Cursed Heir System: Revenge Against the Gods

Alan's blue eyes shifted to Paul's eyes, gazing into him directly. "Please maintain distance from lady Anna," He said in a calm way yet it's like a direct warning.

The air tensed like a drawn bowstring.

Passersby froze mid-step and their eyes widening at the sight of an unknown knight placing himself between the Fire Champion and nobility.

Anna blinked, caught between breath and voice, her lips parting slightly, but no words came out.

Paul paused for a moment, the sheer audacity throwing him for a second. Then a crooked grin stretched across his face. He stepped closer, towering over Alan with his frame casting a shadow across the smaller man.

"Well, someone's got steel balls," he said, cocking his head. "But you clearly don't know whose hand you just grabbed."

Alan's expression didn't change. "Paul Petersen, the fire Goddess's champion. The hero of the war against frost elves happened ten years ago. There's no people in the entire continent who doesn't know you," he said without averting his gaze.

Everyone knows about the fire champion. Even more of his antics and his troublemaker attitude made him more famous than his contribution to the frost elves war.

A wave of murmurs rippled through the watching crowd.

"Did you hear that? He just stared down the Champion…"

"Is he suicidal?"

"Who the hell is he?"

Paul blinked once, caught off-guard by the precision of the response.

Then his smirk widened, shifting into something colder. "Good. Then you do know who I am," he said, leaning forward slightly. "Which means you should also know what I can do with a single flick of my hand."

Alan smirked slowly as he released the hand and took one step back. "What, you'll kill me?" he asked in a mocking bold tone. "The Fire Champion, chosen by the Goddess herself, slaying a lowly knight in the Concreda Church, in front of priests, nobles, and pilgrims? That'd be a story they'd talk about for years."

Paul's grin faded for a moment. In a sudden blur, he grabbed Alan by the collar and yanked him close. The fabric tightened around Alan's neck. The crowd gasped—some stepped back, others leaned in to watch.

"You've got a sharp tongue," Paul growled, his face just inches from Alan's. "But words won't protect you from fists."

Alan didn't move. His cold blue eyes stayed locked on Paul's, as if he could see right through all the fame and power.

Everyone Paul met weaker than him always shook under his gaze. But the common knight dared to mock him in front of everyone inside the Concerda's church.

A low, guttural growl ripped through the silence.

Paul's head snapped to the side and saw Moriko stood a few feets away, her golden eyes blazing with fury. Moriko has shifted to semi beast form, her hands now furred claws, her muscles taut and rippling under her skin. Her skewers scattered on the ground at her feet.

"Leave. Him," Moriko rumbled as she crouched, ready to pounce.

Alan raised a hand, his voice calm but firm. "Moriko, stand down."

Paul's eyes narrowed, his grip on Alan tightening for a moment as he glanced at Moriko. "What's a beastkin doing in the Concreda Church?" he demanded, but he observed her figure. "Well, she's not half bad at least."

Anna stepped forward and placed a delicate hand on Paul's arm. "Please, Sir Paul, let him go," she pleaded. "People are watching. This isn't the place."

Yulder, standing nearby, added his voice. "Champion, you've made your point. Release him."

Paul looked around where priests, nobles, pilgrims were staring in shock. Realizing the situation, he released Alan with a shove, stepping back with a forced smirk. "Fine," he said, brushing off his hands. "Not worth the trouble."

The crowd exhaled, thinking the confrontation had ended.

But in a blur of superhuman speed, Paul's fist directed toward Alan's face, a strike meant to kill him instantly. As the blow closed in, inches from Alan's eye—

A smooth, tanned hand quickly grabbed Paul's wrist, stopping his punch before it touch Alan.

The impact sent a burst of force through the air. Dust rose from the cobblestones. People in the crowd covered their faces. Anna gasped and quickly moved away.

The orange-haired champion turned to see who had stopped him and his eyes widened.

Janine stood there with her violet eyes burning and a fierce grin on her face. She held Paul's arm in a tight grip, not letting it move. In her other hand, she casually held a few skewer sticks.

Paul looked back at Alan, who still hadn't moved. He stood there calmly, completely unfazed. There was something strange in his eyes, a hollow, fearless look, like someone who had seen death too many times.

That's when Paul realized…

This knight wasn't afraid of dying.

Janine tightened her grip around his arm. "That's enough, Petersen," she said. "You want to throw a punch, pick someone who'll hit back. Like me."

Paul yanked his arm free with his smirk returning, though it was strained. "Just testing the kid's nerve, Janine," he said, his tone light but his eyes wary. "Seems he's got more than I thought."

Paul walked toward the Church, his heavy boots echoing on the smooth stone steps. A mix of anger and something he hadn't felt in years. Yaa, embarrassment, it's burned in his chest. It stung more than he expected, especially for someone like him… the Fire Champion.

He could hear the whispers behind him. Nobles murmuring behind their fans, priests sneaking worried glances, and pilgrims already spreading stories that would soon travel far beyond these walls.

His fists tightened at his sides. He could still feel the pressure of Janine's hand on his arm.

As he reached the top of the steps, a voice he knew well called out to him.

"There you are."

Riina descended with fluid grace, the sunlight catching strands of her flowing blue hair. Her shirt clung tightly to her curves just enough to hint at both status and seduction. She looked at him with frustration.

"I was looking for you inside," she said as she placed her hand on her hip. "Don't tell me you were off causing trouble again."

Paul exhaled hard through his nose. "Just went to size up Anna Nocelle," he muttered.

Riina cocked her head as she raised an eyebrow. "And?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he glanced back toward the atrium. The group was still visible in the ground—Anna, Janine, the beastkin girl with those striking golden eyes… and him.

The grey-haired knight.

Paul's scowl deepened. "Who the hell is that knight beside her? I've never seen him before. Doesn't look like he belongs to any house I know."

Riina followed his gaze, squinting. "Oh, him. He seems to be Anna's new knight. Duchess Sharra's personal pick," she said, folding her arms under her big chest. "They say he beat Janine in a test."

Paul turned his full body to her, incredulous. "You're joking."

She smirked. "Would I joke about Janine bleeding? Gods, that woman doesn't even sweat. But yeah, he's not with any Order. No noble ties either."

Paul stared at the knight again. The bastard looked... ordinary. Shorter than most knights, leaner too. But something about him was off. Not just a certain confidence. Like he knew exactly how and when to cut a man open.

"What happened?" Riina asked again, her voice dipping to a whisper.

Paul looked away with his face twitching. "Nothing," he snapped. "Let's go."

They started walking up the stairs together. But halfway up, something made Paul look back one more time.

Alan was still staring at him. Their eyes met again.

Alan's gaze hadn't changed, it's calm and empty. But now, a small smile appeared on his lips. It wasn't a smirk or a joke. It was cold and serious, like a quiet warning.

Paul felt a chill crawl down his spine. That look didn't say if something would happen.

It said when.

"I'll get my chance," Paul muttered to himself.