Chapter 6: Caelus Vespera vs. The Hero
From the VIP balcony suspended above the stands, the Saintess watched.
Her golden-green hair caught the afternoon light like spun sunlight. Minor nobles stole glances toward her. Whispered. Tried to catch her eye.
She acknowledged none of them directly.
Instead, she wore the perfect practiced smile. The kind that invited admiration without familiarity. Close enough to worship. Far enough to never touch.
She already knew the outcome.
Caelus would die.
That was always the point.
Behind her smile, she ground her teeth.
Not because Caelus would die. She’d orchestrated that. The rumors. The pressure. The carefully planted whispers that made Lucian believe the duel was necessary.
What irritated her was that Lucian had actually accepted Caelus’s appeal to honor.
Sacred Light.
His greatest weapon.
And he’d agreed not to use it.
Ridiculous.
It doesn’t matter.
She reassured herself of that.
Caelus would die regardless.
Yet the expression he wore as he entered the arena irritated her more than it should have.
She watched Caelus settle into his stance.
Something was wrong in the way he stood.
She couldn’t explain it.
The way his eyes tracked Lucian’s movements.
Like he already knew what was coming.
Impossible.
But the feeling persisted. A small knot of unease tightened in her chest.
She smoothed her expression. Relaxed her shoulders. Returned to her perfect, practiced calm.
Then...
The VIP balcony fell silent.
Voices and laughter faded, conversation dying gradually. Everyone instinctively turned toward the entrance.
A chill spread through the room despite the sunny weather.
Footsteps approached.
The Saintess turned. For the briefest instant, irritation flashed across her face, but she hid it immediately beneath another perfect smile.
Elysia Sylvaris entered.
White hair cascaded down her back like moonlight made solid. White pupils stared out from a face that seemed carved from porcelain. She moved with unhurried certainty, like a storm that knew nothing could stop it.
Her features were sharp but not harsh. Ethereal. Almost otherworldly. The kind of face that made people be grateful just for its presence.
White hair, white pupils. She looked more like a saint than the Saintess herself.
The irony isn’t lost on me.
Behind her walked a maid silently.
The Sylvaris family. Generations of Archmages. Even the Vesperas measured their words around them. A family that didn’t need to announce its importance because everyone already knew.
Elysia approached the Saintess and inclined her head.
A greeting. Mandatory and customary. Nothing more.
The Saintess smiled back, though the expression never reached her eyes.
"Lady Sylvaris. What a pleasant surprise."
Elysia’s maid silently materialized a luxurious velvet chair through spatial magic. Everyone simply accepted that this was normal for someone of House Sylvaris.
Elysia sat with elegant composure. Her white eyes swept across the balcony once before settling on the arena below.
The Saintess tried again.
"It’s rare to see you attend public events."
She paused.
"I assume you’ve come to witness your fiancé’s death... at my Hero’s hands."
Her voice remained perfectly polite. Only Elysia heard the venom beneath it.
Elysia turned slowly.
Calm. Unbothered.
"As far as I’m aware..." She paused, then continued, "Sir Lucian is not your Hero."
"He is the Hero of humanity."
The Saintess’s smile almost broke.
Elysia continued calmly.
"Lord Caelus is merely facing the consequences of his own actions."
She paused.
"Had I stood in his place..."
"I would have done no differently. Even if the consequences are there."
The Saintess’s smile remained.
Only her eyes cooled.
"Would you care to repeat that?"
The words escaped before she could stop them.
Elysia simply smiled.
"Nothing, Saintess."
Before they could continue—
Steel left its sheath.
Every conversation in the arena died.
The referee raised his hand.
"Begin."
Lucian moved immediately.
Back then it had sounded cool.
Living through it was considerably less impressive.
A powerful vertical slash with overwhelming force. Designed to end fights in the first exchange.
He was already moving.
Because he’d seen it before. Hundreds of times, in his head and on the page.
Step left.
Miss it by centimeters.
Preferably while pretending that was the plan.
Angle blade and deflect, not block.
He twisted, tilting his head as Lucian’s blade whipped past his face. The wind of it stung his cheek. Close. Too close.
Lucian’s sword flowed from the missed slash into another attack, his blade weaving through the air to bite on something solid.
He dropped low.
Left. Right. Diagonal.
Three strikes in quick succession.
Then he surged forward.
Then—
He surged forward. Into Lucian’s close quarters.
Before Lucian finished recovering from his second strike, he was there. Inside his guard. His blade thrust forward with a speed that surprised even himself.
Lucian retreated. His foot skidded backward. Off balance for the first time.
Silence echoed.
The Hero, the champion of the goddess, retreats in a public duel.
The crowd exploded.
"Did you see that?"
"He actually survived!"
"Damn it! I lost my bet!"
"Why didn’t he lose with the first exchange?"
"He was supposed to lose immediately!"
"He didn’t even move that much!"
