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The crowd moved, like a single living creature, pushing Sam and Sylvia back. Not fools. Not sheep. Elias's people.
And for the first time, Sam, despite all his strength, looked smaller than the ones he claimed to judge.
" LISTEN!!! YOU! PEOPLE OF VEIRDAN EILL REGRET!!! I WILL REMEMBER THIS" Sam shouted but nobody cared...they can analyse they are humans not animals.
Sam and Sylvia stood in the square, faces lit with the false glow of righteousness. They weren't yelling now.
They again started, their calm words dripped like oil, slow and heavy, painting judgment as kindness.
"Children must be corrected early," Sam said, voice gentle, almost tender like he wasn't shouting like a maniac earlier.
"Otherwise, they grow into monsters. Don't you agree?" Said Sylvia still clinging to Sam's arm.
Crowd didn't shift, some even scoffed.
"Is this a drama rehearsal " a boy said eating popcorns.
But, those words cracked something. Not shattered but cracked.
Leya's nails dug into her palm. Corrected early. The words slammed against her chest. Suddenly she was small again, crouched in the trial hall, the whip cutting air above her head. Corrected. That was the word they used when they dragged her friend away. Who never returned.
Elen's lips trembled. Monsters. He remembered the iron smell of blood on the training ground, a boy his age writhing as the overseer whispered the same word before snapping his neck.
Lucien's throat closed. The air stank of punishment. His vision blurred, and for a heartbeat, he saw chains where there were none.
" Shut up bastard, don't act you are special or whatever." said Lucien with no emotions.
Sam tilted his head, pity softening his features.
"Oh, little one… such sharpness in your tongue. Now that I think about it, wasn't it the Duke of Veirdan?? Hmm....???..Is this what the Duke of Veirdan teaches his children? No grace, no manners, only rebellion? Tsk…"
He sighed, like a man burdened with disappointment.
"A shame. Children mirror their masters. If this is what he's raised, then perhaps the Duke's legacy is already rotting."
The square went still for only a heartbeat — and then the air snapped.
Men surged forward a step, fists clenched. Women's voices cut sharp, lashing out like whips. Children glared with wide, blazing eyes, some even throwing pebbles at Sam's boots. It wasn't fear that gripped them — it was outrage.
"How dare you!"
"Bite your tongue, outsider!"
"Insult our lord again, and see if you leave this square whole!"
Their voices rose together, a furious wall of sound. Elias was not just their Duke's son; he was theirs — their proof that the Veirdan name still stood, their one light in years of shadows. To insult him was to spit on their lives, their loyalty, their very blood.
And then Lucien's fist flew. The crack of bone against bone was swallowed not by silence, but by cheers.
Lucien lunged.
No mana, no training grace—only raw instinct. His fist shot out, clumsy but burning with defiance. It connected with Sam's jaw, the crack of impact swallowed by gasps from the crowd.
The people roared, their anger bursting into wild applause. Some laughed through their fury, others shouted blessings, all of them drunk on the satisfaction of seeing Sam struck down for daring to mock the one name they would never let be dragged through the dirt.
Sam's calm mask cracked. He struck back—hard, precise. Lucien ducked one blow, caught another. His body moved like it remembered Elias's sparring corrections: "Lower your stance. Don't blink. Breathe with the strike."
But Elias wasn't here.
Sam's mana flared, invisible pressure crushing against the boy's movements. Lucien's body wasn't built for this, not yet—but instinct was a cruel master. He lunged, ducked, swung, every motion raw, unrefined, desperate.
Sam didn't even bother drawing a blade. He parried with a raised arm, redirected blows with ease, every counter a reminder of strength unbalanced.
"Instinct without control is just flailing," Sam said lightly, pushing Lucien back with a single palm.
Lucien stepped forward first. His heart hammered as Sam's gaze locked on him, predatory, mocking. "Another one playing hero?" Sam sneered, letting mana curl around his fingers, visible like heat on stone.
Lucien said nothing. His stance was clumsy, bare fists raised. But there was no mana in him—only instinct and Elias's words pounding in his skull.
The fight snapped like dry wood.
Sam moved fast, a blur powered by mana. Lucien ducked, not by calculation but by raw instinct, the brush of air sharp across his cheek. His fists lashed out wildly, unpolished, desperate—yet fueled by something more real than skill. Each strike was the echo of a boy who refused to cower.
But Sam was stronger. Every blow he landed carried the weight of mana, cracking against Lucien's ribs, stealing breath, burning muscle. The crowd gasped, some cheering, some silent, none stepping in.
Still, Lucien rose again. His teeth were red, his knees buckled, but he remembered Elias—face tilted to the moon, voice steady. "Stand."
And so he did. Again. And again.
Until his body betrayed him.
Lucien's eyes widened, not from fear—but because his body betrayed him. The seizure struck mid-motion, legs buckling, arms spasming. The marketplace gasped.
"Lucien!" Elen's voice cracked.
The trauma snapped in all of them—those cages of memory slamming open. Not again. Not another person falling. Not Elias. Not Lucien. Not anyone they still had.
They rushed forward, Leya clutching his arm, Elen shielding him. They remembered Elias again—his voice threading through their panic.
> "If your body fails, let your will move. If your voice trembles, let it speak anyway. The world won't wait for you to be ready."
Elen's jaw locked. He stepped in front of Sam, fists balled though he knew he'd lose. "Stop. That's enough."
The crowd stirred.
And then—the Veirdan people moved. Not timid. Not blind. Not foolish. Elias's people would not watch children fall.
Hands reached out. They pulled Lucien back, shielding him, voices rising.
"That's enough, boy."
"You've made your point."
"Pick on someone your size if you crave fairness so badly."