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Chapter 284: I am speaking with my sword

Lira.

She had destroyed his trust, and shattered his belief in others. Her betrayal wasn't just a wound—it was a firestorm that consumed his ability to let go. To him, control was safety. Control meant no one could hurt him again. These flames, this sword—they were his way of showing me how he viewed the world.

'I see it now,' I mused, my smirk deepening. His fire wasn't just a weapon—it was his armor. A shield against the chaos that had once burned him.

I shifted my stance, black flames swirling tighter around me, their chaotic movements a stark contrast to Varen's disciplined inferno.

"Let me show you," I said, my voice low and steady, carrying easily across the battlefield. "One thing wrong with your fire."

His eyes narrowed, the dragon flames surging as he lunged toward me, his greatsword carving a fiery crescent through the air. I stepped forward to meet him, my estoc rising to clash with his blade.

CLANG!

The impact sent a shockwave through the arena, but I didn't flinch. My black flames flared, wild and untamed, surging outward as though they had a will of their own.

"You tame your flames," I said, my voice rising as the black flames coiled higher around my estoc, their chaotic dance intensifying. "You refine them, shape them, control them."

My smirk widened, sharpening into something more dangerous as I pushed against Varen's blade. The black flames around my estoc surged higher, their chaotic tendrils writhing like living shadows, licking hungrily at the edges of his fiery dragon.

"Remember," I said, my voice rising above the groaning enchantments and the crowd's stunned silence, "fire may be safe when controlled. But that's not what fire is for."

The black flames exploded outward, coiling around us both as a storm unleashed. The temperature plummeted further, a biting chill that carried the unmistakable weight of death. My estoc trembled in my grip, the flames pouring from my [Flame of Equinox] core with reckless abandon.

I could feel it—the rapid depletion of my energy as the core's reserves dwindled, more than half of my mana burned away in moments. Letting the flames surge like this wasn't optimal. It wasn't calculated or efficient.

But so what?

'Isn't this what fire is supposed to be?' I thought, the grin never leaving my face as the chaotic energy around me intensified. 'Running rampant, consuming everything when the time comes?'

The flames roared louder, drowning out the sound of the crowd, the arena, even Varen's own fire. They twisted and surged with an untamed ferocity, no longer bound by precision or control. The enchantments flickered dangerously, struggling to contain the sheer force of my unleashed mana.

Varen's dragon flames surged in response, their silvery-red brilliance pushing back against the black tide. His greatsword flared brighter, the fire coiling around it growing sharper, more focused. He leaned into the clash, his teeth gritted, his eyes blazing with determination.

But I could see it—the faint flicker of hesitation in his movements. The slight waver in his stance.

He was holding back. Still trying to maintain control.

"You see it, don't you?" I said, my voice echoing with a chilling resonance. I stepped forward, pushing his blade back with the force of my flames. "Your fire… it's beautiful in its discipline. A masterpiece of control."

The black flames surged higher, the edges of their chaotic dance brushing against the shimmering dragon above him. "But fire isn't meant to be caged, Varen."

I stepped closer, my estoc pressing harder against his greatsword. The weight of my untamed flames bore down on him, their chaotic nature unraveling the rigid patterns of his mana.

"It's meant to burn. To consume. To run wild when the time comes."

The dragon flames flickered, their brilliance dimming slightly as my flames coiled tighter around them. The weight of my reckless mana pressed against his disciplined fire, forcing it to react, to adapt—or be overwhelmed.

Varen's eyes locked onto mine, his jaw tightening as he pushed back with all his strength. The silvery-red flames roared defiantly, but I could feel it now—the cracks forming in his control.

"Let it go, Varen," I said, my voice low, almost teasing. "Show me what your fire is really made of."

With a final surge, I poured everything into my flames, letting them spiral outward in a chaotic burst that swallowed the space between us. My core trembled under the strain, the last vestiges of my mana fighting to keep the flames alive.

The arena trembled, the enchantments groaning under the weight of the clash as fire and shadow collided in a deadly dance. And in that moment, as the flames raged, I could see the truth written in Varen's eyes.

This wasn't just a fight anymore. This was a conversation. A challenge. A test.

And I was waiting for him to answer.

********

Lucavion closed his eyes.

The crowd's cheers faded into the background, their voices swallowed by the roar of flames and the pulse of mana that filled the air. Even the biting chill of his own black fire, intertwined with the blistering heat of Varen's flames, seemed to fade into a distant hum. All that remained was the sensation in his hand—the weight of his estoc, the hum of its blade, the flames that danced along its edge.

