"So, what do you think? Are you finally convinced?"
Freya didn't answer Solomon's question. Her gaze never left the duel.
Clang—!
Clang—!
'He looks so different now…'
Solomon tilted his head, lips quirking. He couldn't decide which Azriel was the real one.
The one in Europe?
The devil at the café?
The charming prince before the duel?
Or the figure standing there now, detached and inhuman?
He nearly laughed aloud.
'And they dare call me the clown.'
"His battle style is certainly strange," Solomon admitted softly.
"If he were on my level, even I'd have been caught off guard more than once."
No malice laced his words—only admiration. Watching Azriel duel Caleus, Solomon found himself praising more often than scoffing.
The fight had grown fiercer since Azriel first bled. Whatever "friendly spar" this was supposed to be, everyone had already forgotten it.
"Muay Thai."
"…Huh?" Solomon blinked at Freya, surprised she'd spoken.
"It's a forgotten martial art," she said, her tone calm but edged with curiosity.
"Look at his stance. The way he shifts his weight. That's Muay Thai at its foundation."
Solomon leaned forward, studying Azriel anew. She was right.
As Caleus lunged, Azriel slid aside and snapped his knee up, slamming it into Caleus's ribs.
"Argh!"
The unexpected strike staggered the Nebula prince, gasps rippling through the crowd. Azriel didn't let up, his katana whistling through the air in a deadly arc.
Clang—! Clang—! Clang—!
Solomon's expression darkened, rare seriousness sharpening his features.
"How did he learn something like that…?"
Integrating a martial art so unorthodox into his swordsmanship wasn't just impressive—it was monstrous.
'Ah. I was right to choose you, Azriel.'
Even if it ended in Solomon's downfall, he would never regret this choice.
*****
'What the hell is wrong with this guy?!'
Caleus's mind raced with every clash.
No matter how he lunged, no matter how precise the thrust, Azriel slipped away—an inch here, a twist there. Like a ghost, always untouchable.
His movements were fluid, unpredictable. Each step was calculated to keep Caleus on the back foot.
Azriel bent, parried, shifted. Always just enough.
It was maddening.
'How much did he train…?'
Two years in the Void Realm shouldn't have made this possible. Survival alone couldn't produce this level of skill. Had he been training in secret?
But Caleus couldn't stop grinning.
This was fun.
Azriel wasn't weaker, like Celestina. He wasn't stronger, like Jasmine or the Dusk Prince. He was—perfect. An equal.
That thought alone set Caleus's blood alight.
His grin widened as his gaze locked with Azriel's blank crimson eyes.
'Do you feel it too?'
The subtle twitch when Azriel was first grazed proved he could feel pain. He wasn't a statue. Beneath the detachment, he felt.
And Caleus wanted more.
"Haa!"
He roared, driving his spear in a vicious swipe meant to take Azriel's head.
Azriel dropped to one knee, the weapon slicing overhead, and in the same breath whipped Void Eater upward in a brutal arc.
'Fast!'
Slish—!
Instinct saved Caleus. He twisted, the blade grazing his jaw, leaving a crimson line.
Drip… Drip…
But he didn't retreat. He shifted his spear to his left hand in a practiced flick and thrust his right palm toward Azriel.
Azriel bent right, narrowly avoiding the strike—
'Gotcha!'
The spear lunged for his neck, perfectly timed.
But Azriel sprang back, fast enough to avoid death, though the tip carved a shallow line across his throat.
"Tch… always narrowly escaping," Caleus muttered, teeth clenched.
Blood seeped from Azriel's neck, but his gaze remained unchanged. Detached.
Unbothered.
Caleus's chest tightened. Frustration. Admiration. And a dangerous thrill.
'Always just out of reach…'
His muscles burned, stamina waning. This duel had dragged on far longer than expected. But he wasn't done yet.
'Once we're in the Academy… a rematch. No restrictions.'
Caleus tightened his grip, spearhead aimed at Azriel's chest.
'You win this exchange, it's your victory.'
Azriel caught the shift instantly. He lowered his stance, Void Eater held in both hands, knees bending.
Neither flinched.
Both were ready.
The ballroom held its breath.
Then—
They moved.
The marble floor shuddered, the air itself splitting as their weapons clashed.
Swish—!
Clang—!
A sound like thunder cracked through the hall.
And then—
Silence.
They reappeared a meter apart, backs turned, chests heaving.
Blood dripped freely.
Azriel's right shoulder was torn open, crimson staining his tuxedo.
Caleus bore a long, diagonal cut across his torso, blood pooling beneath him.
They swayed.
Thud—!
Caleus collapsed first, his spear clattering across the marble.
Thud—!
Moments later, Azriel fell too, Void Eater slipping from his grasp.
The ballroom froze, silence heavier than stone.
Two princes lay fallen.
But the victor—
The Crimson Prince.
Azriel Crimson.