"Is he actually... fighting back?"
He ignored them, his ears occupied by his own uneven breathing.
Every exchange cost him twice as much as it cost Lucian.
Which meant he couldn’t afford exchanges.
His body couldn’t maintain this pace. He could feel it in his legs. His arms. The way his lungs burned after only two exchanges.
His only chance...is to make him emotional.
He raised an eyebrow. Mock disappointment.
"This?"
He tilted his head.
"I skipped an entire night preparing for this?" His brows rose in mock offense.
A pause settled.
"...I expected more, Hero."
Please keep getting angry.
It was considerably cheaper than fighting you seriously.
Lucian said nothing but his eyes flickered, his brows twitched. Barely. But he caught it.
Lucian attacked again, the air screaming as his blade carved through.
He twisted, feeling the blade graze his sleeve. The fabric parted. He pivoted on his heel, the momentum carrying him just out of reach.
"I haven’t even taken three steps." He said looking at Lucian in disbelief.
Lucian’s grip tightened on his sword. But his face was blank, as if he wasn’t affected by the taunt.
But his attacks gave him away. They became faster and more aggressive. Less controlled.
Another exchange. Another near-miss. The blade whistled past his ear.
Lucian launched relentless combinations.
Overhead. He threw himself sideways, feeling the impact of the blade against his shudder through his arm.
Diagonal. He dropped to one knee, the sword carving through the air above his head.
Thrust. He twisted his torso, the tip grazing his ribs.
Every strike carried overwhelming force. The kind of force that should have ended the fight.
He barely survived.
A shallow cut across his left arm. Blood darkened his sleeve.
Another split his shoulder. The fabric parted, gave way to opened skin. He felt the sting and ignored it.
His clothes grew dark with blood. The crowd noticed. They could see him wearing down.
But the truth was worse.
His body had already reached its limit.
He was no longer standing still because it was advantageous.
He was standing still because his muscles were beginning to fail.
If he moved now, his legs would give out. His defense would collapse. He’d be dead before he hit the ground.
Lucian’s attacks had become more sloppy. Overextended and frustrated.
Only then did he speak.
"When you challenged me..."
He sidestepped, the blade carving through empty air. He felt the wind against his face.
"I thought you finally realized."
He parried a diagonal. The impact jarred his arm, sent pain shooting up to his shoulder.
Every parry felt like his arms were trying to resign from his body.
"That the Saintess never deserved everything she took."
He whispered only for Lucian to hear.
"...Turns out you’re just protecting a parasite."
Lucian stopped thinking. Debris exploded beneath his feet as he lunged.
His eyes burned.
"Take that back!"
Everything slowed down. All of Caelus’s, or his now, efforts flashed through his mind.
All that mindless training.
All that effort to prove himself.
Snuffed out by a spoon-fed commoner.
By his own writing.
Elysia crossed his mind.
Another "villain."
Another person he’d never bothered understanding.
*How many lives did I ruin simply because the story demanded it?*
He pushed it aside.
Lucian’s assault was relentless. His sword became a blur. He was barely deflecting, barely surviving.
And then—
...Kill him.
The whisper was faint, spreading through Lucian’s mind. Almost imperceptible. Just at the edge of hearing.
Lucian’s jaw tightened. His rhythm stuttered for half a heartbeat.
He attacked again.
...End it.
His blade caught Lucian’s. Metal screamed. He felt the vibration through his entire body.
Lucian pressed forward. His eyes were focused. Determined.
But something else lurked beneath.
...Kill him.
And again. Stronger now. Like it was pushing against Lucian’s thoughts.
Lucian’s next attack was wilder. Less controlled. His composure was cracking faster now. Something was getting to him.
Let’s end this.
Please.
Be exactly as predictable as I wrote you.
His blade tilted. His guard opened just slightly. Just enough.
Lucian immediately committed.
The whisper returned. Louder now. Almost urgent.
...KILL HIM.
Lucian lost focus for a single instant.
His thrust came forward. Full force and toward his heart.
He shifted at the last possible moment.
The blade pierced, sinking deep into his shoulder, above his heart.
Pain exploded through his chest. Blood filled his mouth.
He deliberately locked his muscles around the blade preventing Lucian from pulling it free.
He smiled through blood. Eyes filled with madness.
"Got you."
He swung directly toward Lucian’s neck, filled with all the hate he had for him.
Straight toward his neck.
Before the blade landed—
An overwhelming holy pressure descended.
The world became heavy.
His sword suddenly weighed ten times more.
Even breathing felt forbidden.
The entire arena froze.
Time simply... slowed. Became heavier and more resistant.
His sword was violently torn from his hand. It crashed somewhere across the arena. The sound echoed through sudden silence.
A Cardinal descended.
Floating above the arena with casual authority.
"This duel..."
"...ends here."
His voice carried without effort.
"It shall be ruled..."
He paused, his eyes passing through both.
"...a draw."