, he hadn't just distanced himself from the pain—he had distanced himself from who he was meant to be.

'The Pride of Flame,' he thought, the title echoing in his mind. It was what the Silver Flame Sect had always called him. Their heir. Their future. A blazing torch to guide their path. And yet, he had allowed his flames to dim, to become cold and unfeeling in his quest for control.

But flames weren't meant to be cold. They were meant to burn—not to destroy indiscriminately, but to bring light, warmth, and life. To consume only what deserved to be burned and to protect those who did not.

Varen's mind drifted to the battlefield, to Lucavion. That maddening smirk, those chaotic black flames, and the unrelenting challenge in his eyes. He had fought like no one else, his every move defying convention, every strike a declaration of his untamed spirit.

'Lucavion,' Varen thought, a flicker of respect igniting within him. 'You… opened my eyes.'

Lucavion hadn't just been an opponent. He had been a mirror, reflecting Varen's own struggles in a way he couldn't ignore. The chaos, the unfiltered emotions—Lucavion had laid himself bare, showing Varen what it meant to truly let go.

And now, as Varen sat amidst the quiet embers of his awakening, he knew what he had to do.

"Lira…" he whispered, her name slipping from his lips like a sigh. It no longer carried the weight it once did, the bitterness and anger that had defined it. Instead, it felt lighter, as though speaking it now was an act of release.

"It's time to let go," he said, his voice firmer this time, carrying the strength of his resolve.

The flames around him flared briefly, a final burst of light before settling into a steady glow. He opened his eyes, and for the first time in what felt like years, they weren't clouded with pain or doubt. They burned with purpose, with clarity.

And then, Varen smiled.

It wasn't a smirk of pride or a mask of stoicism. It was genuine, unguarded—a smile born from the quiet peace of understanding. He had been lost, wandering in the shadows of his own making, but now he had found his way back to the light.

He stood slowly, his greatsword still glowing faintly in his grasp. The weight that had once pressed on his shoulders felt lighter now, replaced by the steady warmth of his flames.

'I will burn brightly,' he thought, his smile widening. 'Not just for myself, but for those who believe in me. For the Silver Flame Sect. For the pride of flame.'

And as he looked out the window, the night sky stretching endlessly before him, he knew that this was only the beginning.

"And Lucavion…..Next time, I will not lose."

Chapter 307: Little Ones

The inn was alive with energy, the air thick with chatter and the clinking of mugs. Adventurers, merchants, and spectators from the recently concluded tournament crowded the tables, their voices overlapping in a chaotic medley of laughter, boasts, and heated debates about the matches. The warm glow of lanterns spilled across the wooden walls, adding a golden hue to the bustling scene.

At the heart of the chaos, Liora darted between tables, her cheerful voice cutting through the noise.

"Coming right up! Two ales and a roast boar platter!" she called out, expertly balancing a tray laden with drinks and plates. She weaved through the crowd like a fish through water, her grin unfaltering despite the mounting demands.

On the other side of the room, Sena was busy clearing empty mugs and plates from another table. Her smaller frame allowed her to slip between patrons with surprising agility. She flashed a polite smile at a group of rowdy adventurers as she carefully gathered their dishes.

"You're doing great, Sena!" Liora encouraged as she breezed past, a pitcher of ale in one hand and a basket of bread in the other.

Sena beamed, her cheeks flushed from the excitement. "Thanks, Miss Liora! This is fun!"

"Fun, huh?" Liora laughed. "Wait until you've done this a hundred times. Then tell me how fun it is."

Meanwhile, near the bar, Mariel Farlon stood with her arms crossed, her sharp gaze cutting through the din like a blade. Her imposing presence was a stark contrast to the lively chaos around her. She was focused on Riken, who sat stiffly on a stool nearby, his head bowed slightly under her intense scrutiny.

"Riken," Mariel said, her voice low but firm, "how many times have I told you? If you're going to help out, you need to move like you mean it."

"I—I was trying," Riken mumbled, his tone defensive but subdued. His clawed hands gripped the edge of the stool as he avoided her gaze.

