Viola didn’t take her eyes off the pair across the room. Her grin stayed in place, but her voice dropped into something sharp and steady.

“They’re from House Veylan and House Roderick,” she said. “Both families have blood ties with the imperial guard.”

Ludger’s gaze flicked back to the two. Now that she said it, he could see the bearing—the straight spines, the clipped precision of their movements, the kind of polish that came from more than noble tutors. These weren’t just heirs trained for show; they were soldiers in miniature, raised on the same drills as the capital’s elite knights.

“Royal guard,” Ludger repeated, almost under his breath. “Wonderful.”

Viola leaned back, still watching them, her grin stretched wider now, almost daring. “They’re used to fighting in formations, used to protecting the throne. That means discipline. That means they’ll hit like a wall.”

Her eyes gleamed. “But walls can be broken.”

Ludger studied her for a long moment, then shifted his gaze back to the boys across the chamber. Their eyes met his briefly—calm, steady, evaluating—and then moved past him, as if already measuring how to cut him down.

He crossed his arms. Semifinals. Two families tied to the royal guard. If we beat them, the whole capital will be watching.

And if they lost, it wouldn’t just be a defeat. It would be a message.

The door creaked open again, and a guard’s voice cut through the heavy air.

“Viola Torvares and Ludger—your match is next. You’ll be facing the winners from the other chamber.”

Viola pushed herself up, rolling her sore shoulder as if to shake off the last traces of pain. A servant stepped forward with a rack of dull weapons, and she plucked a new sword from it, testing the weight with a couple of quick swings.

Ludger glanced at her as they walked toward the tunnel. “Recognize them too?”

She shook her head at first, her brow furrowed. It wasn’t until they reached the light of the tunnel that her expression shifted, her eyes narrowing as memory clicked into place.

“…Took me a second,” she muttered. “But yeah. They’re from House Dalmoren.”

Ludger’s eyes flicked toward her. “Dalmoren?”

“A family of a duke,” she said, her tone dry now. “Not just any dukes, either. Old blood. They’ve been feeding knights and commanders to the empire for generations. Really close ties to the imperial family.”

Ludger exhaled slowly through his nose. “Great. So we’ve gone from heirs with discipline, to royal guard stock, and now to dukes’ brats.”

He rubbed at his temple, already feeling the headache forming. “We’re crawling our way into really troublesome territory.”

Viola only grinned, resting her dull blade on her shoulder. “That just makes the victory sweeter.”

Ludger sighed, adjusting his armguards as the roar of the arena swelled around them. “Or the fall harder.”

The referee’s call echoed from outside, summoning them into the sunlight.

The sunlight hit hard as Ludger and Viola stepped out of the tunnel, the roar of the arena crashing over them. The referee’s voice boomed to announce their opponents.

“Facing the Torvares team—heirs of House Dalmoren!”

Two figures emerged from the opposite tunnel. Even at a glance, Ludger could see the difference. They weren’t just noble children. They carried themselves with the weight of their house, the kind of old blood confidence that came from knowing entire battalions had marched under their crest.

The elder, Albrecht Dalmoren, strode forward with a tall, broad frame that looked closer to a grown man than a boy. His expression was carved from stone, his steps heavy and deliberate. He carried a massive greatsword, dull-edged but still an intimidating slab of iron. Even blunted, one swing could break bone.

Beside him walked Serina Dalmoren, younger by a year, but with the same cold poise. She carried a pair of shorter dull swords, one in each hand, her stance low and sharp, eyes narrowing with predatory focus. Unlike her brother’s measured presence, she radiated speed and precision—the kind that punished a single mistake without mercy.

The crowd erupted, nobles leaning forward in anticipation. House Dalmoren was one of the empire’s oldest ducal families. Their children weren’t just heirs—they were living proof of tradition and discipline honed over generations.

Viola smirked, raising her new sword and resting it on her shoulder. “Finally. Something worth my time.”

Ludger said nothing, but his eyes narrowed. He could already see it—the balance of power had shifted again. These weren’t just skilled heirs. These were weapons molded by the highest rungs of the empire.

And if they weren’t careful, this match could break them.

The referee stepped to the center of the ring, raising his hand for silence. The roar of the crowd dimmed, thousands of voices settling into an expectant hush. The Dalmoren heirs adjusted their stances; Viola rolled her neck; Ludger let his arms hang loose at his sides, eyes sharp.

“Semifinal match—” the referee began.

But before he could finish, the air rippled.

