When the day of the tournament arrived, Lusian did not step down from a carriage.
He didn't need to.
He rode Thunder.
The beast moved with an elegance that did not belong to the ordinary world—white fur, nearly pure, streaked with silver reflections that caught the light as if holding onto it just a moment longer than it should.
At his side, Umber trotted in silence.
Black. Compact. Always alert.
They weren't companions.
They were a statement.
Their arrival did not go unnoticed.
The noise… fractured.
Not all at once.
But enough.
Conversations faded in fragments. Gazes shifted—then fixed.
And did not look away.
It wasn't just the beast.
It wasn't just his age.
It was the certainty.
A young man riding a mythical creature without tension, without visible effort… as if rejection wasn't even a possibility.
As if he belonged there.
Whispers began to spread.
Low.
Controlled.
But constant.
Cymopelia Forest stretched north of Acrópolis like an open wound.
Low mist.Twisted branches.Life… too dense.
At its edge stood pavilions and tents marked with the banners of noble houses—colors, symbols, lineages.
Organized power.
It was a grand event.
But not a festive one.
The royal hunting tournament, held each year by King Felipe, was not a celebration.
It was a demonstration.
For five days, participants would enter the forest.
They would hunt.
Compete.
Survive.
The objective was simple:
Collect high-level mana cores.
Whoever gathered the most…
didn't just win.
They dominated.
Prestige. Influence. Recognition.
Everything was decided there… without the need for open war.
Lusian knew that.
Because he had seen it before.
From the outside.
As a player.
As someone who understood the rules… without having suffered them.
Until now.
Nobles of every rank were present.
From the thirteen great families of the kingdom…
to lesser barons and knights seeking a chance to rise.
The air was heavy.
Pride.
Ambition.
Contained tension.
Not fear.
Expectation.
As Lusian advanced toward the Douglas sector, the effect became obvious.
Others moved aside.
Not abruptly.
Deliberately.
Some bowed their heads.
Others watched.
Measured.
Respect… mixed with something else.
Envy.
Caution.
Curiosity.
Voices dropped as he passed.
Turning into whispers.
Not because of him.
Because of what he represented.
The black armor he wore didn't help.
Elegant design.
Golden edges.
No excess.
No unnecessary ornament.
But the aura it emitted… wasn't aesthetic.
It was pressure.
A mythical-grade magical artifact.
A family relic.
Reserved.
Restricted.
Untouchable for most.
For other nobles, it would have been a symbol of pride.
For Lusian…
it was exposure.
Every gaze it drew didn't strengthen him.
It marked him.
Made him a target.
And that…
was never free.
In the distance, among organized lines of knights and nobles, he recognized familiar figures.
His father.
Duke Laurence Douglas.
Speaking with King Felipe and other dukes in a formation that required no visible guards to assert authority.
Beside him—
Caleb.
His older brother.
Blue armor, perfectly fitted, bearing the family crest.
Impeccable.
Controlled.
Both noticed his arrival.
It was inevitable.
Laurence didn't change posture.
But his brow tightened slightly.
Subtle.
Contained.
Disapproval… disguised as composure.
Caleb, on the other hand, didn't bother hiding it.
He smiled.
Cold.
Measured.
"Making an entrance, as always."
Lusian didn't look at him immediately.
"And you, as always, hiding behind words."
The exchange was quiet.
But enough.
The air tightened.
Not openly.
But perceptibly.
Even nearby knights exchanged glances.
No one intervened.
But everyone watched.
Laurence did.
"Enough."
His voice wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
"We stand in the presence of royalty."
His gaze settled on Lusian.
Firm.
"We are not here to argue. We are here to demonstrate the strength of our house."
It wasn't correction.
It was a warning.
Lusian inclined his head slightly.
Just enough.
Just what was required.
Not submission.
Not open defiance.
Formality.
Because that was all that truly existed between them.
Formality.
The relationship wasn't familial.
It was functional.
Laurence had never truly considered him a son.
Caleb had never hidden his rejection.
And Lusian…
had never expected anything else.
Deep down, he knew.
To them, he was an anomaly.
An inconvenient variable.
Too protected by Sofía.
Too difficult to control.
And yet, the contrast between the three was undeniable.
Laurence: established authority.Caleb: disciplined ambition.Lusian…
Silence.
Coldness.
A presence that didn't need to assert itself to be noticed.
And that—
in a place like this—
was the most unsettling thing of all.
When Sofía appeared in the spectator area, the atmosphere changed.
Not gradually.
Instantly.
Conversations died.
Eyes turned.
The Duchess of Douglas did not walk.
She imposed.
Elegant.
Untouchable.
At her side, the magical lion moved with a presence that crushed any attempt at noise. Its very breath seemed enough to remind everyone of their place.
When her gaze met Lusian's—
there was something.
Small.
Subtle.
Pride.
And that… was enough.
Because Lusian felt it.
And did not reject it.
Golden trumpets cut through the air.
King Felipe stepped forward.
At his side, Prince Andrew Erkhan.
Alive.
Whole.
For now.
Behind them, the houses:
Bourlande.Sneider.Armett.Kessler.Macllister.Stanley.Briggs.Mondring.Denisse.Carter.Brown.
Names.
But Lusian didn't see names.
He saw pieces.
The air vibrated.
Not with excitement.
With anticipation.
With something that hadn't happened yet…
but already existed.
Lusian took a slow breath.
And then he saw him.
Count Denisse.
Composed.
Controlled.
Correct.
As if nothing had happened.
As if the baron's head hadn't rolled because of him.
As if fear… didn't exist.
