Chapter 11: Shadows of the Crown
A Moment of Stillness Before the Storm
The night air was colder than usual, laced with the damp scent of earth and steel. In the distance, the academy's lanterns flickered, their glow too faint to reach the darkened training grounds where I stood. Faint echoes of past battles lingered in the silence—some fought for honor, others for survival.
Tonight, I would fight for both.
My fists clenched as the Cursed Mark pulsed beneath my skin, its presence a constant reminder of what I was. Days had passed since the Royal Examination, but the whispers had only grown louder.
"The cursed prince shouldn't be here."
"He's dangerous."
"A mistake of the royal bloodline."
I was used to their scorn, their wary glances filled with contempt and unease. But something had shifted.
Now, they feared me.
And fear was power.
But was it enough?
I exhaled, steadying my breath. The mark burned, but I welcomed the pain. It was proof that I was still standing, still pushing forward.
Still defying them.
Yet the road ahead was darker than I had anticipated.
And I wasn't sure if I could walk it alone.
---
A Test of Strength and Will
The academy upheld many traditions, but none were as brutal as the Trial of the Blade—a test of skill and endurance that determined one's place among the elite.
Only the strong dared to compete.
And tonight, I would be one of them.
The dueling arena was already packed when I arrived. Nobles, warriors, and scholars filled the stone seats, eager to witness another spectacle. Some came for entertainment. Others came to see me fail.
Their expectations didn't matter.
But one gaze among the crowd did.
Eleanor Vael.
Her silver hair shimmered under the moonlight, emerald eyes glowing with divine energy. Unlike the others, she wasn't just watching—she was analyzing.
Did she still see me as nothing more than the cursed prince?
Or was she starting to see something more?
I didn't have time to dwell on it.
A sharp voice echoed through the arena.
"Kael Ardent, step forward!"
I moved without hesitation, stepping onto the stone platform. My opponent was already waiting—Gareth Valford, a noble prodigy known for his unmatched swordsmanship.
He smirked, resting his blade on his shoulder.
"I almost thought you wouldn't show up, cursed prince."
I didn't respond. Words were useless here.
The only thing that mattered was victory.
---
The Clash of Fates
The moment the match began, Gareth lunged.
His speed was impressive, his blade flashing under the lanterns' glow. Most opponents would have struggled to react.
But I had spent my life fighting against forces stronger than me.
I sidestepped, my body moving on instinct. The Cursed Mark pulsed, responding to my intent.
Gareth twisted mid-strike, adjusting his stance with practiced precision.
But he wasn't the only one adapting.
I countered, my blade meeting his with a force that sent sparks flying. The sharp ring of clashing steel echoed through the arena, each strike laced with intent.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
They had expected me to falter.
To fail.
But I stood my ground.
Gareth's confidence wavered. His attacks grew wilder, more desperate.
He was skilled. But I was relentless.
And in the end, that made all the difference.
A final strike. A decisive movement.
His sword clattered to the ground.
Silence fell over the arena.
The impossible had happened.
I had won.
---
A Shift in the Shadows
As the match ended, my gaze flicked toward the crowd.
Toward Eleanor.
She was still watching.
But this time, there was something new in her eyes.
Curiosity.
Recognition.
Something stirred within me, an unfamiliar warmth cutting through the cold I had grown used to.
But before I could dwell on it, a voice shattered the silence.
"Not bad, little brother."
I stiffened.
At the edge of the arena, Crown Prince Adrian stood, his golden eyes glinting with amusement.
He had been watching.
Waiting.
The air in the arena grew heavy, whispers rippling through the spectators. Even Gareth, still kneeling in defeat, paled at the sight of him.
Adrian stepped forward, his presence suffocating.
"You've improved," he mused. "But you're still far from reaching me."
I met his gaze, unflinching.
"I never planned to reach you," I said.
"I plan to surpass you."
A hush fell over the crowd.
Then, Adrian chuckled—a dark, knowing sound.
"Interesting."
Without another word, he turned, vanishing into the shadows.
But his message was clear.
I was no longer an afterthought.
I was now something to be watched.
To be controlled.
Or to be eliminated.
---
The Price of Power
That night, beneath the academy's moonlit sky, I felt the weight of my choices settle upon me.
I had stepped into a world where strength dictated fate. Where the weak were discarded, and the powerful shaped destiny itself.
I had chosen this path.
But the question remained—
Was I ready for what came next?
I glanced at my hand, the Cursed Mark pulsing faintly beneath my skin.
A reminder of the power I had gained.
And the price I had yet to pay.
The night whispered promises of what was to come.
And for the first time, I whispered back.
"I will not break."
"I will rise."
And I will claim what is mine.