The chaotic essence of his flames pulsed around him, unbound and raw. It wasn't something to be tamed; it was something to be understood. Respected.

'This… this is what it means to burn,' he thought, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. In his mind, the path became clear—a technique not born from precision or control, but from release. From accepting the nature of destruction itself.

A name…..

A name surfaced in his thoughts, unbidden yet perfect. A technique that embodied the essence of his [Flame of Equinox]. A blade strike meant not to cut, but to unleash—a surge of chaotic energy that would overwhelm, engulf, and erase.

Lucavion exhaled slowly, his grip tightening on the estoc as his mind settled into the flow of the technique. His senses sharpened, and though his eyes remained closed, he could feel everything: the rise and fall of Varen's dragon flames, the tension in the air, the faint quiver of his estoc, eager to be unleashed.

He opened his eyes.

The arena was chaos incarnate, the black flames and silvery-red fire clashing in an endless dance. Varen stood before him, his greatsword raised, his dragon flames roaring in defiance. His eyes burned with fury and resolve, but there was something else there too—a flicker of recognition, of understanding.

"You're not holding back," Lucavion murmured, his voice low and steady. "Good. Neither am I."

The black flames around him surged, their chaotic tendrils spiraling inward, condensing around the estoc in his hand. The energy coiled tighter and tighter, the blade trembling under the sheer pressure of mana. The air around him warped, the temperature plummeting as the essence of death and life intertwined in a perfect storm of destruction.

Varen's dragon flames responded, their fiery form growing sharper, more focused, as though sensing the impending strike. The air crackled with energy, the arena's enchantments groaning under the weight of the power concentrated between the two warriors.

Lucavion stepped forward.

His movements were slow at first, deliberate, each step carrying the weight of his intent. The black flames spiraled higher, wrapping around his estoc like a serpent coiling for the kill. His gaze locked onto Varen's, and for a moment, there was only silence between them—an unspoken acknowledgment of what was about to come.

And then, Lucavion moved.

The strike came in an instant, a blur of motion that defied comprehension. His estoc cut through the air like a phantom, the black flames exploding outward in a chaotic surge that consumed everything in its path. The energy unleashed wasn't a blade—it was a force, a wave of destruction that tore through the arena with unrelenting ferocity.

[Sword of Annihilation. Entropy Incarnate.]

The technique lived up to its name. The black flames surged outward in a spiraling torrent, their chaotic nature obliterating everything they touched. The ground cracked and shattered beneath the weight of the energy, and the silvery-red flames of Varen's dragon roared in defiance as they clashed with the surge.

Varen raised his greatsword, his fiery aura flaring as he poured everything into his defense. The dragon flames surged forward, meeting the black flames head-on in a collision of raw power and intent. The arena trembled, the enchantments flickering dangerously as the two forces battled for dominance.

But Lucavion himself….

He was someone who was not meant to be tamed.

His power wasn't about being in the order—it was about chaos.

He was a complete reverse of everything that an Awakened of a normal world was.

The Awakened all followed a simple system, something that everyone did. Their limits were simple and widely known.

Yet, Lucavion didn't fit into anything.

He was different.

If the Awakened were order.

He was Destruction.

Entropy.

The dragon flames flickered, their disciplined form wavering under the weight of the black flames. The silvery-red fire was powerful, but it was structured, refined—and in the face of raw chaos, structure crumbled.

The surge of black flames overwhelmed Varen's defenses, engulfing him in a torrent of chaotic energy. His fiery aura flickered and dimmed, the dragon flames dissipating as the sheer weight of Lucavion's technique bore down on him.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the black flames receded, their energy dissipating into the air. The arena fell silent, the crowd holding their breath as the dust began to settle.

Lucavion stood at the center of the chaos, his estoc lowered, the black flames around him fading into nothingness. His breath was ragged, his body trembling from the strain, but his smirk remained—a testament to the thrill of the fight.

Across from him, Varen stood, his greatsword planted in the ground for support. His chest heaved, his fiery aura flickering faintly, the remnants of his dragon flames dissipating into the air. His armor was scorched, his body battered, but he remained standing—a testament to his unyielding resolve.

For a moment, there was silence between them. And then, Lucavion spoke, his voice low but steady.

"Now," he said, tilting his head slightly, "do you see what fire is really for?"

Chapter 285: I understand your sword

Varen's breath hitched as Lucavion's words cut through the chaotic storm of flames around them.

"Fire may be safe when controlled," Lucavion said, his voice steady yet laced with that maddening edge of irreverence. "But that's not what fire is for."

Something shifted.

