It had been a day since the final semi-final match concluded. The tournament grounds, once echoing with the roars of spectators, now held a heavy stillness—charged not with noise, but with anticipation.
Though the battle between Julian and Veylan had ended, there was still no clear winner declared. Both had fought fiercely, with raw power and tenacity that left the arena in stunned silence. Their clash had pushed the limits of their strength and skill, and the tournament officials were still reviewing the outcome.
In stark contrast, the other semi-final had found its victor.
Feldine's calculated brutality had met its match in Elias—the calm, unreadable prodigy who had steadily carved his path through every round. Their fight had been intense, with both fighters pushing their limits. But in the end, it was Elias who emerged victorious. His blade moved with precision, his techniques sharp and deliberate.
And so, with that victory, Elias had secured his place in the final.
Now, the final battle loomed.
Elias would face Arthur, the undefeated prodigy whose name was already spoken with reverence. Arthur—who didn't just win his battles, but dominated them. The two now stood as the last contenders in this generation's greatest proving ground.
And the prize?
The Youth Crown—a symbol awarded to the strongest of their generation. It wasn't just a title. It was a mark of supremacy, a seal of recognition that the bearer stood above all others in skill, potential, and spirit.
Elias – Tournament Grounds, Pre-Final Match
Today's the day.
The final match. Me versus Arthur.
I've played this scene out a dozen times in my head—countless battle scenarios, how it might begin, how it might end. But there's still one thing I can't shake.
Arthur.
He's not supposed to exist. I don't remember reading anything about him in the novel. Not a side character. Not a name drop. Nothing. A complete blank.
So, either he was too unimportant to be mentioned…
Or he wasn't supposed to be here at all.
Like me.
Which means this might be another effect of my transmigration. Another ripple caused by my presence. I've already altered the timeline—this tournament shouldn't even be happening like this. And now this guy suddenly climbs the ranks like some hidden prodigy?
…Doesn't matter. I'll deal with him.
From what I've seen, he's strong—but not unbeatable. No elemental affinity. That's already a major disadvantage at this level. His swordsmanship is solid—precise, refined, well-practiced. But it's just that. Practiced. I've seen better. Veylan's technique is more dangerous. Julian's mana output is more terrifying.
Arthur?
He's efficient, but not overwhelming.
From his second-round fight with Feldine, he used most of his repertoire already. Sharp execution, no wasted movements. But there's a limit to how much he's mastered. Good quantity of skills, yes, but none of them were truly exceptional. No unusual timings, no layered effects. All standard, polished moves.
I watched closely during his bout with that Nyx guy. That was the real tell.
No A-rank skills used. Only a single B-rank skill, and that too used sparingly. Outside of his swordsmanship, there was… nothing else. No element, no pressure, no overwhelming aura. Just cold execution. Precise, but dull.
He's definitely not hiding a trump card—if he had something real, he would've used it by now. Either he's trying too hard to play the mysterious prodigy card…
Or he's just another overconfident noble trying to show off.
And I've read enough novels to know the type.
Arrogant, well-dressed, always calm on the surface, always pretending to be stronger than they are. Those young masters who want everyone to praise them just for being born rich. Maybe he's got talent. Maybe. But he doesn't have the hunger.
He even met with my father. My own father, who's spoken to me less than three times in this entire life.
Yeah. That pissed me off more than it should've.
And now this nobody stands between me and the Divine Core?
He's not ready.
He might have a crystal core like me—sure, I've heard the rumors. But what's the point if you don't have the techniques to back it up? He's too mana-dependent, and in long fights, he'll burn through his reserves. I'll pressure him, force his hand, make him use everything too quickly.
Then I'll end it.
As for unique skills? If he had an attack-type unique skill, he would've shown signs of it already. No flickers. No unstable mana signatures. Nothing out of the ordinary.
He's not a threat. Not to me.
At best? He's got potential to reach A-rank someday. The kind of background character you see standing behind real powerhouses in the story. A solid support role. One of those loyal knights or overhyped disciples who die in Chapter 70 when the real villain arrives.
