Chapter 103: The Stage is Set

  The tension in the ballroom thickened. House Veylan’s entrance had already shattered the evening’s carefully orchestrated balance, throwing the noble elites of Nireen into a silent frenzy of recalculations and whispered plots. But as Marcus, Thalron, and Arixa made their way toward their private meeting with Lord Sylven Veylan, the weight of unseen forces pressing against them became unmistakable.

  The nobles were watching. Waiting.

  Whispers flickered through the grand hall, slipping through silken masks and behind jeweled goblets. House Ulthar had not remained silent. And when House Ulthar acted, it was never subtle.

  Marcus caught snippets of hushed conversations as they passed through the murmuring crowds.

  "A formal challenge…" "Public duel—" "The White Blade…" "Kelcrest's bastard doesn’t stand a chance—"

  Then, a voice rang out. A voice trained to be heard above the hum of courtly gatherings, crisp as steel unsheathing.

  "Let it be known!"

  The crowd shifted, parting to make way for a herald adorned in silver and blue—the unmistakable colors of House Ulthar. The proclamation was about to be made official.

  "By the decree of House Ulthar, the noble duel has been invoked! Vaelis Il’Theron, the White Blade of Nireen, has declared his challenge. And his opponent—"

  The herald paused deliberately, allowing the tension to twist into something unbearable.

  "—is Thalron of House Kelcrest."

  Silence. Then, an eruption of scandalized murmurs.

  Marcus, walking just behind Thalron, felt the air shift. This was no ordinary duel. This was a message. A carefully calculated strike meant to remind everyone of Nireen’s rigid structure, to put an end to this farce before it could gain traction.

  Thalron’s expression remained unreadable, but Marcus could see the stiffness in his shoulders. This was more than a simple fight. This was a public execution wrapped in ceremony.

  The herald continued, voice unwavering.

  "The terms are set. The Rite of Proving shall be held one moon's rise. The challenger stands accused of laying claim to a name that has long since been erased from noble records. If he seeks to prove himself, let him do so on the battlefield. If he fails—House Kelcrest remains dust, and the mistake of its bloodline is corrected."

  It was a mockery of justice, and everyone in the room knew it.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Marcus glanced at Arixa, who looked ready to snap the nearest noble’s neck. He put a hand on her arm, grounding her before she could cause a scene. This wasn’t the time to lash out—not yet.

  Thalron exhaled slowly. “They’re not even pretending this is fair.”

  “No,” Marcus muttered. “Because they don’t need to. The White Blade’s reputation does all the talking for them.”

  Vaelis Il’Theron. A name that carried weight. Twice Thalron’s level, a master of Ki, and a noble prodigy trained since birth to be the perfect duelist. His moniker, The White Blade, wasn’t for show—his swordsmanship was said to be as flawless as carved marble, untouched by hesitation or weakness.

  This wasn’t a duel. This was a display.

  Arixa scoffed. “They think this’ll scare us off.”

  Marcus shook his head. “No. They think it’ll crush us.”

  The herald’s proclamation ended, and the nobles erupted into quiet discussions. No one approached. No one offered condolences or mock congratulations.

  They were already treating House Kelcrest as a walking corpse.

  Without a word, Thalron turned and resumed their path toward their meeting with House Veylan. But now, the stakes had changed.

  The private chamber Lord Sylven Veylan had claimed for the evening was a stark contrast to the grand ballroom’s glowing opulence. Dark wood paneling, rich red drapes, and a long table set with fine elven wines and delicacies created a sense of quiet power—not the soft power of old money, but the sharp, hungry ambition of a house on the rise.

  Sylven himself lounged at the far end of the table, his emerald eyes watching their entrance with amusement. He did not stand, nor did he offer the customary formalities of noble greeting. Instead, he simply smiled and gestured toward the empty seats.

  “Sit,” he said, voice smooth as silk. “We have much to discuss.”

  Marcus, Thalron, and Arixa took their seats. The silence stretched for a beat before Sylven finally spoke again.

  “Well, well. House Ulthar moves faster than I expected,” he mused, pouring himself a goblet of deep red wine. “They must be truly desperate if they’re willing to pull The White Blade into play so openly.”

  Thalron’s expression remained neutral. “Desperate?”

  “Oh, yes.” Sylven leaned forward, smirking. “They wouldn’t bother with such theatrics unless they felt threatened. You’ve already made them uncomfortable.”

  Marcus raised a brow. “That’s an awfully optimistic read on what looks like an execution order.”

  Sylven chuckled. “Perhaps. But the fact remains—House Ulthar has played their hand. And that gives us an opportunity.”

  He tapped a slender finger against the polished table. “The duel is unavoidable. But the outcome? That depends on how much weight we’re willing to put behind you.”

  Thalron met his gaze evenly. “So you’re offering support?”

  Sylven tilted his head. “Not quite. I’m offering… a test.”

  A pause. Then, his smile widened. “If you survive this duel—win or lose—I will personally vouch for your return to noble standing.”

  Thalron frowned. “And if I win?”

  “Then,” Sylven said, swirling his wine, “House Veylan will make sure you don’t just exist in noble circles. We will ensure you thrive.”

  Arixa’s eyes narrowed. “And what’s in it for you?”

  Sylven grinned. “Simple. Chaos.”

  He gestured around the room. “This city runs on stagnation, traditions strangling any real progress. But a fallen house clawing its way back from the ashes? That is the kind of disruption that can shift the tides. And House Veylan thrives on disruption.”

  Thalron studied him for a moment. “And if I refuse?”

  Sylven shrugged. “Then House Veylan will stay neutral. We’ll watch from the sidelines, enjoy the show.”

  No hesitation. No false promises of loyalty. House Veylan was playing their own game.

  Marcus exhaled. “You’re asking us to gamble everything.”

  Sylven’s emerald gaze gleamed. “You were already gambling the moment you stepped into this ballroom.”

  The weight of the choice settled over them.

  Thalron finally nodded. “Then we have the day to prepare.”

  Sylven smiled. “Indeed.”

  As they left the chamber

  And the clock was already ticking.