Varen felt it—not just the oppressive weight of Lucavion's black flames, but something deeper, more insidious. It was as though the chaotic tendrils of those flames had reached past the heat of battle, bypassing his defenses, and curled around the thoughts he had buried for so long.

'What is this?' he wondered, his grip tightening around his greatsword. He had always been sure of his path, of the discipline instilled in him by the Silver Flame Sect. Control was his strength. Control was his shield.

And yet, as he faced Lucavion, the embodiment of chaos, doubt crept into his mind.

The black flames surged again, wild and unrelenting, their movements mocking the rigid discipline of his own fire. For the first time, Varen faltered—not in his stance, but in his conviction.

'Is he right?' The thought was unwelcome, foreign, and yet it persisted. 'Have I caged my flames, my emotions, for so long that I've forgotten their true nature?'

The memory struck him like a thunderbolt.

Lira.

Her betrayal wasn't just a moment—it was a fracture, a splintering of everything he had believed in. He had told himself that he was over it, that he had buried it beneath layers of discipline and control. But had he? Or had he merely built a dam that was now beginning to crack under the weight of the emotions he refused to acknowledge?

The night at the Iron Matron's inn came flooding back. Seeing Lira, hearing her voice—it had been too much. He hadn't wanted to admit it, but his outburst had revealed the truth. He wasn't in control, not then. The rage, the bitterness—they had slipped through the cracks, slipping past the walls he had worked so hard to build.

'And now,' he thought, his gaze locking onto Lucavion, 'this man, this chaos… he's pushing me to confront it.'

The black flames flared higher, their chaotic energy battering against his disciplined inferno. Varen's silvery-red flames wavered, their structure cracking under the relentless assault. And still, Lucavion's voice echoed in his mind.

"Fire isn't meant to be caged, Varen."

Varen's chest tightened as his thoughts spiraled. He had always believed that control was strength. He had trained his emotions, his power, to bend to his will. He had made himself unshakable.

But now… now he wasn't sure.

'At that time, when Lira…' The memory surfaced unbidden, and with it, the pain. The betrayal had been a firestorm that burned everything he trusted, and his answer had been to douse the flames, to contain them. But was that the right choice? Or had he extinguished something vital in the process?

Lucavion stepped closer, the black flames coiling tighter around his estoc. His smirk remained, but his eyes—those piercing eyes—seemed to bore into Varen's very soul.

"You're holding back," Lucavion said, his voice low, almost gentle. "Not just your flames, but yourself. Do you even know why anymore?"

The words hit like a hammer.

Varen felt his grip on his greatsword falter for a fraction of a second. The silvery-red flames around him flickered, as if responding to the doubt creeping into his heart.

'Have I been wrong?' he thought, his mind a storm of conflicting emotions. 'All this time, have I been fighting against myself?'

But even as the question took root, a spark of defiance ignited within him.

'No.' His jaw tightened, his grip firming on his greatsword. 'Control is my strength. Discipline is what separates me from chaos. I am not wrong.'

Yet, as the thought solidified, another voice whispered in the back of his mind—a voice that sounded disturbingly like Lucavion's.

'Or are you just afraid to let go?'

The clash of flames around them intensified, but the true battle was within. Varen's silvery-red fire surged once more, its disciplined brilliance roaring to life. Yet, for all its power, he couldn't shake the sense that something was missing—something vital.

Across from him, Lucavion's smirk widened as though he could see the conflict raging within.

"Let it burn, Varen," Lucavion said, his voice echoing in the charged air. "Show me your true fire."

For a moment, time seemed to pause. The arena, the crowd, the roaring flames—all of it faded into the background. Varen's world narrowed to the man before him and the truth he didn't want to face.

And in that moment, Varen knew: this fight wasn't just about strength. It was about conviction. About who he was—and who he wanted to be.

"How?" Varen's voice echoed in his mind, quieter than the roaring flames, quieter than the crowd's cheers, but loud enough to drown out everything else. "How can I let go of my fire?"

The question lingered, a thorn buried deep in his thoughts. Letting go—it wasn't something he'd ever been taught, nor something he had dared to consider. Control was his foundation, the cornerstone of his strength. Without it, what was he? What would he become?

His grip tightened around his greatsword, the heat of his flames coiling around him like a protective shield. Yet for the first time, that shield felt suffocating.

"What does it mean to let it burn?" he whispered under his breath, the words a plea to the chaos before him.

Lucavion didn't answer. He didn't need to. The black flames surging around him, wild and untamed, carried their own response—a visceral, unspoken truth. It wasn't an answer Varen could hear; it was one he had to feel.

