Chapter 10: A Blade Worthy of Light
The Wound was far behind him now, but the shadows still clung to Andrew's aura—tamed, steady, no longer wild. When he returned to Caedros, the air changed.
The guards who had once flinched at his presence now stepped aside with respectful nods. The sky had shifted too—less stormy, more still. The capital could feel it:
Something had been decided.
And the tournament—part two—was about to begin.
The second half wasn't a duel.
It was survival.
A timed siege trial. All remaining champions would be dropped into a ruined stronghold outside the city—one crawling with summoned beasts, enchanted traps, and rogue mana storms.
The goal: protect the civilian illusions within the stronghold for ten hours.
Many whispered it was impossible.
Andrew didn't speak much before the trial began. He watched the other champions from the shadows—some still avoided him. Others just watched.
But as they entered the ruined fortress, it was clear: they needed a leader.
And when the first wave of corrupted beasts descended from the cliffs, tearing through one of the walls—Andrew didn't hesitate.
He stepped into the breach, eyes glowing faint silver with shadowlight.
Ashren left its sheath in silence.
He didn't summon death.
He summoned direction.
"Kaelira—right flank! Serin—hold the stairs! I'll hold the gate!"
"Why should we—?" one mage began.
Then Andrew moved.
Three beasts lunged. Andrew danced between them—his body no longer just reacting, but commanding the fight.
The Eclipsed Stance awakened again—each strike unpredictable, elegant, devastating. One shadow-surge burst from his blade and locked a beast in midair, freezing it long enough for a volley of arrows to pin it down.
The others watched—awed.
But more than that, they followed.
Hours passed.
Champions bled, walls cracked—but Andrew never fell.
He carried the injured, shielded the youngest, and led from the front. When the traps malfunctioned, he ran into them alone. When the storms howled overhead, he used his shadow aura to anchor others to the ground.
He was not a tyrant.
He was not the Endblade.
He was their shield.
As dawn broke and the trial ended, the champions stood in the wreckage.
Alive.
Together.
And in the silence, Kaelira walked to Andrew, fire dancing at her fingertips.
"I feared you," she said simply. "Now I understand why they followed you in another life."
Andrew didn't answer.
He just looked to the east—toward whatever trials were coming next.
Let them come, he thought.
This time, I choose the kind of legend I'll be.