Chapter 44: SAVE THE 3RD PRINCE

The golden sun dipped low over the Arcadia Arena, casting long amber shadows across the high stone walls. The cheers of the crowd had quieted, replaced by a buzz of low conversation as spectators trickled out, still reeling from the day’s brutal matches.

Just as the last wave of audience members began to stand,

A voice, calm and amplified by magic, echoed from the central tower.

A blast of golden light flared above the central spire, illuminating the sky with a burst of mana. All eyes turned upward.

“All participants and spectators—attention!

The quarterfinal matchups for tomorrow shall now be announced in advance!”

Murmurs swept through the crowd. The tournament wasn’t wasting any time.

Above the stadium, the panel hovered again—glowing with radiant script as names aligned in pairs.

Quarterfinal Matchups:

Match 1: Lilith Starwind vs. Vaylen Mord

Match 2: Prince Rowan Hale vs. Arven Skell

Match 3: Zephyr Albrecht vs. Morgan Benedict

Match 4: Logan Smith vs. Rovan Yale

A beat of silence passed.

Then the tension cracked.

“Damn! Zephyr vs. Morgan?! So the real match begins now?!”

“That’s like throwing two beasts into a cage and locking the door!”

“Logan versus Rovan too?! Both of them are freakishly strong!”

Even among the nobles seated in private balconies, surprise flickered. The matchups were aggressive—almost as if fate were forcing collisions between some of the most dangerous names.

Though the results had been somewhat predictable due to the token distribution, the confirmation still sent a ripple through the crowd.

Among the four, two battles stood out the most.

Zephyr vs. Morgan—a tactical, cool-headed prodigy against a silent, battle-scarred swordmaster.

Logan vs. Rovan—a clash between the enigma and the mountain.

Lilith and Rowan’s matches earned respect, but most assumed they would dominate their opponents. It wasn’t that their challengers were weak—far from it.

They were just in a different league. But Zephyr, Morgan, Logan, and Rovan? Those two matchups were unpredictable. There was no telling who would emerge victorious—or who would taste the dirt.

Tension mounted. Debates erupted. Excitement twisted into anxiety.

“Tomorrow, Arcadia’s finest will test their limits again.”

After the announcement, the crowd dispersed in waves.

Nobles departed in style—stepping into rune-etched carriages drawn by horses or beasts. Their destinations were lavish manor-houses or enchanted inns, their footsteps barely echoing on marble corridors.

Commoners, meanwhile, flooded toward the lower districts—taverns and crowded inns buzzing with gossip, bets, and overexcited arguments.

And the participants—some vanished behind personal guards with their families, while others walked quietly into the dusk, heads heavy with anticipation and strategy.

Back in the Smith family balcony, silence reigned.

Mirena rose without a word. Kael Thorne followed. Darius stood stiffly, jaw tight, but said nothing and left without a comment—though the twitch in his brow said enough.

Only Rudeous and Alice remained.

They stood together, unmoving, until the balcony cleared.

Then, without speaking, they turned and walked toward the Healing Chambers.

The corridor smelled faintly of herbs and lavender. Magic crystals hummed gently in the walls. As they entered the room, a warm blue light bathed the sleeping figure on the bed.

Logan, wrapped in thick blankets, rested with his arms folded beneath his head. A tray of untouched fruit sat beside him, and a flask of cold water glinted under the crystal light.

Alice stepped in first, carrying a new basket—fresh food, some steamed buns, and a warm soup wrapped in cloth.

As she placed the items down, the rustling woke Logan.

He stirred.

“…Mom?”

His voice was quiet—more surprised than weak.

Alice turned, smiling softly. “You’re awake sweetheart. Good.”

He sat up slowly, brushing a hand across his eyes.

“I must’ve fallen asleep.”

“You did,” Rudeous said as he stepped in, arms folded behind his back.

“Mrs. Starwind told us in the balcony that you’re properly healed now and only need rest.”

“You’ve pushed your body hard, honey. Don’t scare me like that in every match. I’m a normal human, you know.”

“I’m fine now, Mom. Don’t worry,” Logan murmured with a polite smile.

“Where is everyone else?”

“They left,” Alice replied. “But we stayed to check up on you before we leave.”

She placed a warm hand on his forehead and brushed back a strand of hair. Her expression—normally calm—carried the faint tremble of worry.

“I brought some food. You barely ate anything earlier.”

“Thanks…” Logan took a bun, eating slowly.

A pause.

Then Rudeous spoke, voice low.

“The quarterfinals are tomorrow. The matchups were just announced.”

Logan looked up, still chewing.

“Your opponent,” Rudeous said, “is Rovan Yale.”

Logan nodded, unsurprised.

“Expected. The match placements were mostly set once the tokens were revealed.”

Alice, however, looked less composed.

She sat down at the foot of the bed, fingers clenched together.

“Rovan’s strong,” she said softly. “Not subtle. Not clever. Just… powerful. He doesn’t hold back. And he loves showing off.”

“Yes, he’s definitely strong,” Logan added. “And it won’t be an easy match.”

“Exactly,” Rudeous agreed. “He knows how to pressure opponents. If you give him space, he’ll control the tempo.”

Logan exhaled, leaning back against the wall. “I don’t want to reveal all my affinities. So let’s hope he doesn’t force me to go all out.”

Alice stared at him for a moment.

“…Don’t let your guard down,” she said. “Please.”

For a second, Logan saw it—not the noblewoman, not the composed voice of House Smith—but his mother. Tired, worried, protective.

“…I won’t,” he replied with a soft smile.

Miles away from the capital, nestled beside a fog-covered trail, an old inn sat silent.

Its wooden sign swayed gently. Inside, the rooms were mostly empty. But in one of them, a figure was tightly tied with glowing ropes, unconscious and slumped in a corner.

Lira Wynn.

The real Lira Wynn.

Her once-smooth hair was tangled and bloodied. One cheek was swollen. Her breaths came shallow, almost soundless.

She wasn’t the proud warrior the imposter had mimicked in the tournament anymore

She looked like a broken doll discarded in a corner.

Then—

CRASH!

The door exploded inward, shards of wood flying.

Wind blasted through the room.

Several armored figures stepped through in formation, weapons drawn, faces hard.

A voice barked—

“Secure the room and check if anyone is hiding! She’s here!”

And behind them, cloaked in dark velvet and cold authority, walked Prince Rowan Hale.

He looked at the girl curled in the corner—and his golden eyes sharpened.

The wind settled.

Silence.

“She’s in bad shape. Let’s get her somewhere safe.” Rowan spoke finally.

Rowan stepped closer as the guards moved to lift the unconscious girl from the floor.

But just as one of them touched her arm—

Lira’s eyes snapped open.

Her body jerked weakly, and her lips parted in a trembling breath.

“S-someone… save the third prince…”

The room froze.

Rowan’s golden eyes sharpened, the weight of those words sinking in.

“What did she just say…?”

Before anyone could respond, Lira collapsed again—eyes rolling back, body limp.

Outside, the wind howled through the trees, as if warning of a storm yet to come.

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