Dimitri's gaze darkened for a second, but he kept his smile on. "That sounds like a good idea. Which of your daughters do you intend to betroth to him?"
Frederik leaned forward, stroking his beard. "My seventh. She was born just last spring—just a few months older than your son, I believe. A perfect match, don't you think? Two pureblood heirs. It would unite Sunmere and Eldenria like never before."
Kaelith's tiny fingers curled into a fist. 'Perfect match, my foot,' he sneered inwardly. 'Another pawn for your twisted game of empires?'
The emperor's voice rang with false pride, "Then it's settled. When they come of age, they shall be wed. May this betrothal bring lasting peace and strength to both empires."
The crowd clapped politely, unaware of the cold calculation behind each word. Kaelith's eyes never left his father.
'You're sealing my future like it's a business contract. Fine. But when the day comes… I'll be the one writing the terms.'
"Then it's settled," Dimitri said, his voice firm, loud enough for nearby nobles to hear. "The future bond between Eldenria and Sunmere begins with our children."
Kaelith's chest tightened as his mother's arm instinctively wrapped closer around him. He could feel her heartbeat speed up, but her face remained expressionless and regal. She didn't speak, but he knew—she was just as furious.
'Why isn't White Lotus saying anything? Is she going to watch her only son betrothed to the Sunmere, those dirty mages?'
Kaelith stared daggers at his father. 'I wish he would fall down and down. Damn this! If only White Lotus didn't seal my powers, I would have burned everyone to ashes already.'
Dimitri stood slowly, brushing off his coat and walking forward toward the edge of the high platform, where his voice could be projected.
The arena quieted down as all eyes turned to the Emperor of Eldenria.
"My fellow rulers. Honoured guests. And the brave contestants from each empire," Dimitri began, his voice steady and commanding.
"You are gathered here today not only for sport—but to witness the strength, discipline, and unity of our world. For centuries, we have tested our magic not as enemies, but as rivals, in friendly competition. Today, we continue that legacy."
A few nobles clapped politely. Most simply watched.
Dimitri waved his hand, and a maid walked toward him with a small glass vial. He raised it high, and immediately, a ripple of gasps swept across the entire arena.
A swirling black-red liquid shimmered inside. It was thick and looked ominous… it moved as if it was alive, mimicking the movement of a snake.
"Oas liquid," he announced, holding it toward the light. "Also known as Devil's Blood."
Whispers exploded through the air.
"That's forbidden, isn't it?"
"Is he mad?!"
"Devil's Blood… here?!"
Even the contestants in the arena below tilted their heads to get a better look. Some of their eyes gleamed with excitement. Others with hunger. They all knew what that liquid meant.
Oas was a legendary substance. Said to grant its user terrifying strength—at the cost of their sanity. It could push a mage through entire stages of power in mere hours. It could also kill them in seconds.
"This vial," Dimitri continued, ignoring the murmurs, "will be given as a prize to the strongest fighter. Let today's winner rise not only with glory but with power."
The arena burst into noise. Some cheered while others whispered in disbelief. The other emperors exchanged tense looks, but their eyes fixated hungrily on the vial in his hand.
However, Kaelith… Kaelith froze in his mother's arms.
His small fingers clenched into fists.
That vial… that was his. The blood he had gone through hell to achieve, he had saved it so he could use it when he finally mastered the artifact of chaos, but unfortunately he died before he could lay a hand on it. He remembered the scent and the energy. The maddening hunger that came with using it. And now they were handing it out like candy to a child.
His blood boiled in his veins. 'Righteous? You call yourselves rulers of peace and tradition, yet you steal from the dead and poison the living?'
His eyes burned, not with tears—but with fury. The only reason he wasn't exploding was because his body was too small, too fragile to hold what he really wanted to do. But there was no way he was going to let them lay a finger on his vial.
He didn't even realize his aura had shifted slightly until his mother whispered his name under her breath.
"Kaelith…" she warned, her voice calm but sharp.
He blinked and took a shallow breath, forcing his fingers to relax.
Not now. He couldn't afford attention yet, but he would make sure they would pay, every last one of them.
Dimitri returned to his seat, his smile thin and victorious. His eyes flickered with a malicious glint; it was so fast that the people around him missed it.
Another chime echoed through the arena. This time, it was louder—it was the bell signaling the beginning of the fight.
"The games begin!" a loud voice echoed.
The crowd erupted in cheers.
Down below, the contestants began to move, their clothes were used to identify which empire they were from—white attires were from Northhelm, purple from Eldenria, black from Gravemarch, and red from Sunmere. They spread out across the wide circular platform in the center. Some grouped up. Others stood alone, sizing up their enemies. Magic flared in the air—blue, gold, red, and even black. The ground beneath them pulsed with energy, as runes formed beneath the feet of the contestants clothed in purple.
"Let one contestant from Sunmere and one from Northhelm step into the inner ring." The announcer's words echoed like a strong wind through the arena, and at his word, a platform elevated from the middle of the ground.
A boy wearing a white uniform—his hair was black and short—stepped onto the platform. Afterwards, another boy wearing the red uniform entered, with a smirk.
"Begin!"
The boy in red widened his hands apart, and a vortex of fire formed between his arms. The fire grew wider and wider; it swirled aggressively, enough to send fear spiraling down the spine of its beholder.
However, the boy in white kept an expressionless face. He closed his eyes, and when he snapped them open again, they turned white, flickers of snow surrounding him like autumn's leaves.
The boy in red growled angrily, realizing he wasn't scared. With a flick of his finger, the fire swirled through the air. The boy in white raised up his finger, and a wall of ice formed around.
The collision sent a shockwave through the air, which made the crowd shield their faces with their arms.
However, Kaelith leaned forward, watching everything.
He needed to see what the world had become. Who was the strongest? What were the weaknesses? Which empire had fallen, and which one had grown?
And most importantly—who could join him to burn the world again?
His mother's hand brushed over his forehead as if to soothe him, but Kaelith wasn't a child in need of comfort. He was a god in the body of a boy, and they had taken everything from him.
Now they were parading his stolen legacy for sport. A smirk curled on his lips.
'Play your games… Drink your poison… When I rise again, not even the past will compare to what's coming.'