After the fight in the underground arena was over and the underground arena started to become quiet, the air left behind was thick with dust, blood, and the echoes of fading cheers.
The last few spectators shuffled out after they claimed their betting rewards, their voices low as they exchanged stories of the fight.
The spotlight over the ring flickered once more before dimming to a dull yellow haze.
A janitor swept the floor in silence, carefully avoiding the cracked areas where the fight had occurred earlier.
The locker room smells of sweat and cheap disinfectant...
Its low ceilings and flickering lights made the space feel even more cramped, especially after the roar of the arena outside.
Thaddeus sat hunched on a battered bench, chest rising and falling as he slowly peeled off his black fighting gloves.
Fake blood still dripping from the edge of his jaw as he took off his mask, stretching his shoulders from the fatigue he had accumulated in the earlier fight.
Across from him, a row of rusting lockers hummed under the weak buzz of the ceiling light.
One of them had a dent in the shape of a fist. Another was missing a handle entirely.
Korr stood at his locker, the door hanging crooked on one hinge. He yanked it open with a sharp tug.
Inside the locker was a mess of towels, wraps, a half-eaten protein bar, and a roll of medical tape stuck to itself.
[ Thaddeus ]: "Dang... I almost inhaled that fake blood bag in my mask earlier."
Thaddeus let out a short breath with half a laugh and leaned back against the bench, wiping the remaining fake blood from his jaw.
[ Korr ]: "Nice job, young man... but you hit my chest earlier a little too hard... I could barely hold my scream."
Korr chuckled, rubbing the spot on his chest where Thaddeus had landed a clean hit.
[ Thadddeus ]: "My bad... Those martial manuals got me a little excited. But hey! Your Sigil is built for that, right?"
He grinned as both laughed, tilting his head toward Korr with a half-raised brow, a playful glint in his eye.
Korr suddenly walked to Thaddeus and pressed a folded stack of cash into Thaddeus's hand without a word.
[ Korr ]: "Here, take it, young man..."
His voice carried a worn kind of kindness, the kind shaped by years of bruises and regrets.
[ Thaddeus ]: "What? I already received my pay earlier—"
Thaddeus looked down at the money, his brows drawing in as his hand hovered on the money, unsure and confused.
[ Korr ]: "Oh come on! Just take it! You kept on coming into this dangerous arena, and you're still young and have a bright future ahead of you..."
Korr gave him a smile and a firm pat on the shoulder, then turned slightly as if embarrassed.
His grin was crooked, but his eyes were serious...
[ Thaddeus ]: "Thank you..."
Thaddaeus said quietly, his expression softening, his fingers closing around the cash, his voice carrying genuine warmth.
[ Korr ]: "BWAHWHAWHWAHAWHAWHAWHA look at you, young man! Getting emotional already!"
Korr burst out laughing and gave Thaddeus a few solid slaps on the shoulder. His grin stretched wide, but his eyes softened at the edges.
[ Korr ]: "I'm going to drown myself in beer tonight!"
Korr exclaimed, excited at the thought of a cold beer and a warm seat at the bar.
[ Thaddeus ]: "Here you go again, old man with your drinking problems... I still want you to live long to see my child..."
Thaddeus let out a long breath, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh, his shoulders sinking just a little.
[ Korr ]: "Don't underestimate me, young man! My Sigil is going to keep me young for many years to come!"
With a grin, he rolled up his sleeve and turned slightly, revealing the back of his shoulder.
There, his Sigil glowed faintly—a clean, symmetrical pattern etched in a soft green hue. It was modest in design, nothing flashy, but it pulsed with quiet resilience.
Both of them laughed, exchanging a few more words...
Before Thaddeus made his way back toward the Ashbourne estate, the weight in his chest a little lighter than before.
The moment Thaddeus stepped through the gates of the Ashbourne estate, the air seemed to tighten.
Two maids by the grand foyer turned at his arrival. Not with warmth, but with contempt.
[ Maid 1 ]: "Welcome back~ Young masterrr~"
The first maid muttered the title like a joke, bowing just a little too low, her smile all sharp in corners and mockery.
[ Maid 2 ]: "You are to report to the Patriarch immediately."
The second maid's tone was clipped, professional, but her eyes lingered just long enough to make the message feel more like a warning than a courtesy.
[ Thaddeus ]: "Alright... Now you two are free to go..."
Thaddeus replied with a straight voice and moved past them without a glance. His footsteps echoed down the polished hall.
But even at a distance, his heightened senses picked up the whispers of the maids.
[ Maid 1 ]: "Finally~ that bad blood is gone, how dare he make us wait for three hours at this gate!"
Her voice dripped with mock outrage, also laced with the arrogance of someone certain he won't hear.
[ Maid 2 ]: "Bitch! Stoppp~ He might hear us!"
The second maid hissed, her voice tight with panic, as she kept on glancing over her shoulder to see if Thaddeus noticed.
However, Thaddeus just kept on walking, his eyes forward, spine straight as if he was already used to this treatment—but his jaw tensed, a faint twitch in the muscle just below his ear.
He let the words pass through him like smoke, but they lingered all the same.
For a second, the estate felt colder than it should've...
Even the underground arena treats him more kindly...
As Thaddeus arrived at the meeting room, the doors were already open.
Inside, the long table stretched beneath the low, gold-lit chandeliers. Seated at the far end was the Ashbourne Patriarch, emanating a cold aura along with a stern and statuesque presence in his high-backed chair—flanked on either side by his seven children.
His Sigil was hidden but it was clear that it was displaying the power of an SSS-rank Sigil "???".