But Lusian knew better.
That man wasn't calm.
He was… surviving.
The wind shifted.
Cold.
Subtle.
From the forest.
Lusian turned his gaze toward Cymopelia.
And for a moment…
he didn't see the present.
He saw memory.
Swamps.
Mistakes.
Death.
Reset.
1,372 times.
Pain repeated until it became mechanical.
Until it became learning.
But that wasn't the worst part.
The worst came after.
The tournament.
The beginning.
The chain.
The assassination.
The collapse.
The world breaking in silence.
Prince Andrew…
dying.
His pulse quickened.
Once.
Again.
Stronger.
Not from fear.
From certainty.
This already happened.
And yet…
it's happening again.
But this time—
he was inside it.
The royal spokesman stepped forward.
His voice cut through the air.
"By order of His Majesty, the royal hunting tournament begins now."
Silence.
"Listen carefully."
Not a warning.
A sentence.
"Duration: five days."
"Those who do not return… will be disqualified."
He didn't say die.
He didn't need to.
"All participants will use royal storage devices."
"Prey will be verified by Count Macllister."
Control.
Order.
Supervision.
Everything seemed… fair.
Lusian didn't react.
Because he knew something no one else seemed to question:
Rules don't prevent chaos.
They organize it.
The scroll unfurled.
Points.
Classes.
Value.
Monsters.
Beasts.
Numbers.
System.
Logic.
Perfectly structured.
And yet…
Lusian thought only one thing:
This isn't a hunt.
It's a filter.
When the spokesman finished, he added:
"Combat between participants is forbidden."
A faint murmur.
Almost imperceptible.
Lusian didn't smile.
But he thought it.
Forbidden… doesn't mean impossible.
In the game, that rule existed too.
And still…
blood was spilled.
Then he saw her.
Emily.
Emerging through the mist.
She didn't walk with insecurity.
But not with pride either.
She was… steady.
Her light armor reflected the light softly, and there was something different in her posture.
She wasn't there to show off.
She was there because she chose to be.
When she approached, she inclined her head slightly.
Then looked at him.
A small smile.
Restrained.
"You're participating too?" Lusian asked, surprised.
Emily nodded.
"Yes. It's better than staying in the camp."
A brief pause.
"Lately… no one seems to want my company."
She didn't say it with bitterness.
She said it as a fact.
And that… weighed more.
Lusian didn't need to ask.
He understood immediately.
The incident with the baron hadn't just ended a life.
It had marked her.
Now she was…
a social risk.
An inconvenience.
A reminder of what happens when you get too close to the Douglas family.
People didn't reject her for what she did.
They avoided her for what she represented.
"So you'd rather face monsters than nobles," Lusian said with a faint smile.
Emily lowered her gaze slightly.
"Monsters are simpler."
Not a joke.
Which made it more honest.
Lusian studied her for a moment.
Beyond engagement.
Beyond politics.
He saw her.
Truly.
"Don't stray from your group," he said, more firmly than usual.
Emily looked up, surprised.
"Are you worried about me, Lord Lusian?"
He shook his head slightly.
"Just call me Lusian."
A pause.
"And yes… I am."
It wasn't elegant.
It was direct.
And because of that… stronger.
Emily looked away, faintly flushed.
"Thank you… Lusian."
She took a breath.
"You be careful too."
For a moment…
the noise of the tournament disappeared.
When they parted, Lusian mounted Thunder again.
The movement was natural.
Effortless.
As if he already belonged there.
Umber walked beside him, alert, sniffing the air as if reading something humans couldn't perceive.
He rejoined his group.
Albert was already there.
Watching.
Measuring.
Evaluating.
This wasn't a group.
It was a war unit.
1 Lord-Delta: Charles Grell4 Lord-Gamma3 Lord-Beta4 Lord-Alpha2 Lords1 Magister-Gamma: Albert
And among them—
Lusian.
Legionnaire-Delta.
The lowest in rank.
The most dangerous in potential.
Albert spoke.
"Listen."
Silence fell instantly.
"Cymopelia is not a forest."
"It's a hostile ecosystem."
"We don't fight individuals."
"We fight environments."
His gaze swept across them.
"Insect-type creatures dominate. That means colonies."
A pause.
"Avoid colonies."
His tone hardened.
"If you enter one… you don't fight."
"You run."
No one argued.
Because they understood what that meant.
"We'll focus on isolated prey," he continued. "High value. Low expenditure."
His eyes rested on Lusian for a moment.
As if he knew… he thought differently.
"Don't waste energy."
They moved.
Silent.
Efficient.
For the first hours, everything was… normal.
Too normal.
Class D creatures.
Easy.
Predictable.
No risk.
No real value.
Lusian didn't lower his guard.
Because he knew something the others didn't:
The problem never appears at the beginning.
Then—
the ground trembled.
Not violently.
But deeply.
Like something awakening.
The birds didn't flee.
There was no natural warning.
Only—
presence.
The swamp opened.
Slowly.
As if breathing.
And from it emerged the creature.
A scorpion.
Colossal.
Its dark carapace absorbed light instead of reflecting it.
Its eyes—
red.
Not glowing.
Burning.
Its stinger dripped.
Thick venom.
Heavy.
Alive.
Each step…
made the ground vibrate.
Albert raised his hand.
"Back."
Not an order.
A reflex.
"Class B."
And this time—
there was tension.
Real.
The group stepped back.
Calculating.
Measuring.
Evaluating.
And Lusian—
smiled.
Slightly.
But he did.
Because in his eyes there was no fear.
There was something far more dangerous.
Recognition.
This is worth it.