I'd rate him 8/10.
1 point for flair.
1 point because, frankly, I just don't like him.
I'm going to win today. That's not ego. That's certainty.
And once I claim the victory, once I'm crowned—he'll have no choice but to fade into the background.
Then comes the real prize.
The Divine Core.
Once I have it, Father will give me access to the Archeive—his legendary mana script collection passed through our bloodline.
That's where my real path begins.
That's where I stop being just a transmigrator playing catch-up.
After today, I rise.
And Arthur?
He'll just be a footnote in my story.
Arthur didn't know what Elias was thinking.
Even if he did, he wouldn't have cared.
Let him scheme. Let him analyze, rank, and plan like the world was a storybook built around him. Arthur wasn't thinking about the crown.
Not right now.
Because today… today, he was meeting his sisters.
He sat alone in his private chamber, legs dangling from a cushioned bench, hands resting on the edge. At just ten years old, his body was still small, but his presence filled the room like a calm storm waiting to be summoned.
The door creaked open. Light footsteps. And then—
Smack.
A hand slapped softly against his back.
He didn't move. Didn't need to.
Lyria.
"Hello, little brother~!" she sang, wrapping her arms tightly around him from behind.
Arthur was silent. But his breath caught, just for a moment.
It had been seven years. The last time he saw her, he was just three—barely able to form proper memories. But the scent of her hair, the warmth of her hug, it felt familiar in a way he couldn't quite explain.
"You're not so little anymore," she added with a teary laugh.
He didn't answer. But he didn't pull away either.
Then came a louder, cooler voice.
"Stop clinging to him like a koala, idiot. You'll wrinkle his shirt."
Elyra.
Oldest sister. Silver-black hair tied in a lazy braid, sharp black eyes full of mischief. She strutted into the room like it was hers, nudged Lyria out of the way with just enough force to be rude, then threw her arms around Arthur with a dramatic sigh.
"Look at you," she said. "Still grumpy. Still tiny. But hey, you've got more muscle than last time."
Arthur gave her a look.
She winked. "What? I'm just saying, if you're gonna be a prince of swords or whatever, you gotta bulk up a little."
He exhaled through his nose. "…I'm not tiny."
"Aww. He speaks."
Elyra grinned like a cat who'd stolen milk.
But just then, someone burst through the door behind them.
"I knew you two wouldn't wait for me!"
Selene. The middle sister.
She dashed forward, black and crimson-dyed hair flowing behind her, and threw herself at Arthur so fast he nearly fell off the bench. Her black eyes sparkled with joy, and her smile was wide and wild.
"Atty!"
Arthur twitched.
"Don't call me that."
Selene only laughed, squeezing him tighter.
He was nearly smothered under three hugs at once before a firm voice cut through the chaos.
"That's enough. Let him breathe."
Duke Alaric Valerian stepped into the room, tall and imposing, draped in his formal navy mantle lined with silver embroidery. Behind him walked Rubina Valerian, Arthur's mother, graceful and serene, her gentle gaze softening the air around her.
They were followed by Drake, Arthur's loyal subordinate and sparring partner, standing silently like a shadow.
And then—trailing slightly behind, but holding a presence all his own—Grandpa Sebastian entered. Aged, stiff in posture, but eyes alert. The family's loyal butler and the only person besides Drake who could get away with calling Arthur "boy" without consequences.
The room filled with warmth that had long been missing from Arthur's life.
His mother moved first, kneeling in front of him.
"You fought really good, " Rubina said, brushing a strand of hair from his face.
Arthur looked at her—really looked—and for once, didn't have to put on the heir's mask. He just nodded.
Elyra slung an arm around his shoulder again. "You know, little bro," she teased, "if you keep up this stoic prince act, you're gonna get boring."
Lyria pouted. "Don't listen to her. You're perfect as you are."
Selene leaned in. "He's perfect, but he needs a cooler nickname. Atty is too soft."