And so, he let go.

The silvery-red flames surrounding him surged outward, no longer disciplined or refined. They roared to life, breaking free of the structure he had imposed upon them. For the first time, his fire was wild, chaotic, and utterly honest. The crowd gasped as the flames twisted and surged, their brilliance reaching heights that rivaled even Lucavion's black inferno.

Varen's chest heaved, his breathing ragged as he poured everything into the flames. The heat consumed him, but it wasn't painful—it was liberating. Yet, even as his fire raged, his gaze remained fixed on Lucavion.

And that's when he saw it.

Amidst the swirling chaos of black flames, something struck him. It wasn't the raw power of Lucavion's attack or the suffocating pressure of his mana. It was his sword. That estoc, shrouded in pure black fire, wasn't just a weapon—it was a window.

A window into Lucavion's soul.

Varen's breath caught as he realized what he was witnessing. The black flames weren't random. They weren't a mindless force of destruction. They were chaotic, yes, but they carried something deeper—something raw and unfiltered. Emotions. Anger, grief, joy, resolve—all of it laid bare, without pretense, without disguise.

Lucavion's sword, wreathed in that chaotic fire...

It was Honest.

'How?' Varen thought, his mind racing. 'How does he do this? How does he pour himself into his blade like that?'

The chaos was incomprehensible. Varen couldn't fathom the storm of emotions that fueled Lucavion's flames. He couldn't understand the turmoil that gave them shape.

But he didn't need to.

He just needed to understand one thing.

One thing with absolute clarity.

Right now, standing before him, Lucavion was completely exposed. No masks. No shields. Just raw, unfiltered existence.

"He's bare," Varen whispered, his voice trembling. "He's… everything, laid bare."

The realization struck him like a thunderclap. He, Varen Drakov, had always worn a mask. His stoic demeanor, his disciplined movements, his pursuit of what was "right"—it was all a facade. A cage he had built for himself to keep the scar hidden. The scar left by betrayal.

'Lira.' Her name surfaced again, unbidden. Her betrayal wasn't just a wound—it was a shattering, a breaking of something fundamental within him. And in response, he had buried it. He had buried himself. Discipline, control, order—these weren't just principles; they were armor. Armor to shield him from the chaos within.

But now, as he stood before Lucavion, he couldn't deny it anymore. His armor wasn't protecting him—it was holding him back. He had been running, not from chaos, but from the pain. From the scar.

'Let it burn,' Lucavion's voice echoed in his mind, a challenge and a truth.

Varen's flames surged higher, their silvery-red brilliance mingling with the black fire that surrounded them both. He took a deep breath, his grip steadying on his greatsword.

"Laying everything bare…" he murmured, his voice soft but resolute. "Is that what it means to let it burn?"

For the first time in years, Varen allowed himself to feel. The anger. The grief. The longing. The betrayal. He didn't cage it. He didn't suppress it. He let it flood through him, pouring into his flames, his blade, his very being.

The flames around him changed. They burned hotter, wilder, more alive. And in that moment, Varen understood. Control wasn't about suppression—it was about balance. About wielding chaos without denying it. About embracing the fire, not taming it.

And this man before him.

Varen knew that Lucavion could withstand it.

'If it is him….if it is this man...He can do it.'

Thus he poured his fire…..

Even if he lost this battle Varen knew.

He had won, something far more important than that.

'Ah…..'

He could finally feel the burning anger that he suppressed expressing itself.

'This is enough.'

And it was enough.

Chapter 286: Sword Demon

The arena was silent. The crowd, moments before caught in the throes of riotous cheers, now watched in breathless awe. None could comprehend what they had just witnessed.

Varen, heir of the Silver Flame, stood at the epicenter of his own blazing might. His fiery aura had transformed into a primal force, raw and overwhelming, shaped by emotions he had buried for years. The dragon-shaped flames above him roared, no longer mere mana constructs but extensions of his very being, wild and alive. The ground beneath his feet was scorched and cracked, a testament to the pressure of his unleashed power.

Across from him, Lucavion stood amidst the aftermath of his own chaotic storm. His estoc, wreathed in the chaotic black fire of [Flame of Equinox], hung at his side. The flames had not subsided; instead, they seemed to pulse with a life of their own, weaving through the air like untamed spirits. His smirk, ever-present, held a different edge now—less of arrogance, more of acknowledgment. Blood trickled from a shallow cut on his cheek, but he seemed entirely unbothered, his eyes alight with unbridled exhilaration.

The fight had transcended the physical.

