All eyes were fixed on me the moment Lord Verrien stepped forward. From the way he smiled, I already knew—this wasn't going to be a friendly duel. It wasn't about honor or entertainment. It was a final attempt from the Remes household. They'd failed to kill me in Dahaka. Now, they were gambling on Verrien to finish the job here, in the heart of the Empire, under the pretense of tradition.
The tension in the air was sharp enough to slice through. Nobles sipped their wine with stiff fingers. I could feel their gazes—some with curiosity, others with contempt, many with fear. And at the center of it all, standing across from me, was Verrien, graceful and deadly. He was no fool. He came to kill.
To the left of the Emperor, the King of Sael and his children watched closely.
"Father," the prince whispered, "is that him? The one your were talking about?"
The king didn't answer immediately. His eyes were narrowed in thought.
"Yes. That's Aden Vasco," he finally said. "Watch him carefully. That name isn't to be taken lightly. I'll explain more once we return."
The princess tilted her head. "He doesn't look like much"
"Their whole bloodline is cursed, You'll see why" the king muttered grimly.
Further back, the Chrono family sat together, cloaked in elegance. The Queen leaned toward her daughter. "That boy carries Vasco's eyes. What do you think, Athea?"
The princess gave a faint nod. "He looks... sharper than when i saw him."
The Chronos were one of the few families still friendly with House Vasco.
I caught the movement from above—Ed Vasco stared down from his seat with an expression I couldn't place. Not pride. Not shame. Just cold calculation.
Around him, Dukes and Counts from both Chronos and Sael murmured, exchanging glances and theories. Aden was sure he'd be the center of discussion for weeks after tonight. Whether as a rising star or a cautionary tale depended on what happened next.
Then—
He felt it.
Two pairs of eyes met mine from across the hall.
Aden Vasco felt a sudden gush of memories flooding in—his childhood at the Vasco household, the garden where he'd trained under the gaze of his father, the stone paths where he'd once raced his younger siblings, the scent of steel and old books in the family's ancestral hall. Memories long buried surged forward with painful clarity.
A boy and a girl—just as he remembered them, only taller now. Aden's younger brother, two years behind me and his young sister, three. The last time He saw them, their faces were wet with tears. Now, their eyes locked onto his with something far heavier—anger, sorrow, confusion. A cocktail of pain no child should ever be forced to carry.
And in that moment, a realization struck him like a blade to the gut.
he wasn't the boy they once knew. But he was still their blood. Still a Vasco.
Even if their eyes never softened again. Even if they never called him brother.
he would shield them from the world.
Even if it meant standing alone against it.
"Begin," the Emperor's voice echoed.
Verrien moved instantly. No hesitation. His blade shimmered as it cut through the air, aiming for Aden's throat. That wasn't a dueling strike. That was a killing blow. He was fast, his footwork elegant, but deadly. War techniques. The kind you use when you don't want the enemy to get back up.
He dodged by instinct, barely missing the edge of his sword. his heart thudded in his ears, but his face remained still. He struck again—this time lower, faster, sweeping. Aden parried, shifted, countered.
He wasn't holding back. And Aden didn't want to kill him.
But restraint would cost him his life.
Verrien smirked. "What's wrong, Vasco? Didn't bring your bloodlust tonight?"
He didn't reply. his silence unnerved him more than anything else.
He lunged again, this time going for a feint. Aden sidestepped, then twisted, bringing my sword up in a quick parry.
"Getting slower," Aden muttered under his breath.
His eyes narrowed. "You're just a boy playing soldier. You'll die like one."
A mental transmission hit Aden suddenly, sharp and cold.
"Don't hold back," said the Emperor's voice in his head. "Rip him to shreds."
Aden looked up briefly and saw Ed Vasco meet his eyes. His expression hadn't changed. But he understood now. There would be no mercy here. Not from Verrien. Not from the Empire.
A hush fell over the chamber.
The boy exhaled, and wrath stirred within him.
Aden searched through his memories, finding pieces of the sword left from the Vasco's memoir, he remembers the sword techniques more clearly, gathering his swirling aura in his heart.
From beneath his skin, a red aura began to rise—slowly, like embers awakening from dormant coals. It wasn't erratic or violent. This time, it moved with purpose. No longer a beast clawing to escape, but a weapon drawn in silence.
Wrath.
Still fierce. But honed. Controlled.
The air shimmered. The aura expanded like a crimson tide, brushing the walls of the grand hall with a ghostly hum. Gasps escaped lips. Nobles leaned back in their seats, eyes wide with disbelief. Verrien's step faltered mid-motion. And from above, Ed Vasco's eyes—cold and unreadable all evening—widened, just for a second.
The storm had arrived. And it bore the name Vasco.
Aden moved.
Faster. Heavier. Cleaner.
his blades clashed, ringing like war bells in the silent chamber. He tried to adapt, but Aden was already ahead. Each strike pushed him back, peeled away the polish of his technique.
Finally, an opening.
Aden's blade cut through Verrien guard and sliced across his shoulder. He screamed. Another twist, another step—then he brought the blade down.
An arm fell to the floor.
Silence.
Then whispers. Disbelief. Horror. Awe.
Aden stood over him, breathing steady, sword slick with blood.
The duel was over.
The nobles around us stood frozen. Some pale with fear. Others nodding, slowly, in grudging respect.
The Dukes of Sael sat back, faces tight. They understood now.
Vasco still stands.