The training yard was alive with tension.
Dozens of guards had gathered to witness a strange duel — a foreign boy against the Second Prince of Thornevale
Hellen Lee stood at one end of the practice ground, gripping a wooden sword that felt too heavy in his hands. His black hair clung to his forehead, his breaths shallow and uneven. Across from him, the prince smirked, relaxed, every inch of his stance radiating confidence.
"Don't hold back," the prince said lazily. "I'd hate to win too easily."
Hellen didn't respond. He wasn't here to fight. But after that smug threat — "I wonder what the King would say if he knew who broke everything last night" — he had no choice.
The whistle cut through the air. The duel began.
The prince moved first — fast, elegant, trained.
Hellen barely lifted his blade in time. Clack! The wood cracked against wood, the vibration shooting through his arm.
A second strike came immediately, lower this time.
Hellen managed to block again, stumbling back a few steps, his breath ragged.
"Not bad," the prince sneered, eyes glinting. "For a beggar."
He spun his sword and slashed again, the motion smooth and precise. Hellen blocked once more, but the next feint caught him off guard — a twist, a flick, and his wooden sword was knocked clean from his hands.
Gasps rippled through the courtyard.
Hellen froze, chest heaving. He had lost.
But the prince didn't stop.
The next blow struck his shoulder — then his ribs — then his leg.
Wood thudded against flesh again and again.
"You call yourself a summoned one?"
"You think you belong here?"
Each word came with another strike. Hellen staggered, blood dripping from a split lip.
"Stop, Your Highness!" a guard shouted — Kael Renford, his voice sharp. He rushed forward, grabbing the prince's arm. "He's finished!"
The prince jerked free. "You dare interrupt me?"
He raised his sword again — but this time, Hellen's hand shot up.
He caught the blade mid-swing.
Blood ran down his palm.
Yet his eyes — those tired, defeated eyes — had changed.
No fear. No pain.
Only a quiet, burning determination.
The prince hesitated, startled.
For a heartbeat, he saw something behind those eyes — something that didn't belong in a boy so broken. Something dangerous.
What is this feeling? he thought. Why… does he look like he's seen death before?
His pride flared. He threw his wooden sword aside.
Gasps echoed again.
He drew his real sword.
> "Then let's end it properly," the prince said, voice low. "Skill: Blazing Luster Slash!"
The blade glowed faint gold, cutting through the air as he charged.
Guards shouted. Kael reached out, horrified.
"Your Highness, stop! That's dangerous .
But it was Too late.
The prince struck downward with full force.
Hellen didn't move. Didn't flinch.
His face calm, his eyes locked.
At the last moment, his hand rose — and with impossible precision, he parried the real sword barehanded. Sparks flew. The impact roared.
Then — CRACK! — Hellen's right fist shot forward.
A clean, brutal overhand right.
It connected.
The prince stumbled back, stunned — blood blooming from his nose.
The crowd fell silent.
Hellen swayed where he stood. His vision blurred. The strength in his legs vanished.
The world tilted — and darkness claimed him.
The prince stood there, panting, staring down at the fallen boy.
"He… hit me?"
He fill with angers solder take that boy
Before he could say anything — a new voice sliced through the courtyard.
"Enough."
Every soldier and servant dropped to their knees.
Descending the marble stairs came Princess Selene — her midnight gown trailing behind her, her expression colder than the steel around her.
Even the air seemed to bow to her presence.
The prince paled. "S–Sister, I—"
"Silence."
Her voice was calm, but it cut through him like a blade. She walked past him without even glancing his way.
Her eyes found Hellen's limp form on the ground.
"So, we meet again," she murmured, kneeling gracefully. "You never fail to cause a scene, do you, Hellen Lee?"
She reached toward him — and in that moment, Hellen's fingers twitched.
His eyes, half-open, unfocused — his body moved on instinct.
His fist shot upward, aiming straight for her face.
Gasps erupted.
But before the strike could land
CLANG!
A gloved hand intercepted it mid-air. A shadow appeared beside her — the same masked assassin who once served her in the castle halls.
He twisted Hellen's wrist effortlessly and struck a precise nerve along his neck.
Hellen's body went still — completely unconscious.
Selene exhaled softly, standing tall once more. Her silver eyes glinted beneath the sunlight.
"Still reckless," she whispered. "Even in your sleep."
Turning slightly, she spoke to the assassin, her voice quiet but commanding.
"Take him to his quarters. No one must know he fought here."
The assassin bowed and lifted Hellen easily, carrying him away.
Selene's gaze lingered on the prince — who stood frozen, shame and fury mixing on his face.
"Brother," she said, her tone as sharp as frost. "If you mistake cruelty for strength again… I will remind you what true power is."
She turned without waiting for his answer, her gown brushing against the stone.
The courtyard remained silent long after she was gone.
Only the echo of her words — and the faint, distant flutter of dark wings — broke the stillness.