A few moments before the commotion, Princess Cordelia Valerion was doing what she did best — smiling.

Not a real smile, of course.

The real one had been locked away somewhere deep inside her, buried under layers of etiquette and expectation and the crushing weight of being the Empire’s most eligible daughter. The smile she wore now was the one she had been trained to wear since she could walk — pleasant, warm, and utterly meaningless.

She was standing near the center of the ballroom, a glass of champagne in her hand that she had no intention of drinking, and she was listening to yet another young noble drone on about his family’s estate, his accomplishments, his hopes for the future.

His name was something with three syllables. His hair was brown. His smile was too wide and his eyes were too hungry, and Cordelia had already forgotten everything he had said the moment the words left his mouth.

"—and of course, my father believes that with the right alliances, House Veltorn could double its agricultural output within the next five years," the young man said, gesturing enthusiastically with his free hand. "It’s all about positioning, Your Highness. Being in the right place at the right time."

Cordelia nodded, her smile fixed in place. "That sounds very... strategic."

"Strategic indeed! Why, just last month, we—"

She stopped listening.

Her eyes drifted across the ballroom, scanning the crowd of silk and velvet, watching the nobles laugh and scheme behind their painted smiles.

Everyone here was wearing a mask.

Everyone here was pretending to be something they weren’t. The men were charming and confident, hiding their insecurities behind their wealth. The women were graceful and elegant, hiding their ambitions behind their fans.

Cordelia was tired of masks.

She was tired of smiles that didn’t reach eyes. She was tired of conversations that meant nothing and promises that would never be kept.

"...and that’s when I told him, ’My good sir, if you cannot appreciate the nuances of proper land management, perhaps you should leave it to those who can.’" The young noble laughed at his own joke, and Cordelia’s smile twitched at the edges.

She needed air. She needed space. She wanted to get away from this man and his self-congratulatory laugh before she said something she would regret.

"If you’ll excuse me," Cordelia said, setting her untouched glass on a passing servant’s tray, "I believe I need to... freshen up."

The young noble blinked. "Of course, Your Highness. I hope to continue our conversation later?"

"Perhaps," Cordelia said, and she walked away before he could say another word.

She wove through the crowd with practiced ease, nodding at the right people, smiling at the right moments, touching the right arms with the right amount of warmth. It was exhausting. It was always exhausting.

But she had been doing this her entire life, and her body moved on autopilot while her mind drifted somewhere far away.

She found a small chair near the edge of the ballroom, tucked behind a pillar where she could see the crowd but they couldn’t see her. She sat down heavily, the silk of her gown pooling around her, and she let out a long, quiet sigh.

"Gods," she murmured under her breath, "I hate these events."

"You and me both."

Cordelia looked up, and a genuine smile finally broke across her face.

Amelia Nightshade stood a few feet away, her silver-violet eyes sparkling with amusement, her deep blue gown shimmering in the chandelier light. Her midnight-blue hair was pinned up in an elegant twist, and there was a glass of wine in her hand that she actually seemed to be enjoying.

Cordelia rose from her chair and crossed the distance between them in three quick steps, pulling her friend into a warm embrace. "Amelia! I didn’t see you arrive."

"I came with Arthur," Amelia said, hugging her back before pulling away. "We’ve been here for about an hour. I’ve been trying to find you, but every time I got close, some noble would drag you off for a conversation."

"That’s all tonight is," Cordelia said, her voice tired. "Conversations with people I don’t care about, saying things I don’t mean, smiling until my face hurts."

Amelia’s expression softened. "You look exhausted."

"I am exhausted."

"Have you eaten anything?"

"A few bites. I couldn’t stomach more."

Amelia nodded, understanding. She had grown up in the noble world too — not as high as Cordelia, but high enough to know the weight of expectation, the pressure of performance, the exhaustion of never being allowed to just be.

They stood together in the small space behind the pillar, away from the prying eyes and eager ears, and for a moment, Cordelia let her mask fall. Her shoulders dropped. Her smile faded. Her eyes grew heavy with the weight of the evening.