The black flames that sent shivers through every spine in the arena defied comprehension, their chill biting deeper than any winter's breath. The silvery-red inferno of Varen's power, refined by his years of discipline, had grown to unimaginable heights. Yet it wasn't the power itself that left the crowd stunned—it was the clash of ideologies, of emotions laid bare.

How could a swordsman not even affiliated with any sect push Varen, the peak 4-star prodigy, to such a precipice? Varen, a figure who at his age had surpassed even the most prodigious in their records, now found himself forced to confront the core of his identity. His flames, once the emblem of his discipline, had turned into a reflection of something far deeper—a release of the grief, anger, and betrayal he had carried.

Lucavion, the so-called Phantom Blade to some and Sword Demon to others, had shown the crowd something else entirely. He was chaos incarnate, a force that didn't fit into the structured world of sects and cultivation. Where Varen sought control, Lucavion thrived in the unpredictable, using it as both a weapon and a philosophy. His every move was a conversation—a challenge not just to his opponent's strength but to their very beliefs.

The energy in the arena hung thick, the air charged with the remnants of their exchange. Protective enchantments shimmered, their runes strained from the unprecedented power they had contained. Even the Marquis Aldrich Ventor sat motionless in his elevated box, his usual composed satisfaction replaced with wide-eyed disbelief.

Then, slowly, the spell was broken. Whispers rippled through the crowd like the first drops of rain before a storm, growing louder until they erupted into a cacophony of cheers, gasps, and frantic discussions.

"This... is impossible!" someone shouted. "Varen—at the peak of 4-star—should have crushed him!"

"But look at Lucavion!" another voice replied. "He's... he's still standing!"

In the center of it all, Varen straightened, planting his greatsword into the cracked earth for support. His chest heaved, his silvery-red aura flickering with the last vestiges of his mana. Yet, despite the toll the battle had taken on him, his expression wasn't one of defeat. It was something closer to peace.

Across from him, Lucavion chuckled softly, wiping the blood from his cheek with a gloved hand. "Now that," he said, his voice carrying through the stunned silence of the arena, "was worth every moment."

Varen's lips curved into a faint, tired smile. "You… you fight like a demon."

"Hehe..." Lucavion's smile widened, though his breaths were labored. "Stand proud," he said, his voice carrying an edge of respect. "You were strong."

Varen's grip on his greatsword faltered. His knees buckled as his body, pushed far beyond its limits, refused to carry him any longer. He fell forward, the mighty weapon slipping from his grasp as he collapsed onto the scorched earth. The dragon flames above him flickered, then dissipated into the air, their brilliance replaced by the faint glow of embers.

Gasps rippled through the crowd, their collective disbelief mounting as the scene unfolded before them. Varen Drakov, the Ferocious Flame, had fallen.

Lucavion remained standing, though his frame swayed as he struggled to steady himself. The black flames around him receded, their once-chaotic dance fading to faint wisps. His estoc hung limply at his side, and a pained grimace crossed his face as he shifted his weight. But even in his exhaustion, the smirk returned, defiant and proud.

For a moment, silence reigned.

Then, it erupted.

The chants started faintly, scattered among the crowd, but they grew louder, swelling into a roar that shook the very arena.

"Sword Demon! Sword Demon! Sword Demon!"

The name carried like a battle hymn, a declaration that would cement Lucavion's legend in the annals of the Ventor Martial Tournament. It was a name born not just of his victory but of the overwhelming presence he had shown—a force of nature that couldn't be tamed.

The announcer hesitated, his gaze flitting between the two warriors. His voice, when it finally emerged, trembled with the weight of the moment. "The winner… of the Ventor Martial Tournament… is Lucavion!"

The arena erupted into deafening cheers, a tidal wave of sound that seemed to shake the very foundations of Andelheim. Nobles and commoners alike leapt to their feet, their voices merging in celebration of the enigmatic swordsman who had defied all expectations.

But then, as the echoes of his name continued to resound, Lucavion staggered. The strain of the fight, the sheer amount of mana he had expended, caught up to him. His knees gave way, and he dropped to the ground, catching himself on one hand as his estoc clattered beside him.

"Looks like... I overdid it," Lucavion murmured, a weak chuckle escaping his lips before his body slumped onto the cracked earth. The crowd's cheers faltered for a moment as they watched the victorious warrior succumb to his exhaustion.

Despite their collapse, the image of the two warriors lying amidst the ruins of their battle burned into the memories of everyone present. It was a fight that transcended strength and skill—a clash of wills, philosophies, and hearts laid bare.

As the medics rushed to the arena floor, the chants resumed, even louder than before.

