Chapter 35: MORGAN VS ELIRA

Seven Days Ago — The Kingdom of Velkar

The crimson banners of Velkar fluttered under the setting sun. King Malrik sat upon his obsidian throne, eyes narrowing at the man kneeling before him—a seasoned mage with a jagged scar down his cheek and a voice sharp as steel.

“My Lord,” the man began, “Arcadia grows bolder by the day. Their borders are secure, their alliances stable… but more dangerously, their royal bloodline has produced a threat.”

“Speak clearly,” the king growled.

The mage bowed deeper. “Prince Rowan Hale. The third son of Arcadia’s king. At just nineteen, he has reached Tier Two with both lightning and fire affinities. But that’s not all—he is also a gifted strategist. Controlled. But merciless toward his enemies. If he reaches Tier Three, he will become a great threat.”

King Malrik leaned forward, his voice cold. “And you want to eliminate him?”

“Yes, my King. There is a perfect opportunity,” the advisor said. “A week from now, Arcadia will hold its Young Elite Tournament. Prince Rowan is also a participant.”

The king’s eyes glinted. “You want to assassinate him during a public event?”

“Not by force,” the mage smiled. “By shadow.”

He opened a small black case—inside was a crystalline needle etched with dark runes.

“A Tranquilin Needle. If it pierces the skin, the victim loses the ability to cast magic for twenty-four hours. No traces. No mana signature. We’ll send a spy, disguised as a tournament participant. One who is strong enough to rise through the ranks.”

Malrik remained quiet for a beat. Then: “Rowan may be Tier Two, but he’s no fool. How will we ensure the assassin’s safety?”

“Our spy will only use the needle if absolutely necessary. Until then, the spy will act like any other contender. We have kidnapped the real participant as well. So no risk here.”

The king gave a slow nod. “So be it. Let Arcadia crown a prince… and bury him in the same breath.”

Present Day — Arcadia Tournament Arena

The lunch break ended, and the stadium came alive again. Three matches had already ended with quite a spectacular performance.

Over at the betting corner, Albert slammed a hand on the table.

“Next up—Match Four! Rovan Yale versus Kael Dranzer! Earth and fire versus a walking tornado with knives!”

A lanky noble sneered, “Ten gold says Kael wins. He’s going to swipe the floor with the other opponent.”

Albert chuckled, scribbling. “Then prepare to be poor.”

From the announcer’s platform came the voice:

“Match Four — Second Round! Token 2 versus Token 7! Rovan Yale versus Kael Dranzer!”

A roar erupted from the audience.

From one gate, Kael Dranzer stepped out. Lean, swift, twin daggers strapped to his thighs. Wind wrapped around his feet as he walked with a predator’s grace.

But then—

From the opposite gate, a booming voice echoed:

“Make way for the future champ!”

Rovan Yale strolled out, arms spread, grinning wide. His crimson-and-gold cloak fluttered behind him like a war banner. The crowd erupted as he flexed both arms dramatically.

“Oi, did you miss me?” he shouted. “Good! I came back just to bury this twig!”

Laughter broke out in the stands.

Kael raised an eyebrow. “Confident, aren’t we?”

Rovan smirked. “Confident? No, no. I’m just realistic. You’ve got wind. I’ve got fists and fire. You’re the appetizer.”

From the Smith balcony, Logan raised an eyebrow. “He seems so confident even after visiting the healer’s room once.”

Ardyn Vex chuckled. “But not wrong.”

Alice smiled. “He’s funny, I’ll give him that.”

Rudeous simply watched, eyes steady.

After Darius’s loss, he had lost more than half of his spirit.

The Arena

The referee raised his hand. “Contestants ready?”

Kael nodded sharply.

Rovan cracked his neck. “I was born ready, baby.”

“Begin!”

Kael moved first—vanishing in a blur of wind. His daggers struck fast, precise, aimed at the joints.

But Rovan spun, earth magic flowing beneath his feet. A stone wall erupted, blocking the strike.

“Nice try!” Rovan bellowed, punching the wall and sending debris flying toward Kael.

Kael somersaulted away, launching blades of wind. “You talk too much!”

“And still hit harder than you!” Rovan shouted, stomping the ground.

An earth spike shot up, nearly impaling Kael, who twisted mid-air.

Rovan’s hand ignited.

“Let’s turn up the heat!”

He threw a wave of fire that rippled across the field. Kael sliced it with a wind arc, but sweat beaded on his brow.

Albert hollered from the booth, “Look at that! He’s grilling wind like it’s barbecue season!”

Kael flipped backward, creating a vortex of air and daggers.

“Try dodging this!”

But Rovan laughed. “I don’t dodge—I bulldoze!”

He charged through the vortex, his skin coated in rock. Wind slashed across him, but barely left a mark.

He swung—Kael barely ducked.

“Getting slow already?” Rovan taunted.

Kael grit his teeth. “You’re not the only one with tricks.”

He leapt onto a floating wind platform, raining down rapid cuts. Rovan blocked with flaming fists, one after another, shouting with each hit.

“You call those attacks?! I’ve fought meaner squirrels!”

Final Exchange

Kael panted, backing away. “You… really don’t shut up, do you?”

Rovan grinned. “Why would I?”

He clapped his hands—earth surged up to trap Kael’s feet.

Kael slashed free—

But too late.

BOOM.

A column of flame erupted behind him. Rovan lunged through it, a fire-coated punch landing clean in Kael’s gut.

Kael crashed to the ground, gasping, blades skidding across the arena.

He didn’t rise.

“Winner—Rovan Yale!”

The stadium roared.

Rovan raised both hands, soaking in the applause.

“Did I lie?! Say it louder—I’m the future champion!”

Albert yelled, “By the gods, I owe that loudmouth fifteen gold—but damn if he didn’t earn it!”

Noble Balcony

Rudeous gave a firm nod. “The boy’s got talent. And lungs.”

Ardyn laughed. “Still not sure which is stronger.”

Alice smiled. “He makes it fun.”

Logan, arms crossed, just muttered, “He has the strength to back his smugness up.”

While all were cheering and murmuring, the announcer’s voice tore through the arena again:

“Next match, Morgan Benedict vs. Elira Thorn!”

The arena erupted with cheers and murmurs again.

“So the silent one comes again.”

The audience was expecting a great match this time.

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