Finally Duel Day.
Naomi had pushed his body and mind to the edge, absorbing every technique Seraphina drilled into him and every piece of arcane wisdomwhispered by his black lizard.
He had spent days mastering his aura, striking through countless training dummies until his muscles burned and his mana felt like molten fire in his veins.
Yet, despite the grueling preparation, his heart still raced as the day of the duel arrived.
A sharp knock on his chamber door snapped him from his thoughts. Faria's voice called through the thick wood, "Young master, it is time for the duel."
Naomi took a deep breath, his fingers unconsciously brushing the hilt of his blade. He couldn't afford to show fear. Not today. "I'll be right there," he replied, his voice steady despite the nerves coiling in his gut.
As he turned, he found Seraphina standing near the window, her silver hair catching the morning light. She stepped closer, her eyes cold but her words strangely gentle.
"My lord," she said, her tone betraying a hint of concern, "remember what I taught you about strikes. But," her gaze hardened, "do not use the Ice Blade. I showed you that technique because you asked, but if you attempt to copy my skill, you risk shattering your mana core or even bursting a blood vessel."
Naomi forced a grin, trying to mask his anxiety. "I know, Seraphina. I won't take unnecessary risks."
She exhaled, a rare sign of her hidden worry. She turned to leave, but paused at the door, glancing back. For a brief moment, her icy mask cracked, and a small, almost invisible smile crossed her lips. "You have come far, my lord," she whispered, her voice barely audible, "but do not lose yourself."
As she vanished down the hall, Naomi adjusted his grip on his blade and whispered to himself, "I won't."
The black lizard on his shoulder snickered in his mind. "See, master, even the coldest warrior has faith in you."
Naomi smirked, stepping out of his chamber and into the corridor. The torches flickered as he passed, casting shadows that seemed to whisper his name.
The path to the training hall stretched out before him, long and daunting, each step echoing against the stone walls. At the end of this walk awaited his half-brother, Murin Darkstar, the man who had taunted him, belittled him, and now sought to crush him.
But Naomi would not break. Not today.
The grand Training Hall of the Darkstar Kingdom was unlike anything Naomi had ever seen—even in his previous life. It wasn't just a hall; it was a coliseum carved into black stone and reinforced with ancient magic. Towering pillars lined the perimeter, etched with golden runes and battle records of the Darkstar bloodline.
Above the polished obsidian floor where the duel was to take place, tiered balconies rose in sharp curves, circling the arena like a crown. Each tier was packed with soldiers in gleaming armor—men and women loyal to House Darkstar. Their auras crackled like static in the air, some trained killers, others noble guards who had seen decades of bloodshed.
At the highest balcony, seated on an intricately carved throne of blacksteel and dragonbone, was Duke. Regal and cold, he sat surrounded by his two wives—each draped in silks, jeweled eyes watching like hawks—and Nel mother, whispering to one another. His children sat beside him, curiosity in their eyes.
The moment Naomi entered the arena, a wave of mocking laughter and jeers swept through the hall.
"Is that Nel? The weakling who hid behind Seraphina?"
"He's going to cry before the duel even starts."
"Warm up your healers—he'll be crawling out!"
The soldiers didn't hold back. One even slapped his armored chest in rhythm, and others joined in, creating a mocking beat.
Boom... boom... boom... defeat... defeat... defeat...
Naomi's eyes remained forward. His steps steady. Each insult was a hammer to the gut, but he didn't flinch. He had endured worse in another world—real pain, real blood. If they wanted to break him, they would have to kill him.
Endure, he thought. Endure and strike when they least expect it.
Above, the Duke raised a single hand.
Silence fell.
Even the breathing in the hall seemed to halt.
From the far end of the arena, Murin Darkstar made his entrance.
He didn't walk. He strolled, arms out as if the arena was his stage, grinning like a man already declared victor. The heavy golden doors opened with ceremonial flare, and his red aura blazed around him like a cape of fire.
"Ahhh, little Nel," Murin said, voice loud enough to echo off the stone. "Still pretending to be a warrior? Or did they teach you how to crawl properly yet?"
He was clad in ceremonial crimson armor, polished to a mirror finish. A red-glass sword hung at his hip, humming with heat. As he passed by the soldiers, they clapped him on the back, some offering words of victory as if the duel had already ended.
He turned to face Naomi in the center of the arena, raising both arms as if soaking in worship.
"Let the record show," Murin declared with a theatrical bow to the Duke, "that today, I offer mercy to my dear brother. If he kneels and yields, I promise not to ruin that delicate little face of his."
The audience chuckled. Even some of the younger nobles sneered.
Naomi looked up, meeting the Duke's gaze—not with hate, but with determination.
He didn't kneel.
He simply whispered to himself, "Let them laugh. But they won't laugh when I ignite."
The black lizard on his shoulder chuckled softly in his mind. "Oh, Master... They have no idea what they're about to witness."
The crowd was still laughing when Naomi stepped forward.
But he didn't lower his head.
He didn't shy away.
Instead, he raised his sword high—its black steel catching the torchlight, glinting like the edge of a storm—and his voice echoed across the arena, sharp and unflinching.
"I am Nel Darkstar!"
He shouted. Loud. Defiant. Every soldier fell silent.
"And today, I will win this duel."
Gasps rippled through the hall like thunder rolling across the mountains.
"Not survive. Not endure. Win."
His blade pointed at Murin. "I've had enough of pretending. Enough of being silent. I don't care what blood runs through your veins or who you charm with your empty fire—because I didn't train to impress you. I trained to surpass you."
The air shifted. The temperature dropped. Every soldier in the room felt it.
Naomi's aura flickered. Not black. Not flame. Just raw will. Something deeper. Something older.
The soldiers who had mocked him moments ago now clenched their jaws in silent fury. Their expressions twisted in disbelief, in hatred—how dare he speak like that? How dare he claim victory before the duel even started?
"Arrogant brat," one muttered.
"Kill him, Murin!" barked another.
But Murin... he just stood there.
Then slowly, ever so slowly, he began to smile.
A wicked, sharp-edged grin. One that twisted across his face like a snake uncurling.
"Ohhh, little brother," Murin said, voice dripping with menace. "So you finally decided to stop being a shadow." He licked his lips like a wolf scenting blood. "Good. I was worried you'd be boring. Now I can really enjoy breaking you."
Naomi didn't flinch. His eyes burned with resolve. No more hiding. No more holding back.
And above, in his throne of blacksteel and bone, Duke watched.
The usual cold mask on his face cracked ever so slightly… and he smiled.
Not with joy. Not with warmth.
But with interest.
"Finally," he murmured, just loud enough for his closest wife to hear. "That boy might be worth watching after all."
The arena shifted.
This was no longer a ceremonial duel.
This was war in miniature.
And Nel Darkstar had declared it.
To be continue.....