A blur darted across the sand, faster than any of the competitors. In the space of a blink, a figure stood in front of the referee, silent and still.

The arena gasped.

The newcomer was wrapped in dark garb that clung tight to the body, layered with strips of cloth that muted every movement. Only the eyes were visible, sharp and cold beneath a thin hood. A curved blade rested at his hip, the steel dull from use rather than design.

Ludger’s muscles tensed instantly. His armguards hummed as he shifted into a guarded stance. Whoever that was, they hadn’t come through the tunnels, hadn’t announced themselves, hadn’t even made a sound until they stood in the middle of the ring.

“Wait,” Viola cut in, her hand flashing out to grab his arm before he could step forward. Her voice carried a rare edge of seriousness. “Don’t.”

Ludger’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

She didn’t take her eyes off the figure. “That’s not some intruder. That’s a member of the Stealth Corps. They work directly for the imperial family.”

The name hit heavier than steel. The Stealth Corps—phantoms whispered about in noble circles, shadows who answered only to the throne. If one of them had appeared here, in the middle of the tournament, it wasn’t by accident.

The crowd had gone silent again, unease rippling through the stands. Even the Dalmoren siblings tightened their grips, their practiced calm showing the faintest cracks.

Ludger kept his arms raised, every instinct screaming at him not to trust the stranger. But if Viola was right, then whatever was about to happen wasn’t just about the tournament.

It was about the empire.

The figure in black didn’t move, didn’t speak. Just stood in the center of the ring like a shadow carved into flesh before whispering something to the referee.

Ludger’s eyes flicked upward—and caught it immediately.

The nobles in the stands. One by one, they were rising from their seats. Not whispering now. Not chuckling behind fans. Rising in silence, filing toward the exits with their attendants, as if on cue.

And then he saw him.

Lord Torvares, larger than life as always, had stood as well. His usual bombastic grin was gone, replaced with a sharp, thunderous look that made his presence heavier than any cheering crowd. He barked something to a servant, then started toward the grand stair.

Ludger’s stomach tightened. Whatever this is, it’s big. And it’s not just about the tournament anymore.

Beside him, Viola lowered her sword, eyes darting toward the nobles. Even she looked unsettled.

From the benches near the waiting rooms, Arslan stood suddenly, his chair scraping against stone. “Up. Now.” His voice carried no trace of its usual cheer. He motioned sharply to Selene, Harold, Aleia, and Cor. “We’re with Torvares. If the old man’s moving, we’re moving. Right now.”

The party didn’t argue.

Ludger caught the look in his father’s eyes as Arslan turned toward him and Viola. There was no joking there—just the hard edge of a man who knew when playtime had ended.

Ludger glanced once more at the silent figure in the ring, then at the nobles abandoning their seats. Whether he liked it or not, he and Viola were no longer just competitors.

They were pieces on a much bigger board.

The referee swallowed hard, glancing between the silent figure in black, the nobles abandoning their seats, and the competitors still in the ring. His hand trembled as he raised it high, his voice cracking at first before finding its weight.

“By order of the court… this tournament is declared finished!”

The announcement dropped like a hammer.

Gasps rippled through the commoners in the stands, followed by groans of confusion and protest. But when the referee raised his voice again, sharper this time, the noise softened.

“Return to your homes slowly and in order. Await further news. The empire will issue a statement.”

Guards along the arena walls stepped forward, guiding the crowds toward the exits. The chants that had filled the tournament for days vanished, replaced by murmurs and speculation, the nervous shuffle of thousands of feet.

On the sand, Viola tightened her grip on her replacement sword, her grin gone, her jaw tight. “That’s it? Just like that?” she muttered. The fire in her eyes burned hot, unsatisfied, ready to demand the fight she’d been promised.

But then she glanced across the ring.

The Dalmoren heirs, poised and ready moments ago, had already sheathed their weapons. Their faces were calm, almost indifferent, as they turned and retreated without a word. Not even a complaint. Just cold acceptance.

Viola’s breath caught. If even they—children raised under the banner of dukes—treated the interruption as final, then there was nothing to be gained by throwing a tantrum.

Her fingers loosened on the hilt. She let out a sharp breath and let the blade drop to her side. “…Tch. Fine.”

Ludger watched her from the corner of his eye, saying nothing. For once, she had cooled herself without his dry remarks.

The tournament was over—not because they had won or lost, but because something larger had eclipsed it. And that, more than any opponent, set Ludger’s teeth on edge.