"Sword Demon! Sword Demon!"

Lucavion's victory wasn't just over Varen. It was over expectations, over the rigid structures of power and discipline that the world believed to be absolute. And in that victory, he had claimed not only the title but the hearts of those who had witnessed the unforgettable duel.

*******

Valeria stood silently in the shadowed archway of the arena, her eyes fixed on the battlefield where the embers of Lucavion's victory still smoldered. The crowd's chants of "Sword Demon" roared around her like an unending tide, but she was caught in a storm of her own thoughts, her gaze unblinking as she watched the medics tend to his unconscious form.

'He fought like that… as a 3-star.' The realization struck her anew, carrying with it a mixture of admiration and disbelief. She had reached the 4-star level only recently, yet Lucavion, with the strength of his core still firmly at the 3-star rank, had stood toe-to-toe with Varen. No—it wasn't just that. He hadn't merely fought Varen; he had challenged him, pushed him, and ultimately, defeated him.

'That shouldn't be possible.' Her hand clenched around the edge of her cloak, a habit born from years of training to ground herself. 'But he did it. He broke every rule I thought I understood about power and cultivation.'

Her thoughts drifted to the moments of the fight: the way Lucavion moved, his strikes imbued with calculated chaos. Every swing of his estoc had been purposeful, not just aimed at his opponent's defenses but at his very core—his beliefs, his confidence, his identity.

'Just what kind of person are you?' Her lips parted slightly as the question echoed in her mind. She had seen many warriors fight, but none like him. Lucavion didn't seek control like Varen, nor did he rely on sheer might like so many others. He thrived in unpredictability, wielding it as both shield and sword.

The dragon-shaped flames of Varen's final, desperate assault still burned in her memory, a display of mana mastery and emotional release that should have overwhelmed any opponent. And yet, Lucavion had faced it without faltering, his own chaotic flames defying the odds.

'What did you experience to have such a sword?' Her gaze flicked down to her own hands, remembering the countless hours spent perfecting her blade. Hers was an art born of discipline and tradition, a weapon forged to embody the ideals of knighthood. Lucavion's estoc, however, was something else entirely—a weapon born from a life she couldn't begin to fathom, honed not through structure but through survival, rebellion, and instinct.

The crowd's cheers began to die down, replaced by the murmurs of spectators trying to process the impossible. Valeria leaned against the cold stone wall, closing her eyes for a brief moment. In the silence of her thoughts, she felt a strange pang—a yearning to understand.

'Maybe it wasn't just the fight,' she admitted to herself, the truth settling like a weight in her chest. 'Maybe it's him. The way he carries himself, the way he speaks, as if the rules of the world don't apply to him. As if he's already lived through things the rest of us can't even imagine.'

Her eyes opened again, and she found herself stepping forward, moving closer to the arena's edge. The medics were carrying Lucavion's unconscious form from the battlefield now, his face still bearing that maddening smirk even in repose. She stared after him, her thoughts a whirl of curiosity, frustration, and… something else.

Valeria's footsteps echoed softly against the stone floor as she descended into the inner halls of the arena, following the medics who carried Lucavion's unconscious form. Despite the chaos outside, the corridors were eerily quiet, save for the faint hum of residual energy lingering from the battle. Her mind was a tempest of thoughts, but her purpose was singular.

'I need to see him,' she told herself, the words carrying a surprising intensity. She wasn't sure if it was to confirm his condition, to glean more about the man who had left her—and the entire arena—in awe, or simply because she couldn't turn away.

But as she reached the entrance to the medical wing, her path was abruptly blocked. Two guards, clad in polished armor bearing the insignia of Marquis Ventor, stepped forward with practiced precision, their spears crossing to form an impassable barrier.

"Halt," one of them said, his voice firm but measured. "No one is permitted beyond this point."

Valeria's eyes narrowed as she straightened her posture. "I'm here to see Lucavion," she stated, her voice calm yet unyielding. "I'm with him."

She was not going to let this matter go.

Chapter 287: I will see him

"I'm here to see Lucavion. I'm with him."

She felt annoyed.

Whether they started as normal or not, Valeria knew that she had every right to be there for Lucavion by this point.

Since she herself was someone who had been with him for a long time already.

The guards exchanged a brief glance, their expressions betraying no emotion. "Apologies, Lady Valeria," the other guard replied, his tone polite but resolute. "The Marquis has given explicit orders. No one is allowed to follow or disturb him."