"Trying isn't enough," Mariel retorted, her expression unyielding. "When the inn is this busy, we don't have time for half-hearted efforts. You're strong enough to carry three barrels at once, but you act like lifting one is a punishment. What's the matter? Too proud to take orders?"

"I'm not proud," Riken muttered, his ears flattening slightly. "I just… don't want to mess up."

Mariel's sharp gaze softened—just a fraction. She leaned closer, her voice lowering. "Riken, no one's expecting perfection. But if you don't give it your best, you're letting yourself down. Understand?"

Riken nodded reluctantly, his shoulders slumping. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good." Mariel straightened, her no-nonsense demeanor returning. "Now get moving. Those barrels won't stack themselves."

As Riken slid off the stool and trudged toward the storeroom, Liora appeared beside Mariel, juggling an empty tray and a mischievous grin. "You're hard on him, Miss Matron."

"He needs it," Mariel replied curtly. Her gaze followed Riken as he disappeared into the back. "That boy's carrying more than just barrels, and I don't mean the weight of the ale."

Liora's smile softened. "He'll get there. Sena's already thriving, and he will too. Just needs more time."

Mariel grunted in agreement, her sharp eyes scanning the room. "Speaking of Sena, she'd better not let that table of drunkards take advantage of her."

But Sena, ever observant, was already one step ahead. She deftly sidestepped a clumsy attempt by a patron to grab her tail, her expression firm as she addressed the table. "Please keep your hands to yourself, sir. This is a place of business."

The man froze, his companions laughing at his failed attempt. Mariel watched from afar, a flicker of approval crossing her face.

"Smart girl," she muttered.

Just then, Riken reappeared, carrying two barrels on his shoulders. His movements were steady but tentative, his focus entirely on not dropping his load. Liora, passing by with another tray, couldn't resist calling out, "Looking good, Riken! Just don't trip and flatten someone!"

Riken's face reddened as he adjusted his grip, determined not to stumble. Mariel smirked faintly but said nothing, letting him find his rhythm.

As the evening wore on, the chaos in the inn showed no signs of abating, but the staff—new and old—kept things moving. Liora's infectious energy buoyed Sena's enthusiasm, while Mariel's steady hand ensured that even Riken found his place amidst the hustle.

Mariel leaned against the bar, arms crossed, her sharp gaze sweeping over the bustling scene before her. The inn was alive with energy, a chaotic whirlwind of laughter, clinking mugs, and overlapping voices. She had seen this place packed to the rafters countless times, but tonight felt… different.

Her eyes followed Sena as the young foxkin deftly navigated between tables, her small arms laden with empty mugs. Sena's face was flushed with effort, but her smile never wavered. The girl's energy was infectious, lighting up even the surliest of patrons. And then there was Riken, returning from the storeroom with two barrels balanced on his shoulders, his movements careful but steady. He still carried that guarded tension in his frame, but there was a determination in his eyes that hadn't been there before.

Mariel exhaled softly, a sound somewhere between a sigh and a hum. It had been Lucavion's idea to bring these two into her care, and she hadn't been entirely sure about it at first. Taking in children—these foxkin children—wasn't exactly a part of her usual routine. Her inn had always been a haven for travelers, mercenaries, and adventurers, not a refuge for the young and lost. But something about Lucavion's insistence, and the quiet desperation in those kids' eyes, had swayed her.

At the time, she'd thought it would be a temporary arrangement—a few weeks, maybe a month at most. Yet here they were, three days after the tournament, and not only were the siblings still here, but they were thriving. Sena, with her boundless enthusiasm and quick adaptability, had taken to the inn's routines like a fish to water. And even Riken, despite his brooding nature and rough edges, was finding his footing.

Mariel's gaze lingered on Riken as he carefully set the barrels down near the bar. His movements were deliberate, as if every step was calculated to avoid mistakes. He caught her watching and quickly averted his eyes, his ears flattening slightly. Mariel's lips quirked in the faintest hint of a smile.

'Poor boy,' she thought, her chest tightening with an emotion she couldn't quite name. 'He's trying so hard.'

Her attention shifted back to Sena, who had just sidestepped another patron's clumsy attempt to grab her tail. The girl's firm but polite response brought a flicker of amusement to Mariel's face. "Heh…..Not bad," she muttered under her breath.