"...I hate this," she said quietly. "I hate pretending that any of this matters. I hate knowing that half the people here don’t care about me, they care about what I can give them. Power, influence and connections." She shook her head. "Sometimes I wonder if anyone here actually sees me."

Amelia was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "I see you."

Cordelia looked at her friend, and her eyes grew wet. "I know. That’s why I’m glad you’re here."

She reached out and took Amelia’s hand, squeezing it gently. They had been friends for years — since childhood, since before Cordelia understood what it meant to be a princess, and Amelia understood what it meant to be a Nightshade.

They had cried together, laughed together, complained about their families together. There were no masks between them.

There never had been.

"Have you seen him?" Cordelia asked, her voice casual, almost careless. "Leo von Celestial."

Amelia’s expression flickered. "...I have."

"What is he like? I heard he changed." Cordelia paused, her emerald eyes searching her friend’s face. "The last time I saw him, he was... different. Drunk, angry, and lost. But tonight when he walked in, I barely recognized him."

Amelia was silent for a long moment. When she spoke, her voice was careful. "He has changed. His hair is white now and he become more distant and cold."

Cordelia frowned. "Colder? Maybe because of the trial?"

"The trial, huh." Amelia nodded. "Whatever happened in there, it left marks. Not just on his body — on his soul."

Cordelia looked down at her hands. "I remember him before everything. When we were children." A small smile tugged at her lips. "He was annoying. Always running around, always getting into trouble, always curious."

"He hasn’t changed in that regard," Amelia said dryly.

"But he’s also..." Cordelia paused, searching for the words. "He was always kind. Underneath all the noise, he was kind. Do you think that part of him is still there?"

Amelia didn’t answer. She didn’t have the answer now.

The ballroom fell silent. It was not the natural silence of a pause in conversation, but the sudden, sharp silence of something unexpected happening. Heads turned. Whispers stopped. The music faltered.

Cordelia looked up. She saw a group of young nobles gathered near the window, Lord Marius Valmont and his usual entourage, and standing across from them, looking bored and annoyed, was Leo.

"Oh no," Amelia murmured. 𝐟𝚛𝕖𝚎𝕨𝗲𝐛𝚗𝐨𝐯𝐞𝕝.𝐜𝗼𝗺

"What’s happening?" Cordelia asked.

Before Amelia could answer, Marius’s voice rang out across the ballroom, loud and trembling with rage.

"I, Lord Marius Valmont, son of the Marquess of Highmere, challenge you to a duel! To the death, Leo von Celestial! To the death!"

The whispers exploded. Cordelia’s blood ran cold. "That fool," she hissed, taking a step forward. "What is he doing?"

She looked back at the scene unfolding by the window.

Marius was saying something else, something too quiet for Cordelia to hear, and then suddenly her expression changed. The air in the ballroom shifted, growing heavy, thick, suffocating. A killing intent, sharp and cold and utterly terrifying, filled the space, pressing against her skin like a physical weight.

She felt it — a terror, when a predator was about to strike.

Everyone felt it. The nobles stopped whispering. The servants stopped moving. Even the musicians had frozen, their instruments hanging limp in their hands.

...And they all knew, without anyone saying a word, where it was coming from.

The white-haired young man standing by the window.

His eyes were ocean-blue, the same color they had always been, but they were cold now. Empty. Like looking into the heart of a glacier. His expression was calm, almost peaceful, but his presence was anything but.

He was a blade waiting to fall. A storm waiting to break.

"...Fine."

His voice was soft, barely audible, but it cut through the silence like a knife through silk.

Leo stepped forward, his boots echoing against the marble floor. His white hair caught the light, and his black jacket with silver embroidery seemed to drink in the shadows. His eyes never left Marius’s face.

"Let’s duel to the death," he said, his voice cold and quiet. "But... all of you — come at me. All at once."

The ballroom held its breath.

Leo’s words hung in the air like a blade waiting to fall, and for a moment, no one moved, no one spoke, no one even seemed to breathe.

The nobles pressed against the walls, their eyes wide, their hands clutching at their partners, their fans, their wine glasses. Even the servants had frozen, trays forgotten in their hands, as they watched the white-haired young man who had just challenged six people to fight him at once.

