The Academy dueling hall had never seen so much perfume, ego, and barely-repressed lightning. It reeked of ambition and desperation, a potent cocktail that always invigorated me.
It was the Cross-Discipline Exhibition — a glorified peacock contest where nobles flexed bloodlines, commoners pretended to matter, and instructors nodded thoughtfully while sipping overpriced tea.
A perfect stage, really, for a carefully choreographed downfall.
Naturally, I showed up late. One does not arrive early to their own performance. The audience needs time to stew, to anticipate.
Cloak fluttering. Smirk loaded. Aura casually devastating.
And right on cue…
"Theo."
Ah, Raelar. The perpetual thorn in my exquisitely tailored side.
There he stood — all heroic posture, jawline tense, lightning dancing like it had opinions. He looked like a man who hadn't slept in two days and was desperately trying to find the plot. His eyes, usually so earnest, were bloodshot. Excellent. The stress was doing wonders for his complexion.
"Raelar," I replied, adjusting my gloves with exaggerated precision. "You're not still brooding, are you? That's terrible for the skin. Honestly, you look like you've been wrestling a particularly stubborn philosophy textbook."
His eyes narrowed. "I'm requesting an official duel. Here. Now."
Gasps. A symphony to my ears.
Excellent.
System Prompt:
[Optional Objective: Style Bonus Opportunity Triggered]
[Suggestive Prompt: Make it look justified. Or deliciously accidental.]
"A duel?" I said, feigning concern, my voice dripping with theatrical pity.
"You sure you're not just projecting because Nia stopped watching your practice sessions? Or perhaps you finally realized your heroic pronouncements are starting to sound suspiciously like a bad soap opera script?"
A few nobles snorted. A ripple of amusement spread through the stands. Perfect. Undermine the legend before a single spell is cast.
His fists clenched. "I have questions that only combat will answer."
"Ah, yes. The age-old tactic of punching someone when you're out of emotional vocabulary. So much for that vast intellect you're always lauded for. Turns out, it just leads to fisticuffs."
I strolled up to the dueling platform. Let the crowd drink it in. Their eyes, hungry for drama, fixed on me.
And Raelar, poor, predictable Raelar, was about to provide it.
"Very well. Let's answer your questions. Hopefully without you crying this time. Though, do feel free to shed a tear or two; I hear it's quite cathartic."
Instructer:
"No lethal techniques. First to yield or lose footing. Begin on signal."
Signal dropped.
Raelar moved like the storm he desperately wanted to be. All bluster and no true bite.
Lightning spear. Predictable. And remarkably slow.
I sidestepped with all the urgency of a man dodging a particularly rude pigeon. Or perhaps a particularly dull lecture. The air hummed with his frustrated energy, a delicious vibration against my skin.
"That the best you've got? Did your spirit animal abandon you, or did you just forget to charge your heroic battery this morning?"
More gasps. Followed by a few nervous titters. The cracks in his perfect façade were beginning to show.
He surged again. Close range now. Desperation clinging to him like a cheap cologne.
Electric jab. Too sharp. Too desperate. Like a child flailing in a tantrum.
I raised a hand, blood thread coiling from fingertip — crimson and elegant. A stark contrast to his wild, untamed lightning.
One flick.
His sleeve split. Not just split, mind you. It shrieked, a clean tear from cuff to shoulder, exposing the surprisingly pale skin beneath. A subtle touch, but devastatingly effective.
"You're unraveling, Raelar. Literally. And metaphorically, it seems. Did your tailor abandon you too?"
[Quest Progress: 78% → 83%]
He snarled. Actual snarl. Adorable. He looked less like a hero and more like a cornered badger, albeit a very pretty one.
I stepped into his next strike. Let it graze. Just enough to feel the pathetic sizzle of his wasted power.
And used the momentum to trip him in front of everyone.
A simple, elegant maneuver. Less a trip, more a gentle suggestion that gravity had a better claim on him.
He hit the ground.
Not gracefully, not with any semblance of dignity. It was a clumsy, undignified sprawl, limbs akimbo, the echo of the impact a pathetic thud in the otherwise silent hall.
Hard.
Gasps again. Laughter this time. The delicious, unrestrained laughter of a crowd realizing their idol has feet of clay.
It was music.
I offered a hand.
"Come on, Hero. Be gracious in defeat. Or at least look less constipated."
[Bonus Objective: Emotional Anchor Stolen — Complete]
[+90 Points Awarded]
Raelar grabbed my hand. Stood. Jaw locked. His face was a mask of furious humiliation, a beautiful sight to behold.
He wouldn't look at me, wouldn't meet my gaze.
The true defeat wasn't the fall, but the shame.
He didn't speak. What was there to say? His actions, or lack thereof, spoke volumes.
But everyone else did.
"That was brutal."
"Didn't know Theo could duel."
"Maybe Raelar's slipping. Or maybe he was never as good as we thought."
Good.
Let the whispers spread like wildfire. Let them consume his reputation, leaving nothing but ash.
The Room of Victory (And Possibly Wine)
I kicked my boots off and collapsed into the villain's best friend: an overstuffed armchair.
The velvet caressed my skin, a soft reward for a job well done.
System Window:
[Points: 150]
[Villain Tier Store — Locked (until main quest completion)]
First item:
Silk of the Fallen Noble
Creates passive inferiority complex in anyone with lower social standing. Eyes linger longer. Confidence drops faster.
Cost: 300 Points.
(Not enough points — saving up.)
I poured a glass of red anyway. A dark, rich vintage, befitting the taste of triumph.
[Passive Active: 28% Increase in Lingering Attention.]
"Perfect," I whispered.
The taste of victory was sweet, made even sweeter by the thought of Raelar's ruined afternoon.
Raelar got his duel. And a healthy dose of public embarrassment.
The crowd got a show. One they wouldn't soon forget, especially the part where their shining hero bit the dust.
And I?
I got everything I wanted.
And a little bit more.
The humiliation was just a bonus.
System Prompt – Status Window: Theo Duskblood
Race: Human
Age: 16
Title: Menace in Velvet | Heir of House Duskblood
Power Type: Arcane
Affinity: Air
Status Grade: Bronze Tier
Attribute Rank:
Strength: D
Agility: D
Endurance: E-
Intelligence: E+
Arcane Power: E
Unique Power – Crimson Resonance: F (Upgraded)
Blood-thread manipulation – Short-range, precision-based
Charisma: D (Boosted)
Villain Skills:
Threaded Influence (Passive)
Subtle Presence (Passive) – Increases aura impression subtly. Others feel slightly beneath you without knowing why.
System Items Equipped:
Silkblood Sash – A refined villain's touch. Enhances presence in noble social interactions.
Whisperflower Perfume (Used)
Cloak of Misperception (Used)
System Points Remaining: 150
System Note:
All eyes linger. Your myth is blooming. And Raelar's is wilting, like a flower in a frost.
Mission Update — Main Quest: "Break the Righteous"
Progress: 83%
Reward: +250 Points and unlock of Narrative Control (Passive) upon completion.
Time Remaining: 22 hours
The best part?
The system still hasn't laughed at me. It knows better. It's just a silent, complicit partner in my grand design.
I'm just getting started.