On either side of the table, his seven children sat in a cold symmetry, three sisters to the left, four brothers to the right.
None of them spoke.
Their eyes tracked Thaddeus as he entered, some with curiosity, most with indifference.
He walked forward and, without waiting to be invited, and took the empty seat beside his three sisters.
Not a single one acknowledged him. One adjusted her gloves as she looked at Thaddeus.
Another tilted her chin slightly away to Thaddeus.
The youngest of the three, Senna, offered a glance, brief and unreadable, then returned to tracing the rim of her wine glass with a single finger.
Across the table, the three brothers also turned to him. While the two stared with contempt.
One had a disgusted smirk. The other had a narrowed stare that didn't blink...
The third brother, seated furthest from the patriarch, regarded him with a calm and unreadable expression.
The fourth ignored him entirely.
[ Patriarch ]: "Everyone is now present... We may now begin the meeting."
His voice was cold and composed.
[ Senna Ashbourne ]: "Why did you call all of us here, Father?"
She spoke without hesitation, her voice calm but clear. The question hung in the air, not defiant, but sharpened by quiet suspicion.
[ Patriarch ]: "The Legacy Clash will be happening tomorrow between the Ashbourne and Vermillion. I hope you all honed your skills during my absence..."
His words were even, almost detached, as if the weight of legacy and rivalry were nothing more than matters of schedule.
His gaze swept across the table without resting on anyone in particular.
The room suddenly became alive with words as the siblings started to converse with others regarding the Legacy Clash.
Some were excited, and a few gave a weary sigh...
And in the center of it all, Thaddeus remained silent...
Legacy Clash was an age-old tradition between noble bloodlines, a ceremonial duel where each family selects five representatives, often their most promising heirs or elite members.
The event was formal, honorable, and designed to be competitive...
And this event is shown for the public eye to see. The victor is declared only if the opponent passes out or surrenders.
Though family-friendly in presentation, everyone knew what was really at stake: reputation, legacy, and the silent war of status among the high families.
Winning a Legacy Clash brought prestige that could echo for years. However, losing may leave a bad reputation on a heir.
As the room is filled with voices regarding the event, suddenly, the patriarch says a word that shocks the whole room.
[ Patriarch ]: "Thaddeus will be participating..."
His voice remained steady, cold.
The room suddenly went into chaos... Even Thaddeus was shocked by this sudden message.
[ Brother 4 ]: "Father! Why him?!"
[ Ark Ashbourne ]: "This can't be?! That bad blood?!"
[ Senna Ashbourne ]: "Father, may I know what made you decide this?!"
[ Kledon Ashbourne ]: "This is just a free point for the Vermillion! Father, please think about this twice!"
[ Brother 3 ]: "I don't even want to participate in this event, but Father, this decision is just outrageous..."
[ Sister 2 ]: "Those Vermillion freaks are S-ranked, how can a mere C-rank even compare!"
[ Sister 3 ]: "I changed my mind... I will be participating in this event but Father! Just remove Thaddeus from the event!"
The chaos started as they looked at Thaddeus, and more contempt came in sharp, unfiltered, and no longer veiled by civility.
The room crackled with hostility as voices overlapped, tone rising, and insults flung at Thaddeus without restraint.
Eyes bore into him from every angle. He could feel their judgment crawling up into his spine.
But... Thaddeus replied, which once again shocked the whole room.
[ Thaddeus ]: "I will do my best, Father!"
His words were calm. Steady. Devoid of sarcasm—yet somehow, that only made it worse.
Everyone went into silence...
.....
.....
.....
Then, the third sister, Eleanor Ashbourne, suddenly shot up from her seat, her chair screeching back across the polished floor.
Her eyes blazed with a searing yellow glow, radiant with fury and Sigil energy sparking faintly at the corners.
Her long, blonde hair cascaded behind her like silk stirred by the wind, strands catching the light with every slight movement.
Her body was lush with wide hips, a narrow waist, and full, well-shaped breasts that gave her silhouette a rich, hourglass allure.
Her thighs, still visible in her emerald skirt, that held a healthy thickness for a woman.
She moved with natural poise, every step light and balanced, more akin to a noblewoman trained in etiquette than a fighter born of war.
She wore a fitted ivory blouse tucked into a deep emerald skirt, tailored perfectly to flatter her refined, aristocratic silhouette.
The outfit was delicate in style yet undeniably noble in bearing, which is Ashbourne-like.
From her left hand, her Sigil blazed to life with a glowing lattice of amber and white light, ever-shifting like molten crystal.
It was "Amber Plasma," an S-rank Sigil known for volatile, plasma-like constructs capable of bursting into bladed tendrils or radiant beams.
Its glow pulsed with restrained wrath, as if daring anyone to provoke it.
[ Eleanor Ashbourne ]: "ARE YOU MOCKING US?! THADDEUS!"
Her voice rang out like a slap with anger and disbelief all rolled into one unhinged outburst as she looked directly at him, trembling with rage, her Sigil flaring brighter with each syllable.
[ Patriarch ]: "SILENCE!"
The word cracked like thunder. His tone was absolute.
The room froze... Chairs stopped shifting. The chaos earlier had suddenly died down...
[ Patriarch ]: "Thaddeus will be participating... Whether any of you like it or not."
He let the silence hang his gaze sharp enough to cut through the room.
[ Patriarch ]: "Now… I will be taking my leave. Use this time wisely. Decide who among you will stand beside him in the Legacy Clash tomorrow."
With that, he turned, robes shifting as he strode out without waiting for a response—leaving behind a storm of quiet tension for tomorrow's Legacy Clash.