The Dueling star

The plaza was a sea of murmurs and flickering gazes.

Dueling wasn't just entertainment in the Empire. It was a statement. A public trial by combat, sanctioned by law, and governed by centuries-old tradition. Especially among nobles, where honor, strength, and bloodline pride meant everything.

The moment the duel was announced, it was no longer about Elric Von Tarnis and Ray Illustrious. It became a matter of factions—of noble houses, of public perception, of who would hold the reins of power in the next generation. For Duke Tarnis, the duel was a chance to rally the conservative nobles who feared Ray's rare affinities, especially Void. For Ray, it was a test. Not just of strength, but of whether he could begin reclaiming his stolen future.

Tradition dictated that duels between nobility were restricted by several laws: no lethal spells unless agreed upon, no external aid, and the presence of impartial magical observers to ensure fairness. But rules were rarely followed when power was involved.

Ray knew that.

That's why he arrived prepared.

He stood on the floating platform with his coat fluttering slightly, laced with fine defensive runes. His silver eyes swept the arena as the cheers settled into a tense silence.

He could already feel it—stray spells etched into the edges of the dueling field. Invisible enchantments that would subtly slow his movement or amplify the impact of blows. They had tampered with the stage. Subtle enough to be overlooked, but dangerous if ignored.

His gaze drifted to the observers' balcony. Among them sat the Council of Elders, a group of ancient men with polished canes and colder eyes. His father, Emperor Luke Illustrious, remained silent on his throne, his expression unreadable.

Crown Prince Aldren stood to the side, arms crossed, his sharp gaze fixed on the platform. Henry, the younger half-brother, lounged as if this were a play. And among the crowd, Ray could spot Count Tarnis, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips.

They thought they had everything set.

Ray adjusted the cuff of his coat and stepped forward. The platform shifted under his feet with a faint hiss of steam.

"Begin," the announcer called.

Elric lunged immediately.

The Tarnis heir chargedg faintly with spirit energy. He had wind affinity—likely enhanced by enchanted gear. His swings were wild butt, a whirlwind of steel aimed at Ray's head and sides.

Ray ducked under the first, twisted past the second, and tapped his foot lightly on the platform.

At that moment, a thin pulse of energy spread beneath him, disabling the enchantments embedded in the arena floor. George's earlier sabotage had worked perfectly—Ray had known they would tamper with the ground, and he'd sent George to trace and overload the minor circuits that powered the spell traps. It disrupted the flow of mana, making the field neutral again.

Elric didn't notice. He kept swinging.

Ray's wind affinity surged. He gathered a gust and slid to the side, lightning crackling along his palms. He didn't need to overpower Elric. Just make it clear the boy was outmatched.

A burst of thunder exploded between them. Elric flinched, thrown off balance, and Ray struck—not with his fists, but with pressure.

He didn't aim for damage. He controlled the tempo.

Dart forward, strike the shoulder.

Backstep, redirect the next swing with wind.

Duck, twist, spark his foot withlightning,g and trip Elric mid-lunge.

The crowd started murmuring. This wasn't just domination—it was tactical dismantling.

Ray was dancing.

Elric roared in frustration and finally pulled back, panting.

"You think this makes you strong?"Hee barked. "You're just some freak—some cursed monster—"

Ray's eyes narrowed. The Void affinity stirred in his core, cold and vast.

He raised one hand slowly, and a faint ripple of darkness coiled around his wrist like a serpent.

"I'm stronger than I was," Ray said, his voice calm. "That's all that matters."

He snapped his fingers.

A gust of wind lifted Elric's footing just slightly.

Then a blast of thunder struck from above.

Controlled. Measured. Not lethal.

Elric collapsed, his axes spinning out of his hands as the platform's barrier flickered to absorb the force. He coughed, dazed, struggling to rise.

Ray didn't move. He waited until the arena sensors confirmed Elric couldn't continue.

"Match concluded," the announcer declared, voice echoing across the plaza. "Victory to Prince Ray Illustrious!"

Ray stepped back, giving Elric space as the boy groaned, trying to sit up. He wasn't seriously hurt—just embarrassed.

And that had been Ray's goal all along.

He didn't want to kill Elric. He wanted to humiliate the faction behind him.

He turned his gaze toward the Tarnis balcony. The Count's face was pale, lips pressed into a thin line.

