Of the more than a hundred warriors who entered the grand tournament, only two remained. The arena, once filled with chaotic clashes and the roar of ambition, now held only silence as the final match approached. The last contenders stood at opposite ends of the battleground: Griffin and Leo.
Griffin bore the air of nobility, his white hair glinting under the sunlight and his grey irises sharp with calculated confidence. Every move he had made throughout the tournament was refined—almost rehearsed. He was the epitome of grace and skill, a favored heir of a powerful household, wielding a single curved saber with the poise of a seasoned warrior. He had dominated each of his matches, defeating his opponents in under a minute.
Leo, on the other hand, looked entirely ordinary. A commoner with dark red hair and eyes to match, he used nothing more than basic martial arts and a standard longsword. His victories had always appeared to be the result of sheer luck, each match dragging on and often ending by the narrowest of margins. Yet here he stood, face-to-face with Griffin in the final.
My younger brother, Alex, sat beside me, visibly anxious. His eyes flicked nervously between the two fighters.
"Stop muddling, Alex," I said, crossing my arms. "The winner will be Griffin. It's obvious."
Alex snapped back, "No! Leo was so cool. He was like a hero..."
His words lingered in my thoughts. It was almost as if we were watching a story unfold—a novel, where the weak but determined protagonist pushes through impossible odds, protected by fate itself. I felt an odd chill, a strange familiarity, as if destiny were at play.
My father, who had been quietly observing the arena, suddenly asked me, "Why do you say that Griffin will win? They're both C-rank fighters. Why favor Griffin so easily?"
I answered without hesitation. "He has superior techniques. He's been trained well—he's efficient, polished. Leo... he doesn't even look like he belongs here."
Father chuckled softly. "Yes, Griffin is strong, no doubt. But let's not forget—Leo defeated a B-rank Kingdom soldier in the semi-finals. And not with luck. He used mana, clean and powerful. Now, imagine if that soldier had fought Griffin instead. Do you think Griffin would have won?"
I was stunned. That realization hit hard. "Then how? How did Leo win against someone even Griffin might not beat?"
My father's smile deepened. "Mindset, son. And hunger. It's the unrelenting will to never give up. To endure pain and turn it into strength. The hunger to win—to survive. That's something training alone can't teach. Some people would rather die than give up."
Suddenly, Leo's path made sense. His unwavering focus, his quiet endurance, his unpredictable victories—he wasn't lucky. He was determined. A fire burned within him that no blade could extinguish. Meanwhile, Griffin had been fighting for attention, fame, the admiration of girls. Leo was fighting for something far deeper.
The match began.
Leo struck first. Their blades clashed with a sharp ring that echoed across the arena. Griffin's superior strength quickly became apparent—he forced Leo back and struck him hard in the nose with his elbow. Blood gushed, but Leo stood firm, unmoving, unaffected.
The crowd gasped, then something unexpected happened—cheers erupted. The girls in the audience, moved by Leo's resolve, began chanting his name. That spark of admiration infuriated Griffin. He dashed forward at full speed, activating his first mana art.
But before he could land the blow, Leo did something unthinkable.
He threw his sword.
The weapon spun through the air. Griffin dodged with ease, sneering. "You fool."
Throwing a weapon in the arena was almost a declaration of defeat. But Leo wasn't surrendering. He was baiting.
He had gathered a massive surge of mana in his hand—something most fighters didn't even consider when using martial arts. In this kingdom, martial arts were practiced, yes, but they were often seen as tools of the poor. Most elite fighters focused on weapons and weapons-based mana arts. But Leo had taken a different path—he had been training mana-infused martial arts, a style almost forgotten, and one rarely used in official tournaments.
With blistering speed, Leo closed the gap. His punch, glowing with condensed mana, struck Griffin square in the face.
Griffin flew back, his body crashing into the ground with a violent thud.
The crowd fell silent.
A few moments later, Leo cautiously approached, prepared to strike again if Griffin rose. And indeed, Griffin groaned and began to move. But before Leo could finish the fight, a firm voice halted him.
"That's enough. He's lost, and you've won. There's no need to make it worse."
It was King Karl. No one had seen him move, but suddenly, he was standing between them. His presence was overwhelming.
Even I don't see, when father move , he was really fast ' S rank power is not a joke' i say in my mind.
Leo looked at the King, nodded faintly—and then collapsed.
Cheers erupted as the medics rushed to his side. He had done it.
"He did all this... just to earn enough for his mother's treatment," my mother said quietly, dabbing tears from her eyes with a silk handkerchief. "What a pity... what a powerful child."
Later, Leo was awarded the champion's prize: fifty million G—a fortune. Enough to heal his mother and buy a new life. Father offered him a position in the Morningstar family's elite soldiers. But Leo only said he would think about it.
Arthur, Fathers Guard, was outraged. "How dare he refuse the King?"
But Father merely smiled. "Let him choose his own path. He is welcome anytime."
As the Foundation Day celebration concluded, the evening sky burst into color with rockets and fireworks. We flew back to the castle by helicopter, the view of the kingdom glowing below.
"Did you enjoy the day?" my mother asked.
"Yes," I replied with a genuine smile. "Very much."
At the castle, we changed into new outfits chosen by our mother. My brother Alex, eager to show off, wore a flashy ring and a matching necklace. We descended into the grand hall, where the celebration continued in full swing.
Mother and Father soon arrived, both dressed impeccably. Father wore a pristine white suit that suited his regal presence. Mother's pink gown shimmered softly, matching her warm hair and gentle smile.
"Wow, you both look amazing," I said.
Mother laughed, "And our sons look just as adorable."
"You especially, Alex," Father said, grinning. "Wearing that ring, you look like a mana tower magician. And Liam—like a knight ready to make every girl in the kingdom fall for him."
I rolled my eyes, but then Mother added with a more serious tone, "My son, one day you'll meet many women who'll be drawn to your title, your power, and the life you can offer — but I want you to look beyond all that. Find a woman who doesn't see you as a prince, but as a man — a man with dreams, doubts, and quiet wounds. Find someone who understands you without the need for words, who can read the silence in your eyes and still choose to stay. Let her be the one whose presence brings you peace, whose laughter feels like home, and whose love is not for your crown, but for your soul. That's the kind of woman who will truly make you happy."
Hearing this I can only say this"Okay, Mother. I'll remember."
Father chuckled, "Luna, why are you saying all this now? He's still young and it's not like he leaving us."
"I don't know," she sighed. "I guess I'm just tired after today."
Father smiled and said, "Then let's enjoy the evening. Boys, greet the guests politely. And no fighting. But if anyone dares start something…"
"Dear!" Mother cut in sternly. "No fighting. Liam, especially you. Rex, look after him, alright?"
Rex nodded firmly.
The announcer called for the stars of the evening—the royal family. I took Father's arm, Alex took Mother's, and together, we entered the ballroom, the lights glowing warmly around us.
And even as the music played and laughter echoed, I couldn't stop thinking about Leo—the boy who fought not for pride, not for fame, but for love. He wasn't just a warrior.
He was a main character.