It was strange. Mariel had spent most of her life around adventurers—men and women hardened by battles, their faces weathered by the road. She was used to handling rowdy drunks, barking orders, and enforcing discipline when needed. But caring for these two… it was different. Unexpectedly rewarding, in a way she hadn't anticipated.

She straightened, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly as a memory surfaced—Lucavion standing in this very spot, that ever-present smirk on his face as he'd said, "They just need a place to feel safe. You can do that, can't you, Miss Little Bear?"

She'd grumbled at the nickname then, just as she always did, but now, watching Sena dart between tables and Riken haul barrels with quiet determination, she couldn't deny that Lucavion had been right. These children had brought something new to the inn—something she hadn't known was missing.

"Miss Matron!" Sena's cheerful voice broke through her thoughts. The girl appeared at the bar, balancing an empty tray on one hip. "Do you need me to do anything else?"

Mariel studied her for a moment, taking in the flush of her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes. "You've done enough for now," she said gruffly, though her tone was far from harsh. "Go grab a drink and take a breather."

Sena hesitated, her brow furrowing slightly. "But I'm not tired—"

"That wasn't a suggestion," Mariel interrupted, fixing her with a pointed look. "Go."

Sena's ears twitched, but she nodded obediently, setting her tray down and scurrying off to the kitchen. Mariel watched her go, her gaze softening.

The sound of footsteps drew her attention, and she turned to see Riken approaching the bar, his movements still careful but less hesitant than before. He set a mug down on the counter and glanced at her, his expression uncertain.

"Did I… do okay?" he asked quietly, his voice barely audible above the din.

Mariel arched a brow, her lips quirking into a faint smirk. "You didn't drop anything, did you?"

Riken shook his head, his ears twitching nervously. "No, ma'am."

"Then you did fine," she said simply, her tone firm but not unkind. "Now go check on the storeroom. Make sure we've got enough ale to last the night."

Riken nodded and hurried off, his shoulders a little less hunched than before. Mariel watched him disappear into the back, a quiet sense of pride swelling in her chest.

Mariel's gaze lingered on the spot where Riken had disappeared, her expression softening. The hum of the inn's chaos carried on around her, but for a moment, she allowed herself to simply stand there, soaking in the warmth of the scene. This place, these kids… they had become something more than she'd ever expected.

A faint rustling sound pulled her from her thoughts. Her sharp eyes darted toward one of the windows, which had been left slightly ajar to let in the cool night breeze. Something small and nimble slipped through the gap with a fluid grace, landing silently on the bar.

A cat.

Its pristine white fur gleamed under the lantern light, its sleek form poised with a natural elegance. But what caught Mariel's attention most were its eyes—piercing and intelligent, far too knowing for a mere animal. The cat sat there, its tail curling neatly around its paws as it regarded her with a calm, almost regal gaze.

Mariel's lips pressed into a thin line, and she crossed her arms. "Lucavion," she muttered under her breath, her tone halfway between annoyance and amusement.

The cat tilted its head slightly, as if acknowledging her. Then, with deliberate precision, it opened its mouth and let a small piece of folded paper drop onto the counter. The sound of the paper hitting the wood was faint, but to Mariel, it might as well have been a drumbeat in the midst of the noise around her.

"Meow." The cat's voice was soft but insistent, as if it were delivering a message not just with the paper but with its very presence.

Mariel arched a brow, leaning forward to pick up the note. The cat didn't move, watching her with unblinking eyes as she unfolded the paper. The handwriting inside was neat but hurried, the kind of script she recognized instantly.

"Miss Little Bear,

..."

The contents of the paper….

Somehow put a smile on her face….

This man came like a storm….

And left with a bigger one…..

A wind of change….

Those were whispers…..

Chapter 308: The stain

The carriage rattled along the uneven road, its wheels splashing through shallow puddles left behind by the earlier rain. Inside, the girl with the clear black hair sat in silence, her face impassive but her fingers tapping lightly against the armrest. Her maid sat across from her, her posture composed but her expression tinged with frustration.