Ray offered a polite nod.

Then he walked off the platform.

Duke Tarnis had gone pale. The councilmen whispered. The Church's envoy made a note on a golden scroll.

And Crown Prince Aldren?

He was watching Ray with a different kind of gaze now.

Not amusement.

Calculation.

Later that evening, Ray made his next move.

He didn't let the win stand alone. He made sure it echoed.

He knew this duel had been orchestrated to provoke him, to draw out his power ipublic,ic and either brand him as unstable or paint him as dangerous. If he had lost, the Tarnis faction would have used it to dismiss his awakening as a fluke. If he had overreacted, they would have called him a threat to noble harmony.

But Ray had walked the tightrope perfectly. Calm, precise, and utterly dominant.

Back in the waiting chambers, Ray sat while George handed him a cloth to wipe the sweat from his brow.

"You didn't use Void," George said.

"I didn't need to," Ray replied. "That wasn't the place."

Using Void publicly would only feed the rumors that he wadangerous ands, unstable. No—he wanted them to see him as powerful but composed, not unpredictable.

"They'll try again," George warned.

"I'm counting on it," Ray said.

But he wasn't finished yet.

This duel had given him something far more valuable than just a win—it gave him a story. A narrative.

And Ray knew exactly how to use it.

That very evening, across thempire's's capital, whispers began to spread.

"Prince Ray didn't just win—he dominated."

"Did you see how he used three affinities? Wind, Thunder, and Frost?"

"And he didn't even touch his fourth affinity. He's holding back."

"Elric looked like a fool. Some say he was frozen mid-step!"

Ray had planned it all.

Even before the duel, he'd made arrangements. Small but strategic things: a few coins to the right gossipers, subtle hints to court scribes, and a well-placed rumor given to a talkative noble lady with a wide circle.

The narrative spread like wildfire.

And Ray fed it.

He sent George to deliver subtle praises of Elric's courage—while also emphasizing how controlled and disciplined Ray had been in victory.

A pause. Then the applause began.

He looked up—toward the noble balconies, toward the Elders.

Rumors began to spread across the capital.

> "Did you hear? The Third Prince crushed Elric without even drawing a weapon."

> "He controlled three elements in perfect harmony!"

> "I heard he didn't even need Void… he's just that talented."

> "A scholar from the Magus Institute said his control rivals fifth-year disciples!"

Ray didn't start the rumors himself. But he gave them fuel—carefully placed mentions in the right ears, a scribe or two paid to exaggerate in the right corners of the city. He left it to spread naturally, like fire on dry grass.

By the next day, posters depicting the duel were already being sold in the outer districts.

Ine, Ray stood with lightning crackling behind him.

In another, he was painted mid-spin, wind swirling around his coat.

The story had shifted.

He wasn't the forgotten prince anymore.

He was the stormborn prodigy. The one with monstrous power, yes—but under control. The one who could not only stand against factionbut alsout embarrass them publicly.

And as intended, it made the opposing nobles rethink their strategies.

They had tried to trap him.

Ray had turned it into a spectacle.

And now, they had to wonder…

What would he do next?

That night, Ray stood at his balcony in the palace's eastern wing, looking out at the city below. The lights of the capital glowed like stars, and the wind carried distant music from noble houses celebrating the ceremony's end.

George appeared beside him.

"You won," he said.

Ray didn't reply immediately.

He was remembering his past life. The day after the awakening, he'd sat in the same palace—but alone, forgotten, a failure. No one had spoken his name. No one had invited him to duel, or praised his abilities.

Just silence.

He clenched the railing gently.

"This time," he said, "I'm not going to be forgotten."

George nodded. "And the people behind Elric?"

Ray's eyes narrowed.

"I'll deal with them in time. First, I build my reputation. Then I go for their throats."

Far above, in the private chambers of the imperial palace, Emperor Luke Illustrious watched a projection of the duel.

He said nothing.

Beside him, Empress sipped wine, eyes thoughtful.

"He's changed," she said.

Luke nodded once.

"And you know why?"

The Emperor looked out at the horizon.

"I suspect he made a decision," he said softly. "Something deep. Something final."

The Empress didn't speak.

They both stared into the night as their son—the silver-haired prince once considered worthless—began to rise like a storm over the empire.