Arthur sighed audibly. "Stop calling me that."
The entire room chuckled.
For a moment, the weight of the tournament, the pressure of expectations, the shadow of Elias's scheming—none of it mattered.
Just as the room began to settle, a polite knock echoed from the chamber door.
It opened a second later, revealing a slender man with refined posture, dressed in immaculate black and silver butler attire. His silver gloves were pristine, and not a wrinkle dared to touch his uniform.
Rein. Arthur's personal butler.
"Pardon the interruption," Rein said with a graceful bow, "but the final preparations are complete, young master. The arena awaits your presence."
Arthur gave a small nod.
Arthur doesn't need plan he is superior and he will conquer that's why came to this world.
————————————
The stadium was packed.
Tens of thousands of spectators filled the colossal coliseum carved from white obsidian and sunsteel, the largest structure in central Elydrion. Flags of every noble house flapped high in the wind, casting color and shadow over the roaring crowd.
This was the final.
This was history.
A loud crackle echoed through the stadium as all the giant viewing screens lit up at once. The central screen turned pure gold, then shifted to show a majestic figure stepping into a towering royal balcony.
The announcer's voice boomed across the arena.
"All rise for His Imperial Majesty—
Solan Marvek Elydrion, Emperor of Elydrion!"
The crowd surged to its feet in an instant. Cheers erupted like thunder. On the screens, the camera zoomed in:
The Emperor, clad in a deep crimson robe embroidered with phoenix-gold, stepped forward, his Platinum hair his eyes sharp and ageless. Despite his calm expression, the air itself seemed to bow to his presence.
Raising one hand slowly, he gave the crowd a single wave.
The stadium nearly exploded with applause.
"And accompanying His Majesty," the announcer continued, "the Most Revered Voice of the Sacred Flame—Pope Arkan Thalor!"
The screens shifted again.
Pope Arkan, dressed in holy white and blazing red vestments, stood just beside the Emperor. His eyes were closed for a moment in silent prayer, before he opened them and nodded solemnly to the crowd.
He raised two fingers in a gesture of blessing.
The cameras caught the exact moment.
A bright golden light shimmered faintly from his robes, and the crowd erupted into cheers once more.
Flags waved. Horns blew. The anticipation hit its peak.
Then—
The coliseum floor shifted.
Two massive circular gates began to open at opposite ends of the battlefield.
The battlefield itself was a massive, enchanted platform—polished obsidian ringed with golden runes that flared when touched by mana. The very air above it seemed to shimmer.
And from one gate—
Arthur Valerian.
He stepped out, sword at his side, silver-accented black uniform crisp and immaculate. His face was calm. Focused. Ten years old, yet the weight of a commander in every step.
The crowd went silent in awe for a moment—before erupting into cheers even louder than before.
And from the opposite gate—
Elias.
Draped in a navy battle coat, blade strapped across his back, calm and collected. The prodigy. The predicted champion. His eyes flicked to Arthur with a smirk that didn't reach his eyes.
The two stood across from each other, the golden runes beneath their feet pulsing softly.
From above, the referee descended via a levitating platform—dressed in ceremonial armor, his voice magically amplified.
He looked between the two finalists.
"Arthur Valerian. Elias vale Elydrion ."
"Before you lies the final battle of this generation's tournament."
He raised one hand.
"You both hold crystal cores. You both have earned the right to stand here."
"But now—you will fight. Not to test, not to train—"
"Fight with all you have. Show your truth."
His hand dropped.
"And remember—if anyone dies…"
He smiled faintly.
"We'll know it wasn't real. So don't hold back."
The crowd roared again. The stage lit up with dazzling lines of gold and blue mana.
This was it.
Arthur's grip tightened around his sword. Elias stepped forward, aura beginning to pulse with invisible pressure.
Across the coliseum, every eye was watching.
Above them, an Emperor watched silently.
Beside him, a Pope observed with divine clarity.
And before them—
Two destinies were about to collide.