The grand ballroom of the Morningstar Palace shimmered with gold and starlight, filled with nobles in embroidered silks and armored dignitaries whispering secrets behind jeweled goblets. The chandeliers above cast glittering shadows on polished marble, and the hum of celebration was briefly silenced by the voice of the royal announcer.
"Behold—our stars of the evening. His Majesty King Karl Morningstar and Her Majesty Queen Luna Morningstar, graced tonight by their sons, Young Master Liam Morningstar and Young Master Alex Morningstar!"
All heads turned as the royal family descended the staircase. King Karl, regal and powerful in his black and crimson attire, offered his arm to the radiant Queen Luna, her sapphire gown trailing behind like mist. Flanking them were their sons: Alex, grinning with youthful excitement, and Liam, silent and composed, a shadow of calm in the storm of color.
The first to approach was Duke Max Blackheart, clad in dark military garb, accompanied by his sharp-eyed wife, Lady Venessa.
"Congratulations, Your Majesties, on your glorious anniversary," Max said, bowing deeply.
Queen Luna smiled. "Thank you, Max. And Venessa—you both honor us with your presence."
Venessa gave her husband a sideways glance. "We would've honored you even sooner if someone valued punctuality as much as he values his weapons."
Max chuckled. "Protecting the kingdom doesn't come with flexible hours."
"He's right," King Karl chimed in with a grin. "I can only focus on ruling because of men like Max and Niko. And besides, a little delay gave you time to look even more stunning tonight."
Their laughter echoed across the hall, a reminder of old bonds forged in fire and youth. But Karl's eyes swept the room again, his tone shifting.
"Speaking of shadows… Where is Niko?"
Suddenly, from the edge of the chandelier's light, a ripple moved in Liam's shadow. A man emerged—dark-cloaked, eyes like steel.
"Apologies for the delay, Your Majesty," Niko said in a low voice, bowing.
Karl nodded, unbothered. "You're working tonight, I know. But take a breath. You've earned it."
"As you command," Niko replied before vanishing again into the darkness, leaving nothing behind but a faint whisper of cold.
The crowd barely noticed. Most couldn't even see him. Only those with keen instincts—or S-rank strength—could sense someone like Niko.
Later, after pleasantries and politics, Karl leaned toward his sons. "Go, enjoy the evening. Let your titles rest for a while."
Alex sprinted toward a group of children, already immersed in laughter and games. Liam walked more slowly, observing, analyzing.
A boy with emerald hair stood as Liam approached—Harry Tully, son of the influential Lord Jakes Tully. Fourteen, proud, and bursting with a nobleman's ego.
"Greetings, Young Master Liam Morningstar," Harry said with a practiced bow.
Liam smiled faintly. "You don't need to greet me so formally every time, Sir Harry."
"You're too humble, young master," Harry replied, his eyes calculating. "Let us enjoy the evening together."
But Liam saw it—a flicker of something behind the smile. Hunger. Jealousy. Challenge.
The mood shifted when the topic of conversation turned to the recent duel between Griffin and the commoner Leo. Alex was quick to defend Leo's victory, while a cluster of noble children insisted Leo had cheated.
Harry stepped forward, voice sharp. "Tell me, Young Master Alex—how does a peasant defeat Griffin, a noble trained in swordsmanship since birth? Strategy? Or a well-timed trick?"
Alex stood firm. "He won with courage and his mind. Just like Father says—willpower beats strength."
Harry snorted. "Empty words. No amount of 'mindset' can pierce trained steel."
Some nearby adults turned, listening now. A prince defending a commoner? A noble child mocking the outcome?
Liam spoke, voice cutting through the chatter like frost. "So you're saying my father and Commander Max failed to see a cheater win under their watch?"
Harry hesitated. "N-No, I mean… he might've bribed someone. Or used something unnatural. Steroids, maybe."
Liam laughed quietly. "A commoner bribing a noble family like Griffin's? You might want to work on your story, Sir Harry. And if you think steroids slipped past magical surveillance, perhaps you don't understand how tightly the tournament is secured."
There were chuckles from the crowd now, nods of approval. Liam's calm logic disarmed Harry more than any blade could.
But pride is a dangerous thing.
"I cannot take this insult," Harry snapped. "I challenge you to a duel, in the name of House Tully!"
He threw down his gloves. The children gasped. Adults raised eyebrows. Duel? At a royal gala?
Liam blinked. "You want to fight me?"
Rex appeared at his side and whispered, "He invoked his house. If you refuse, it'll be seen as fear. Or worse—weakness."
Harry sneered. "I'll refrain from using mana. It'll be fair. I hear you've trained with Niko, after all."
Liam met his gaze. "Fine. I accept. Let's see what pride is worth."
Wooden swords were brought forward. The center of the ballroom was cleared. Curtains drawn back. Nobles gathered like birds circling a storm.
Max Blackheart stepped into the ring. "I'll oversee the match. No serious harm. The first to land a decisive hit or force a disarm wins."
The two boys stood face to face.
"Begin!"
Harry lunged with a roar, slashing downward. Liam raised his sword just in time to block, but the power behind the blow rattled his bones.
Too strong. The sword will break if I keep blocking.
Liam began sidestepping, deflecting, letting Harry's strength work against him. He moved like flowing water, precise, composed, unmoved.
Max watched intently.
Impressive… Harry's got the power of an E-rank. He's going to enter the Academy ahead of most. But Liam… he's still unawakened, and yet—he's thinking. Calculating. He's surviving.
Harry grew more frustrated, his swings faster, angrier. "Stop dodging and fight me like a real man!"
He struck wildly, and Liam ducked low, sweeping behind him and landing a swift punch to Harry's ribs. The older boy stumbled, glaring.
"You'll regret that!" Harry shouted.
He thrust forward, aiming straight for Liam's neck. Max moved, about to intervene—but Liam pivoted at the last second, the sword missing by a hair.
In a single motion, Liam stepped in, pressed his blade gently to Harry's neck, and said, "Yield."
The room erupted into stunned applause. Max's eyes widened. He won… cleanly. Without mana. Against a ranked opponent.
But then—
A surge of mana.
Max spun toward Harry, who snarled and raised his sword, aura flaring.
He's going to attack—!
But before Max could step in, a second wooden sword flew through the air like a thunderbolt. It struck Harry square on the forehead.
CRACK!
Harry collapsed backward, out cold.
The room fell silent.
All eyes turned.
The sword had come from Liam's hand. He stood there, calm and silent, like a storm that had passed.
Max blinked. He reacted before me. Before anyone.
The silence broke with gasps, murmurs—and then, scattered claps. Soon, a roaring cheer filled the ballroom.
Liam bowed, briefly, before stepping back into the crowd.
And Max, still standing at the center of it all, whispered to himself.
"…He's not a child. He's a blade in the making."