"Pointless," the girl finally muttered, her voice cold but laced with disappointment. "This entire visit to Rackenshore was a waste of time."

The maid hesitated before responding, choosing her words carefully. "We did everything we could, my lady. We were generous with our questions and courteous to the townsfolk, but…"

"But none of them knew anything worthwhile," the girl finished sharply, her eyes narrowing. "All they could tell us was the same useless story. Lucavion appeared out of nowhere, dealt with the Korvan, and became their savior. That's it. No history, no connections, nothing."

The maid nodded, a sigh escaping her lips. "It seems his actions have elevated him to near-mythical status here. The people revere him too much to question or criticize. That made it impossible to dig any deeper."

The girl's gaze shifted to the window, her dark eyes scanning the horizon as the landscape blurred past. The frustration simmering beneath her calm exterior threatened to boil over. Lucavion was proving to be more elusive than she anticipated, and this setback only added to her mounting irritation.

The maid leaned forward slightly, her calm tone cutting through the heavy atmosphere in the carriage. "At the very least, my lady, we were able to meet the knights of the Olarion family."

The girl's fingers paused mid-tap, her dark eyes shifting to meet the maid's. There was a flicker of interest in her expression, though her frustration still lingered.

"Go on," she said curtly.

The maid nodded, her voice steady and composed. "It was thanks to them that we learned about Lucavion's involvement in the Andelheim Martial Arts Tournament. That is a lead worth pursuing."

The girl's fingers froze, her sharp eyes narrowing at the maid's words. A bitter chuckle escaped her lips, dripping with disdain.

"Phantom Blade?" she repeated, her voice cold and incredulous. "That bastard couldn't even swing a spear properly, and now he dares to call himself a swordsman? He must be up to his usual tricks again."

The maid watched her lady carefully, knowing better than to interrupt when she was like this. The girl's fury simmered just beneath her composed exterior, her disdain for Lucavion evident in every word.

"That's right," the girl continued, her tone growing colder. "The Olarion Knights mentioned both Valeria Olarion and Lucavion have made names for themselves in the Andelheim Martial Arts Tournament. Valeria's presence is understandable—she has the Olarion legacy to uphold. But Lucavion?" She scoffed. "It's laughable."

The maid nodded slightly, her own thoughts carefully guarded. "The Olarion Knights wasted no time heading to Andelheim once they heard the news," she said, bringing the focus back to their current situation. "And we followed as quickly as we could. But…"

"But the news we received is already days old," the girl finished, her frustration clear. "By now, the tournament must have ended."

The maid hesitated before speaking again. "We're moving as fast as possible, my lady. If he's still there, we'll catch him."

The girl clenched her fists briefly before letting out a slow breath, regaining her composure. Her gaze turned toward the window, the blurred scenery rushing past. "He won't escape me again," she said, her voice low but resolute. "I'll make sure of it."

The carriage rattled onward, the urgency of their mission driving them forward. The girl's frustration was tempered by her growing determination. This time, she would not let Lucavion slip through her grasp. The next time they crossed paths, she would ensure that whatever game he was playing would end on her terms.

********

The Andelheim lands were as vibrant and chaotic as the girl expected. The streets teemed with energy, the festival-like atmosphere of the Andelheim Martial Arts Tournament spilling into every corner of the city. Yet the moment she heard the news, she froze in disbelief.

"Lucavion? The winner of the tournament?" she repeated, her voice sharp enough to turn heads.

A small cluster of townsfolk nearby turned at the sound, and she quickly composed herself, her expression hardening into one of cold curiosity. She strode toward the group, her maid trailing slightly behind. The girl's piercing gaze silenced the chatter as she approached, her commanding aura unmistakable.

"What did you just say?" she asked, her tone clipped but unmistakably curious.

One of the townsfolk, an older man with a patchy beard, cleared his throat. "Ah, yes, my lady. You must have heard of him. Lucavion—the Sword Demon! They say he defeated the Cloud Heavens Sect disciples like it was nothing. And Varen Drakov himself fell to him in the final match. Quite the upset, I tell you."

The girl's dark eyes narrowed, disbelief flashing across her face. "Varen Drakov?" she echoed, incredulous. "The so-called prodigy of the Silver Flame Sect?"