Then the Emperor’s voice cut through the silence like a blade through silk.

"What is happening here?"

Emperor Aldric Valerion descended from the dais, his white and purple robes flowing behind him, his eyes cold and sharp.

The crowd parted before him like the sea before a storm, revealing the scene at the center of the ballroom, the glove on the floor, the drawn swords, Leo with his hands still in his pockets, and Marius with his face red and his chest heaving.

The Crown Prince, Lucius Valerion, followed a step behind his father, his expression unreadable, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword. His strawberry-blonde hair caught the light, and his emerald eyes swept across the scene with the calm assessment of someone who had seen far worse than a petty noble’s tantrum.

Marius straightened his back, puffing out his chest, and stepped forward. "Your Majesty, I have challenged this man, this coward, to a duel. For the honor of the Princess. For the honor of the court. For the insult he committed two years ago, when he dared to lay his hands on your daughter."

The Emperor’s gaze moved from Marius to Leo, who had not moved an inch. His hands were still in his pockets, his expression still calm, his eyes still cold and distant. He did not bow. He did not flinch.

He simply met the Emperor’s gaze without fear.

Aldric’s eyes narrowed. "You chose my daughter’s birthday celebration to settle a personal grudge?"

Marius’s voice was firm, righteous. "I chose to defend her honor, Your Majesty. On the day that celebrates her birth, I could think of no better time to prove that there are still those who would fight for her."

The nobles murmured. Some nodded. Others shifted uncomfortably.

The Emperor looked at Marius for a long moment, then back at Leo. "Do you accept this duel?"

Leo’s lips curled into a dark grin, sharp and cold and utterly without warmth. "Very much so, Your Majesty." He tilted his head, and his voice was soft, almost lazy. "If you hadn’t interrupted, his head would already be rolling on the floor."

The nobles gasped. Sylvia put her hand over her face and sighed. Noah closed his eyes.

Marius’s face went red. "You—"

"Enough." The Emperor raised his hand, and Marius fell silent. Aldric looked at Lucius, who had been watching the exchange with quiet interest. "What do you think, my son?"

Lucius stepped forward, his expression thoughtful.

He looked at Marius, the fury in his eyes. Then he looked at Leo — the calm, and the complete and utter lack of concern.

A small smile played at his lips.

"Your Majesty," Lucius said, bowing his head slightly, "I believe we should give the son of Highmere a chance to prove himself. He claims to fight for my sister’s honor. He claims to defend her name. Let him show the court what kind of man he is."

He paused, his eyes gleaming. "Let him show his noble heart and his dedication to protecting the Princess."

The nobles murmured again, and Lucius’s smile widened. He was playing the crowd, manipulating public opinion, positioning himself as the fair and just prince who gave everyone a chance to prove themselves. Marius puffed out his chest, emboldened by the Crown Prince’s words.

"Thank you, Your Highness," Marius said. "I will not disappoint."

Lucius’s smile remained, but his eyes were cold.

The Emperor turned back to Leo. "Do you still accept?"

Leo shrugged. "I already said yes, didn’t I?"

"Then let it be done."

The ballroom was cleared.

Tables and chairs were pushed aside, creating a wide open space in the center of the floor. The nobles pressed themselves against the walls, their eyes wide, their breaths held. The musicians had long since stopped playing. Even the servants had frozen, trays forgotten in their hands.

On one side of the circle stood Leo von Celestial — alone.

His hair caught the chandelier light, and his black jacket with silver embroidery was immaculate. His hands were in his pockets, and his expression was calm, almost bored, as he surveyed the six young nobles who stood across from him.

On the other side stood Lord Marius Valmont and his five companions.

Marius was an Elite High rank, the same as Leo, and he had been training in swordsmanship since he could walk.

He had consumed resources, taken elixirs, and hired the best tutors his family’s money could buy. Unlike Leo, who had stumbled through life, Marius had been groomed for greatness from the moment he could hold a sword.

His companions flanked him, their weapons drawn. Two were Elite Mid. The rest were Elite Low. One was a mage, his staff glowing faintly with gathered mana. The others were warriors like Marius, their swords gleaming in the light.