The arena emptied like a great beast exhaling, voices swirling in fragmented echoes that slipped through the stone passages. As Ludger and Viola stepped off the sand, the tide of speculation from the crowd washed over them.

“They wouldn’t send the Stealth Corps unless something serious happened…”

“War? Assassination? No—too sudden.”

“Maybe it’s tied to the other nations. Or the frontier.”

“The Torvares children were shining too bright. Perhaps the empire doesn’t want new stars.”

Each theory seemed more desperate than the last, but they all carried the same weight: fear.

Ludger kept walking, his hands shoved into his pockets, head low. He wanted no part of their gossip. None of them know what’s happening. Neither do I. But what matters now isn’t them.

His first thought was simple: return to the Torvares estate, wait, listen. Whatever the imperial family had planned, word would reach there soon enough.

But another thought pressed harder against his chest, one he couldn’t shake. Mother.

Elaine didn’t do “waiting calmly.” Not when her family was involved. If she caught wind of the tournament ending suddenly, of imperial agents stepping in front of her son, she would—without hesitation—act. And her way of acting rarely involved thinking two steps ahead.

She could storm the capital. Threaten the wrong noble. Crush the wrong guard. Anything was possible with her kind of possessive love, the kind that could strangle as much as it protected.

For the first time that day, Ludger felt something colder than nerves settle in his gut. Worry.

Maybe I should dash home. Make sure she’s fine before she does something reckless.

He clenched his jaw, keeping his expression flat so Viola wouldn’t notice. But the thought didn’t leave.

In moments like this, the crowd, the empire, the nobles—all of them blurred into noise. What mattered was that his mother could be panicking, and when Elaine panicked, the world tended to bleed.

The carriage ride back to the Torvares estate was quiet. Viola sat slouched against the window, tapping her new dull sword against her knee with restless energy, while Ludger stared out at the streets. The capital was unusually hushed; people gathered in clumps, whispering rumors instead of shouting victory songs. The sudden end of the tournament weighed over the city like a storm cloud.

By the time they reached the gates, the sun still stood high, but the estate felt hollow. The great doors opened at once, maids bowing low and guards snapping to attention, but there was no thunderous laugh of Lord Torvares, no booming cheer of Arslan, no chatter from his party.

Just silence.

Inside, the halls echoed with the clatter of servants moving about, but none carried news. They had been told nothing. The children of the house had returned before the masters.

Viola threw her sword onto a bench in frustration. “Figures. We fight our way into the semifinals, and the whole thing gets cut short. Now we sit here like dogs waiting for scraps.”

Ludger leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his face as flat as ever. Not just scraps. We’re waiting to see what kind of knife the empire’s about to throw.

The maids offered food and water, the guards promised to deliver word the moment something arrived, but until the others returned, there was nothing to do but wait.

Viola paced, grumbling under her breath. Ludger sat, silent, but his mind was already churning. If even grandfather and father haven’t returned yet, whatever’s happening isn’t small. And if it drags long enough, Elaine will hear about it…

That thought gnawed at him more than the silence of the empty halls.

Hours dragged by in uneasy silence. The afternoon light dimmed, then bled into evening. Servants lit lanterns in the halls, the warm glow doing little to chase off the chill of uncertainty that hung over the estate. Viola had dozed off at one point, sprawled across a couch with her sword still within arm’s reach, while Ludger sat near the window, staring at the city lights beyond the walls.

It wasn’t until the moon had climbed into the sky that the doors finally thundered open.

Lord Torvares returned first, his cloak swept back, his face carved in stern lines instead of its usual booming joy. Arslan followed with his party in tow—Selene tight-lipped, Harold uncharacteristically quiet, Aleia’s smirk absent, and Cor adjusting his spectacles with furrowed brows. Even Arslan himself wore no grin, just a tired weight in his eyes.

The change in atmosphere was immediate.

Maids and guards straightened at once, but no one spoke. The servants seemed to feel it too: whatever had been learned outside these walls had shifted everything.

Viola sat up quickly, rubbing her eyes, her usual fire rekindling at the sight of them. “Finally. What happened? Did the empire cancel the tournament for good?”

No answer came right away.

Ludger watched Lord Torvares march past, cloak dragging against the floor, his jaw tight. Not even a glance spared for their victory earlier in the day.

So that’s it, Ludger thought, his chest sinking with the weight of realization. All the progress we made—the fights, the wins, the crowd—none of it matters anymore. Well, I feel silly for trying so hard now.

The tournament that had once promised prestige and pride now felt like a child’s game interrupted by a shadow looming too large for them to ignore.

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