The townsfolk nodded eagerly, their expressions a mixture of awe and excitement. "That's right! It was a sight to see. The crowd couldn't believe it."

Her maid stepped closer, lowering her voice. "My lady, it seems the rumors were true. Lucavion has made a name for himself here."

The girl's hands clenched at her sides, frustration and confusion swirling within her. This didn't make sense. Lucavion, the same man she had dismissed as an opportunist and a fraud, had bested some of the most formidable warriors of the region. It was laughable—and yet the conviction in the townsfolk's voices made it impossible to dismiss.

"I need more information," she muttered, her voice low but firm. She turned her sharp gaze back to the group. "Where is he now?"

The townsfolk exchanged uncertain glances. "Well, he left the arena yesterday in tatters and the Marquis' People had taken him with them," one of them said. "But no one knows where he's staying. The inns are full, and there's talk of him keeping to himself. You'd best try asking at the Iron Matron—that's where the high-profile fighters tend to gather."

She nodded curtly and turned on her heel, her frustration barely contained.

Lucavion.

Sword Demon?

The absurdity of it all made her blood boil. But if the rumors were true—if he had truly risen to such heights—then she would find him.

"Regardless….You will not get away after putting a stain on our family….

Chapter 309: Ceremony

The grand hall of Andelheim was abuzz with excitement. Bright banners of red and gold hung from the high arches, the Marquis Ventor's insignia prominent against the vibrant backdrop. The long, polished floor gleamed under the sunlight streaming in through tall, stained-glass windows, depicting tales of ancient warriors. The atmosphere was electric, alive with cheers, whistles, and applause from the gathered crowd.

Valeria stood to the side of the dais, her posture straight and poised, her family crest subtly adorning her attire. She was clad in a dark, elegant cloak that swept the ground, her sword belted neatly at her side. The weight of her family name felt lighter today—more hers than a legacy she was merely carrying. Yet, there was a strange emptiness gnawing at the edges of her focus.

She let her gaze drift over the crowd, taking in the sea of faces. It was hard to miss the subtle undercurrent of disappointment mingled with the cheers. Whispers rippled through the assembly, questions veiled behind expectant eyes.

Where was Lucavion?

The Silver Flame Sect members, Varen among them, stood near the center of the dais, their crimson robes catching the light. Varen's face was calm, but his eyes carried a flicker of triumph, scanning the crowd as though relishing the attention. His fellow disciples flanked him, their disciplined composure a stark contrast to the rowdy cheers for them from a pocket of the audience.

Valeria turned her gaze to Marquis Ventor as he stepped forward, commanding the room with an effortless grace. His voice rang out, carrying the weight of authority and the practiced charisma of a leader.

"Citizens of Andelheim! Today, we honor the strength, courage, and skill of those who have competed in this tournament," he began, his words drawing a fresh wave of cheers. "Each participant who stands before you has proven themselves on the field of battle, exemplifying the spirit of this great event."

The applause swelled as the Marquis gestured to the Silver Flame Sect. "The Silver Flame Sect, whose discipline and mastery brought us some of the fiercest matches we've seen. Let us congratulate their champion, Varen, and his remarkable peers!"

Varen inclined his head, a faint smirk on his lips as the crowd erupted in applause. His fellow disciples gave subtle bows, their expressions composed.

The Marquis then turned to the left side of the dais, where a group of unaffiliated fighters stood, including Valeria and the monk. His gaze lingered on her briefly, a flicker of acknowledgment in his sharp eyes.

"And to our unaffiliated warriors, who have fought not for sect or guild, but for the love of the art, the pursuit of excellence. Among them, Valeria Olarion, whose skill and determination earned her a place in this hall of honor."

The cheers for Valeria were respectful but lacked the fervor of those given to the sects. She inclined her head slightly, her expression calm but unreadable.

As the Marquis continued with the ceremony, the absence of two key groups became increasingly evident. The murmurs in the crowd grew louder as people began to wonder aloud:

"Where is Lucavion?"

"And the Cloud Heaven's Sect?"