Valeria's brow furrowed, irritation flickering across her features. She was well aware of the Marquis's influence, but this seemed excessive. "Do you know who I am?" she asked, her voice low and steady, carrying an unmistakable edge of authority.

"We are aware," the first guard replied, nodding slightly. "Lady Valeria Olarion, semifinalist of the Ventor Martial Tournament. Your prowess is acknowledged, but our orders are absolute."

Valeria's lips pressed into a thin line as she studied the two guards. She could feel the weight of their duty in their stances, unwavering and unyielding. But her own resolve was no less fierce. She took a step closer, her voice firm. "Lucavion is my companion. I have every right to ensure his well-being."

The declaration struck her ears a beat too late, and she froze, momentarily taken aback by her own statement. 'Companion?' The word rolled through her mind, unfamiliar yet strangely fitting. She hadn't thought of him that way—not consciously. Yet as the idea settled in, it felt less like an assertion and more like a truth she'd only just realized.

The guards exchanged glances, their previously stoic expressions giving way to faint unease. They stood stiffly at their posts, but the tension in their shoulders betrayed their discomfort.

One of them cleared his throat. "Lady Valeria, we… understand your concern," he began, his tone noticeably softer. "However, the Marquis's instructions were clear. No one is permitted to follow or disturb Sir Lucavion."

Valeria's eyes narrowed as she caught the hesitation in his voice. She could tell they were wavering, likely aware of how often she and Lucavion had been seen together in the city. Their reluctance wasn't born of defiance—it was uncertainty. 'So they know,' she realized, though the full implications of her own words still eluded her.

The other guard looked as though he wanted to speak but stopped himself, his gaze darting between her and his companion. Their dilemma was evident. They wanted to let her through but were bound by their orders.

The awkward standoff was interrupted by the steady echo of approaching footsteps. Valeria turned, her annoyance giving way to a wary curiosity as a figure emerged from the corridor behind her. The man wore a gleaming suit of armor emblazoned with the insignia of the Ventor family, his presence commanding yet calm.

"Lady Valeria," he greeted her with a respectful bow. "I am Sir Maynter, of the Ventor Knight Order. Please excuse the delay; I was informed of your arrival."

Valeria studied him carefully. His armor, polished to a mirror shine, reflected the torchlight and his composed demeanor suggested a knight accustomed to mediating tense situations. His brown eyes held a warmth that contrasted with the stern expressions of the guards, though his bearing left no doubt that he, too, was a man of discipline.

Sir Maynter turned to the guards, offering a slight nod of acknowledgment. "Thank you for your diligence. I will handle this matter personally."

The guards visibly relaxed, stepping back to their posts with palpable relief. One of them murmured, "Thank you, Sir Maynter," before falling silent.

Maynter turned his attention back to Valeria, his tone calm but authoritative. "Lady Valeria, I understand your concern for Sir Lucavion. You are not alone in your worry; his condition is being closely monitored by the finest healers in the Marquis's employ."

Valeria met his gaze, her frustration simmering just beneath the surface. "I only want to ensure he's unharmed," she said, her voice steady but firm.

"Of course," Maynter replied with a small nod. "But as you may understand, the Marquis's orders are absolute. For now, Lucavion's recovery requires rest and privacy. However…" He paused.

The pause stretched only a moment before he continued, his voice calm and deliberate. "However, I have another matter to relay, Lady Valeria. The Marquis has instructed me to find you and extend a formal invitation to his mansion."

Valeria's brows lifted slightly, her surprise tempered by an almost immediate understanding. She had anticipated this, though she hadn't expected it to come so soon. She crossed her arms, her posture shifting subtly as she regarded the knight.

"An invitation?" she asked, her voice steady, though the slightest trace of curiosity tinged her words.

Maynter inclined his head. "Indeed. The Marquis was already aware of your identity as early as the fourth stage of the tournament. He observed your skill and determination and found it most impressive. It was his intent to extend his hospitality much earlier, but he refrained, recognizing that you came here as a participant and not in the capacity of a noble seeking connections. The Marquis wished to honor your focus and privacy."

Valeria's lips pressed into a thin line, her thoughts racing as Maynter continued.

"However," he added with a faint smile, "your accomplishments have now reached a point where they cannot be ignored. Your name is spoken widely among the city's circles, Lady Valeria, and it is no longer feasible for the Marquis to overlook formal etiquette. He wishes to meet with you directly, not only to commend your performance but also to discuss matters that may benefit both of your houses."

Valeria regarded him in silence for a moment, her gaze steady and contemplative. She had known this would happen—it was one of the reasons she had entered the tournament in the first place. Making a name for herself wasn't just about proving her strength; it was about securing recognition, forging connections, and advancing her family's interests. Marquis Ventor was a key figure in this endeavor, and she had been preparing for this moment since her arrival in Andelheim.