Six against one.

The odds seemed impossible.

The Imperial Knight serving as the referee stepped forward, his voice carrying across the silent ballroom. "This is a duel to the death, as requested by the challenger, Lord Marius Valmont. The defender, Lord Leo von Celestial, has accepted. There will be no interference from the crowd. There will be no mercy. Fight until one side is dead or unable to continue."

He raised his hand. "Begin."

Marius’s companions drew their weapons. Swords, a staff, a spear — all gleaming, all sharp, aimed at the single figure standing across from them.

Leo did not move. His hands remained in his pockets. His expression did not change. He simply looked at them, his ocean-blue eyes cold and distant, as if he were watching something mildly interesting but not worth his full attention.

Marius’s rage boiled over. The bastard was still looking down on him. Even now, even with six against one, with everything stacked against him, Leo von Celestial refused to take him seriously.

A dark smile spread across Marius’s face. He will regret this, he thought. He will regret every moment of this.

He lunged.

Marius closed the distance faster than anyone expected, his sword cutting through the air in a wide arc aimed at Leo’s head. Leo tilted his head slightly, and the blade whistled past his ear, missing by less than an inch.

His eyes never left Marius’s face.

Marius attacked again, thrusting toward Leo’s chest. Leo shifted his weight, and the blade passed through empty air. Again. Again. Again. Each strike was faster than the last, each one aimed at a vital point, each one missing by inches.

Leo moved like water flowing around the attacks, never blocking, never parrying, just... not being there. His eyes never left Marius’s face.

He wasn’t just dodging.

He was reading him.

No, Marius realized, his blood running cold. He’s not just reading me. He’s predicting me. He knows where I’m going to strike before I do.

To Leo, Marius was an open book.

Every twitch, every shift of weight, tell that the young lord didn’t even know he had — Leo saw them all. Marius had been in his plan this entire time, dancing on the strings that Leo had attached without him even noticing.

Leo spoke, and his voice was soft, almost disappointed. "...This is what you spent your whole life training for?"

Marius swung again, wild and desperate. "Shut up!"

Leo sighed.

...And then he moved.

Marius didn’t see him move. No one did. One moment, Leo was standing in front of him, his hands in his pockets, his expression bored. The next, he was behind Marius, and the screams of his companions filled the ballroom.

Marius spun around.

His blood ran cold.

All five of his companions were on the ground. Their arms had been severed from their bodies — clean cuts, very precise.

Blood sprayed across the marble floor, pooling around the fallen nobles, and their screams echoed off the walls. The mage’s staff lay broken in two pieces. The warriors’ swords lay scattered among their severed hands.

Leo stood in the center of the carnage, his katana — Tempest — in his right hand, blood dripping from the blade. In his left hand, he held something that made Marius’s stomach turn, a severed hand, still clutching a sword, twitching with dying nerve impulses.

Leo looked at the hand, then at Marius, and he smiled. It was a cold and empty smile. Like a shark that had just tasted blood and wanted more.

He tossed the hand at Marius’s feet. It landed with a wet thunk, the fingers still curling and uncurling.

Leo stepped over the bodies of Marius’s companions, walking slowly, deliberately, his boots leaving bloody prints on the marble floor. His white hair was untouched. His black jacket was still immaculate.

There was blood on his face, a spray across his cheek, but it wasn’t his.

Marius stumbled back, his sword hanging limp in his hand, his body trembling. He looked at his friends, at their severed limbs, their blood pooling on the floor, and how they crawled away from the monster in their midst.

"You..." Marius’s voice was barely a whisper. "You demon."

Leo tilted his head. "You wanted this fight. You challenged me. You threw your glove at my feet and demanded blood."

"I—"

Leo moved.

Marius didn’t see him close the distance. He only felt the cold steel of Tempest’s flat side slap against his cheek, not cutting, just... reminding him that it could. "Say it again," Leo said, his voice soft. "What you said about my sister."

Marius’s mouth opened, but no words came out.

Leo’s fist slammed into his face.

The punch was not hard, not by Leo’s standards, but it was filled with black lightning that crackled across Marius’s skin and sent spasms through his body. Marius’s head snapped back, and blood sprayed from his nose.