Marquis Ventor raised a hand, his calm demeanor commanding silence. "I understand your curiosity," he said, his voice steady, his tone deliberate. "The Cloud Heaven's Sect disciples departed early, called away by pressing matters."

Marquis Ventor's voice held steady, his expression carefully measured as he addressed the growing murmur of curiosity among the crowd. "As for Lucavion," he began, his words deliberate, "his absence is not due to disrespect, nor is it a reflection of any lack of appreciation for this ceremony or your support."

The crowd leaned in, the room quieting as they hung on his words.

"The truth is, his final battle, as many of you witnessed, was grueling," the Marquis continued, his gaze sweeping over the gathered audience. "While he emerged victorious, it was not without cost. The injuries he sustained were significant, and though his spirit remains indomitable, his body requires time to heal."

A ripple of sympathy spread through the crowd, murmurs of understanding weaving through their earlier disappointment.

"In fact," the Marquis added, his voice softening slightly, as though sharing a private confidence, "we offered to delay this ceremony to allow him the chance to recover and join us. But Lucavion, in his usual manner, refused."

Valeria's eyes narrowed slightly as she listened, her lips pressing into a thin line.

"He insisted," Marquis Ventor went on, "that this ceremony proceed as planned. He said, and I quote, 'The people of Andelheim have lives to live, and I will not be the cause of delay. Let them celebrate the tournament and its champions without waiting on me.' Such is the measure of his character."

The crowd erupted in applause, a mix of admiration and relief replacing the earlier tension. Lucavion's absence had been explained in a way that not only preserved his reputation but elevated it. The Marquis's words painted him as selfless and magnanimous, even in recovery.

Valeria remained still, her expression unreadable, though her mind churned. "Injured?" she thought, skeptical. She had seen him only the day before, and while his combat had been fierce, Lucavion's manner suggested anything but a man nursing wounds. "That snake," she mused silently, unsure if she felt amused or annoyed by his ability to weave out of the spotlight.

The Marquis, satisfied with the crowd's reaction, resumed the ceremony with seamless grace. "And so, while Lucavion recovers in solitude, we continue today to honor those who have given their all in this grand event."

As he turned to present rewards to the unaffiliated fighters, Valeria accepted her medallion with a curt nod, the crowd offering polite applause. The monk received his recognition with a serene bow, and the Silver Flame Sect's laurels were presented with much fanfare, the audience's cheers rising to a crescendo.

Yet, as the ceremony drew to a close, Valeria's thoughts lingered. She could almost see the smirk Lucavion would wear when he inevitably learned of the Marquis's carefully crafted excuse.

The ceremony concluded with the Marquis Ventor's final words ringing in the air, a declaration of triumph and hope for the future. The crowd erupted in one last round of applause before beginning to disperse, the festive energy of the day carrying them into the streets of Andelheim.

Valeria descended the dais with measured steps, the medallion of honor cold against her palm. She slipped it into the pouch at her side without a second glance. Her thoughts were far from the accolades, focused instead on the quiet tension that had settled over her since Lucavion's absence was announced.

As the crowd thinned, she moved toward the edge of the courtyard, her gaze fixed forward. She had planned her next steps carefully. With the ceremony behind her, there were matters to address—preparations to make for what lay ahead. The tournament might have ended, but her journey had only begun.

The sunlight cast long shadows across the cobblestones, the buzz of voices fading into the background as she reached the outskirts of the gathering. But just as she turned the corner, intending to leave the square and return to the inn, she froze.

There, standing beneath the arch of the main gate, were figures she knew all too well.

Their armor gleamed under the sunlight, polished to perfection. The sigil of the Olarion family—a silver phoenix in flight—was etched proudly onto their breastplates. Their bearing was unmistakable, every line of their posture screaming discipline, loyalty, and purpose.

Her knights.

Valeria's breath caught, a soft exclamation slipping past her lips. "Ah…"

The leader of the group, a man with sharp features and a resolute gaze, spotted her almost immediately. He stepped forward, his helmet tucked under one arm, the plume of his rank marking him as her second-in-command.

"Lady Valeria," he said, his voice steady and formal, but with a hint of relief threading through his tone. "We've finally found you."

It was time to return her home….