The bell rang.
And everything… stopped.
Time didn't move quickly here.
Not in front of the Darkstar bloodline.
Not in the sacred duel of two heirs beneath the throne's shadow.
Naomi took a single step forward.
The echo of his boot touching the stone floor rang through the Training Hall like a drop of water in a dry cave.
Hundreds of eyes followed that step. Soldiers, nobles, servants, concubines—all watched him. The boy who had once trembled in corners. The shadow of the House. The one they whispered about behind closed doors.
But he did not shake.
Not anymore.
Across from him, Murin Darkstar rolled his shoulder, casually, arrogantly. His red aura coiled around him like a serpent, flickering heat lines twisting the air. He looked like fire dressed in flesh.
Naomi's eyes met his brother's for the first time during the match.
A storm met a bonfire.
Murin's mouth curled. "Still time to back down."
Naomi didn't answer.
Instead, he exhaled—soft and steady.
Like he had done a thousand times under Seraphina's gaze.
Second step.
Slower than the first.
Deliberate. Controlled.
Naomi remembered every lesson.
"Aura is not rage. It is focus. It is breath. Control it, and you control your opponent's world."
– Seraphina.
His hand around the hilt was firm. But relaxed.
His mana flowed like a river underground—quiet, unseen.
Waiting.
Across the stone, Murin moved.
One foot forward, almost casual. He spun his sword once in his hand—flashing it toward the crowd. Mocking. Playing.
Then he looked at Naomi again.
Still no strike.
Still no roar.
Just that same stillness.
"Come on," Murin muttered. "Make the first move. I want to see if you even know how."
Naomi closed his eyes.
And in that moment… everything changed.
The world shrunk.
The noise of the soldiers faded.
The glow of torches vanished.
Even the scent of fire aura burned away from his mind.
There was only his heartbeat.
Thump…
…and the subtle hum of his sword in his hand.
It was waiting too. As if it knew what was coming.
He thought of Seraphina. Her cold expression, her silent trust.
He thought of the black lizard perched on his shoulder, whispering inside him, "Calm, Master. Burn later. Watch first."
He thought of the moment he arrived in this world—broken, lost, someone else inside someone else's body.
And now… he was here.
Fighting.
Breathing.
Alive.
Murin took one more step, annoyed now.
"You going to sleep, Nel?"
Then—he lunged.
Quick. No aura, no flare. Just a sudden flash of steel.
But Naomi moved.
Just one step back.
Clean. Small. Simple.
The sword barely passed in front of him. Missed by inches.
The soldiers leaned forward. A few blinked in surprise.
Naomi opened his eyes.
They were calm.
He didn't strike.
Not yet.
He stepped again.
Let Murin come. Let him swing.
Another attack. Horizontal this time. Wide and wasteful.
Naomi ducked. Lightly. Efficiently.
No strength. No rage. Just rhythm.
Above, Duke tapped his ring against the arm of his throne. Once. Twice.
His cold gaze didn't blink.
But his lips… moved just a little.
"Avoiding doesn't make him strong," his concubine said beside him.
The Duke didn't answer.
Because he knew.
Avoiding is only the prelude to killing.
Naomi's aura stirred.
Just a breath.
A flicker.
A spark.
Murin saw it. For a fraction of a second—he hesitated.
Naomi whispered to himself, "Now."
His sword lifted.
Not fast.
Not explosive.
But precise.
And as it rose—black aura slipped from the steel.
At first, it was just smoke.
Then it turned to flame.
A black flame—coiling like ink in water, flickering at the edge of existence.
Murin's eyes widened.
He raised his sword to defend—
Naomi struck.
With his eyes closed.
Whooosh—
The black flame sliced the air—not toward the body, but at Murin's flame aura.
It struck not the flesh… but the will.
Boom—
Murin stumbled.
A crack formed in his flame.
Tiny. But visible. His aura shimmered off-balance.
Above, Seraphina stood.
Her lips parted.
She whispered without meaning to—
"Black Flame… he mastered it."
The crowd didn't cheer.
They were too stunned.
And for the first time… Murin's smile faded.
Murin's boots scraped backward across the stone.
His blade buzzed faintly, humming with unstable fire.
He glanced at it—like it had betrayed him.
That single strike—Naomi's black flame—had cracked more than just aura.
It cracked certainty.
It cracked pride.
The spectators weren't loud.
They didn't cheer.
They watched.
Eyes wide. Breath held.
Naomi lowered his sword.
The aura faded from the blade like dying coals. His chest rose slowly.
He didn't speak.
He didn't smirk.
He simply waited.
Murin... you're too loud, Naomi thought.
Too big. Too confident. That's your weakness. You've always won by scaring your opponent before the sword ever hits.
But not this time.
Naomi wasn't scared.
He was watching.
Every twitch. Every aura shift. Every weight transfer in Murin's stance.
From the royal platform, Duke leaned forward slightly—just a tilt of the body.
The concubines whispered.
"What… was that flame?"
"Is that dark magic?"
"No. It was beautiful."
But the Duke, he said nothing.
He only watched.
And the edge of his mouth curled, almost imperceptibly. A smile not of pride—but of curiosity.
Murin growled.
"You think that scare me, Nel?!"
He roared—and his fire erupted around him.
It was wilder this time.
No precision. Just raw heat and noise.
The stone beneath his feet blackened. The air shimmered violently.
"Try that trick again!" he shouted.
Naomi didn't flinch.
Murin charged.
This time, he didn't hold back.
No taunts. No playful swings.
Just rage.
His sword came down with brutal force.
Naomi raised his blade and—blocked.
The impact rattled through his arms, a shock that pushed him back three steps.
Dust rose around him.
His boots dug into the ground.
But he held.
Too strong to trade blows with, Naomi thought. But not smart enough to protect his rhythm.
He dropped low. Rolled.
Another swing whistled above his head.
Naomi sprang up behind Murin's shoulder—just for a second—and whispered:
"Too slow."
Then—he vanished back out of range.
The audience murmured again.
Even the soldiers who had mocked him were starting to shift uneasily.
This wasn't the Nel they remembered.
This wasn't the quiet, cowardly boy hiding behind books and bodyguards.
This was someone else.
Murin turned, eyes burning.
But in that burn… there was confusion.
Naomi spoke his first full sentence aloud.
"Today, I prove something. Not just to you, Murin. But to them."
He raised his sword—not in defense, not in fear, but in defiance.
"I may not be your brother."
"But I am the one who will win this duel."
Gasps erupted.
Soldiers rose to their feet.
Several nobles scowled, whispering curses.
And Murin… laughed again.
But this time, it wasn't playful.
It was bitter.
"You think that speech makes you strong?"
Naomi's grip tightened.
Black aura began to return—slowly, gently—like a tide turning.
Up above, the black lizard on Naomi's shoulder chuckled inside his mind.
"He's cracking, Master."
"Just one more push… and he'll burn himself from the inside."
Naomi didn't respond.
He only focused.
Murin charged again.
Faster this time.
Reckless.
The aura around him flared too wide, too uncontrolled.
He was trying to overpower the room—not just Naomi.
Naomi stood still.
And then… in perfect calmness—
He closed his eyes again.
To be continued…