"I see," she said finally, her voice measured. "The Marquis is an astute man. I expected no less."

Maynter's smile widened slightly, though his demeanor remained composed. "He values foresight and discipline, qualities you have demonstrated in abundance. That is why, rather than sending an attendant to deliver this message, he deemed it appropriate to send someone who could meet you as an equal."

Valeria's eyes flicked to the guards, who still stood silently at their posts, before returning to Maynter. "And you, Sir Maynter, are here to ensure I take this invitation seriously?"

"Not at all, my lady," Maynter replied smoothly. "I am here to ensure the invitation is delivered with the respect you deserve."

Valeria allowed a faint smile to touch her lips, though her posture remained guarded. "Very well. I will accept the Marquis's invitation."

Maynter nodded, clearly satisfied. "Excellent. The Marquis will be pleased.

Maynter's smile remained as he gestured subtly toward the hallway leading out of the arena. "If you are ready, Lady Valeria, I would be honored to escort you to the Marquis's mansion. The Marquis has also expressed a concern for your safety, given the current climate in the city."

Valeria tilted her head slightly, her brow furrowing in curiosity. "What exactly do you mean by that, Sir Maynter?"

Maynter's expression grew more serious, though his tone remained calm. "The Cloud Heavens Sect is not known for taking perceived slights lightly. Sir Lucavion's actions have drawn significant ire from them, and given your close association with him, there is a chance they may seek to involve you in their grievances."

Valeria's gaze sharpened, though she remained composed. "You believe they would target me?"

"It is a possibility," Maynter replied. "The city is teeming with people due to the festival and the tournament, making it far too easy for tensions to escalate. Ensuring your safety is a priority, not only because of your association with Sir Lucavion but also because of your standing as a semifinalist. It would reflect poorly on the city and the Marquis if any harm were to come to you during this time."

Valeria exhaled quietly, the weight of his words settling over her. While she prided herself on her ability to handle herself in dangerous situations, she couldn't ignore the reality of what Maynter had said. With the festival in full swing and sect tensions rising, anything could happen.

"Very well," she said after a moment, her voice steady. "I'll need to gather my things from the Iron Matron. After that, I'll accompany you."

Maynter inclined his head. "Of course. I will escort you to your inn and ensure your journey is uninterrupted."

With that, the two set off through the city streets. The crowd was as lively as ever, with vendors shouting their wares and spectators from all walks of life filling the thoroughfares. Valeria's sharp eyes scanned her surroundings as she walked beside Maynter, his presence drawing respectful nods from passersby who recognized the insignia of the Ventor Knight Order.

When they arrived at the Iron Matron, Valeria wasted no time collecting her belongings. She packed efficiently, her movements precise, though her thoughts were divided between the upcoming meeting with the Marquis and the lingering unease about the Cloud Heavens Sect. Maynter waited patiently near the entrance, his posture relaxed but his gaze vigilant.

At the same time, both Mariel and the other members of the inn like Liora were curious as to what happened to Lucavion

She replied to their questions with a quick briefing. Knowing that Marquis would be looking after Lucavion, neither Mariel nor others said anything more.

Once she was ready, they stepped outside to find a well-appointed carriage waiting for them. The Ventor family crest was emblazoned on its side, a subtle yet unmistakable sign of prestige. Maynter gestured toward it, his armor catching the late afternoon sunlight.

"The Marquis has arranged for your transport," he said, holding the door open as Valeria climbed inside. Once she was settled, he took his place beside her, the interior spacious enough to accommodate his imposing armor without discomfort.

The journey to the Marquis's mansion was smooth but deliberate, the carriage weaving through the bustling city center before ascending toward the estate. The mansion itself loomed ahead, an elegant structure of white stone and gilded accents surrounded by manicured gardens. As they approached, Valeria felt a shift in the atmosphere—a palpable sense of order and influence that marked the seat of one of Andelheim's most powerful figures.

As the carriage came to a stop, Maynter stepped out first, extending a hand to help Valeria down. She accepted with a nod, her gaze immediately drawn to the grandeur of the mansion. The towering gates, guarded by knights in matching insignias, swung open to reveal a path lined with lanterns and vibrant blooms.

"This way, Lady Valeria," Maynter said, gesturing toward the entrance

'An audience with a Marquis.'

For the first time in a while, Valeria was much more nervous than before…..

Since she would be having an audience with a noble much higher ranked than herself.