"I dare you to say it again now," Leo repeated.

Another punch. Another crackle of black lightning. Marius screamed as the electricity coursed through his veins, burning, searing, reaching deep into his chest where his mana core pulsed.

"Say. It. Again."

Punch.

Punch.

Punch.

Each word was punctuated by a blow, each blow was filled with lightning, and each lightning strike sent shockwaves through Marius’s core. The nobles watched in horror as the son of the Marquess of Highmere, the golden boy, the prodigy, the future of his house, was reduced to a bleeding, screaming mess on the floor.

The referee stepped forward, his face pale. "Lord Leo, stop! He will die!"

Leo turned his head, and the referee took an involuntary step back. The look in Leo’s eyes was not human. It was something else, something cold and ancient and utterly without mercy.

"This is a duel to the death, isn’t it?" Leo said, his voice flat. "He’s not dead yet."

"But—"

"You stay down there." Leo’s voice dropped, soft and dangerous. "If you move, I will kill you."

The referee froze, paralyzed by the sheer killing intent.

Leo turned back to Marius. He grabbed the noble by his collar and lifted him off the ground, holding him at eye level. Marius’s face was a mess of blood and tears, his eyes swollen, his nose broken, his lips split.

Leo’s voice was cold, quiet, and every word was heard by everyone in the ballroom.

"Listen here, you runt. I don’t give a fuck about that slutty princess. I don’t give a fuck about her honor. And I very much don’t give a fuck about you or your pathetic little friends or your desperate attempt to impress a woman who doesn’t even know your name."

Marius whimpered.

"I apologized to the Princess two years ago. She accepted. That should have been the end of it." Leo’s grip tightened. "But you couldn’t let it go, could you? You had to play the hero. You had to prove that you were better than me. You had to threaten my sister to get a reaction."

He pulled Marius closer, their faces inches apart.

"I hate people like you. People who don’t know their place. People who think that because they have a title and a sword, they can do whatever they want." Leo’s eyes were cold, empty. "You’re not a hero. You’re not a warrior. You’re a child playing a game he doesn’t understand."

He threw Marius to the ground.

Marius landed hard, his head bouncing off the marble, and he lay there, groaning, crying, begging. "Please... please..."

Leo spat on him.

The spit landed on Marius’s cheek, and the ballroom gasped.

A noble, a Celestial — spitting on a son of Highmere. It was an insult that would echo through the courts for years.

"This is your place," Leo said, his voice cold. "On the ground. In the dirt. Beneath the people you thought you were better than."

He raised Tempest.

Black lightning crackled along the blade, casting strange shadows across the walls. The light caught his white hair, and for a moment, he looked like something out of a nightmare, an angel of death, beautiful and terrible and utterly without mercy.

Marius closed his eyes. "Please..."

Leo raised his sword higher. "You should have stayed quiet."

He swung.

...And a sword met his blade.

The impact rang through the ballroom, steel against steel, and sparks flew. Leo looked to his side. A knight, tall, broad-shouldered, with cold eyes and a scar across his face had intercepted his strike. His sword was pressed against Tempest’s edge, holding it in place.

Leo met the knight’s eyes. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

The knight’s hand trembled, but he did not lower his sword. "My lord, please. That’s... enough."

Footsteps echoed across the marble floor. The crowd parted, and Emperor Aldric Valerion walked forward, his white and purple robes flowing behind him, his emerald eyes fixed on Leo’s face.

He stopped a few feet away and looked at Leo. Then he looked at Marius, broken, bleeding, crying on the floor. Then he looked at the five young nobles, their arms severed, their blood pooling around them.

The Emperor’s expression was unreadable. "You have made your point, Leo von Celestial," Aldric said, his voice quiet. "Lower your sword."

Leo did not lower his sword. He met the Emperor’s gaze without flinching, without fear, without a single trace of the deference that was expected of him.

"Are you sure you want me to do that?" Leo asked, his voice soft.

The tension in the air was thick enough to choke on. The nobles held their breath. The Emperor’s eyes narrowed.

...And Leo smiled cold and sharp and utterly without warmth.