"I refuse your challenge."
Ashweist's voice rolled out casually, almost bored, as he leaned back in his chair. He didn't even look at Hawka Grey, who stood in the center of the dining hall with his hand on his sword hilt, face burning red.
The words hit harder than steel. Hawka blinked. "What—? You… you refuse?"
"Of course," Ashweist said with a lazy shrug, tearing a piece of bread and popping it into his mouth. "Why would I waste energy on something so dull? I came here to enjoy the food, not to humor a child throwing tantrums. Accepting would only tire me out."
He chewed slowly, deliberately, as though the insult wasn't even worth raising his voice for. "Why should I do you such a favor?"
A ripple of shocked murmurs stirred through the other students in the hall. Challenges among the Grey bloodline were sacred—refusing one was unthinkable.
Hawka's face twisted. "You scumbag!" Hawka slammed a fist onto the table. Plates rattled, silverware clinked. "You have no honor as a man! Do you throw away your dignity just like that?"
Ashweist didn't even flinch. He sipped from his cup, gaze half-lidded, utterly unmoved. "Honor. Dignity. Empty words used by weak men to justify their boredom. You won't bait me with them."
His calm dismissal was like a wall of stone. Nothing Hawka said could pierce it.
I shifted uncomfortably, heat crawling up my neck. All eyes were on us now.
Then Hawka turned, sharp-eyed, toward me. "Leora, tell me. Who is this lowborn scum you're keeping at your side? Don't tell me you've lowered yourself to dine with—"
The hall erupted with gasps and whispers. My throat locked. "He's not—he's—"
Before I could explain, Ashweist's voice cut smoothly over mine.
"I am her familiar."
The words silenced the room.
Even Hawka staggered back, stunned. His eyes darted between us, confusion flashing into something uglier—contempt. "A familiar? You enslaved him? You—" He pointed a shaking finger at me, his voice rising. "You would bind a man and call him your pet? Is that how desperate you've become, Leora?"
Gasps rippled again, sharper this time. The accusation stung like a blade twisting in my chest.
Ashweist, however, only smirked, resting his chin on his hand. "Pet? Hm. Amusing."
Hawka's hand clenched around his sword hilt. "If he is your familiar, then you bear responsibility for his dishonor. As his master, it falls on you to accept my challenge."
My blood ran cold. "What…?"
"You heard me." Hawka's eyes locked onto mine, burning with fury. "If he refuses, then you fight in his place. You will answer for the disgrace he brings on the Grey name. A duel. Sword to sword."
The hall burst into uproar. Aristocrat shouted, some calling for order, others cheering the thought of a fight.
My stomach twisted into knots. I had never won a duel in my life. I could barely hold a sword without fumbling.
But Hawka was serious. And everyone was watching.
Ashweist leaned closer, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips, his crimson eyes gleaming like sharpened blades. "Well, little Grey," he murmured, his voice low enough that only I could hear, yet heavy enough to drown out the clamor of the restaurant. "What will you do? Refuse… and prove them right about you? Or accept… and crush their fragile pride beneath your heel?"
His words slithered into my mind like smoke, intoxicating, poisonous.
I clenched my fist under the table, nails digging into my palm. My throat felt dry, but I forced the words out. "I… accept your challenge."
The restaurant stirred with murmurs, chairs scraping against the marble floor as people leaned in to listen.
"But—" my voice wavered, then hardened, "—on one condition."
Hawka arched a brow, mocking me with a grin. "You don't even stand a chance of winning, and yet you want to negotiate? Hah! Very well. Speak."
"If we win," I said, glancing at Ashweist, "you pay his bill. Every coin of it."
The smirk on Hawka's lips faltered for just a heartbeat before twisting into a cruel grin. "And if you lose? If you embarrass yourself before all these eyes?"
I swallowed, forcing steel into my voice. "Then do whatever you want."
The room went silent. Even the clatter of cutlery stopped.
"Well, well…" Hawka's grin widened. "You know how to gamble, Grey. Very well. If I win—" his voice rose, sharp and cutting through the hall, "—you will leave the Grey House. Forever."
My breath caught, but before doubt could gnaw at me, I slammed my hand onto the table. "Deal."
Our hands met in a rough shake, the weight of a thousand watching eyes pressing down.
"The duel shall be tomorrow, noon, in the Arena Hall," Hawka declared, loud enough for every patron to hear. "Bring your familiar, bring any sword you like. I will end this swiftly."
He turned on his heel and left, his entourage following him like vultures circling their prey.
The tension ebbed, the restaurant's noise slowly returning, but my chest felt tight. My hand trembled until I felt Ashweist's gaze on me.
"You've grown," he said softly, almost with approval. "From the weakling you once were."
I let out a hollow laugh. "Grown? Don't make me laugh. This is futile. I can't defeat her. My sword scores were always the lowest in class."
Ashweist smirked, leaning back in his chair with casual arrogance. "Perhaps. But tomorrow, little Grey… we will see if despair can be turned into strength."
"Still… when are you going to be done eating this?" I asked, staring at him as he continued tearing into the endless platters piled high across the table. The plates were stacked like miniature towers, steam rising as if mocking my patience.
Ashweist didn't even glance at me, a grin tugging at his lips as he reached for yet another dish. "Well, the food just keeps coming. I can't stop eating if they won't stop serving."
I pressed my palm against my forehead and groaned. "Ugh. Damn it all. If this is how things are going to be, maybe I should just let you go free. At least then the disaster would be yours alone."
He finally looked up, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Hey, hey. Don't give up so quickly. You've got me, remember? This is your moment to shine. And if things go south, I'll step in. Just trust me."
I wanted to believe him. I really did. But unease gnawed at the back of my mind, coiling tighter with every heartbeat. "I want to trust you… but I don't know why I can't shake this feeling. Something's wrong."
Ashweist chuckled, the sound low and smooth. He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms with the smugness of someone who knew more than he let on. "Ah, I see. That's not dread. That's the weight of expectation. That's what it feels like when something big—something good—is about to happen."
The day of the challenge had finally arrived. Now, I sat in the waiting room, just moments away from stepping into the arena hall. My hands wouldn't stop fidgeting, and no matter how deep I breathed, the weight in my chest refused to ease.
"Are you sure this is all right?" I asked Ashweist, my voice tighter than I intended.
He leaned casually against the wall, as if none of this mattered to him. "Well, if you use your family sword and end up losing, that would be a real shame. Instead…" He reached into his cloak and pulled out something unexpected. "…how about using this?"
I blinked, staring at the object in his hand. A plain wooden sword.
"Wait—are you joking with me right now?" My disbelief came out sharper than I meant, but I couldn't help it.
Ashweist grinned, unbothered. "Just trust me. If things start to go wrong, I'll step in. All right?"
I clenched my teeth, torn between frustration and desperation. In the end, I sighed. "Okay… if you say so. I'll believe you. Just—please don't let me make a fool of myself out there."
He straightened, his tone softening ever so slightly. "I got it. Now go. Show them what you can do."
I gripped the wooden sword tightly, forcing my doubts down. "…Got it."
"That's the spirit," he said, a spark of mischief dancing in his eyes.
The horn sounded, calling me forward. As I stepped into the arena, a wave of noise crashed over me—cheers and shouts rising like thunder. Every voice seemed to call the same name.
"Hawka! Hawka! Hawka!"
The crowd's support was entirely on her side. Every cheer echoed her name, fueling her confidence. Meanwhile, on my side, Ashweist sat casually on the ground, resting his chin in his palm as if he were merely observing a play rather than a duel that could decide my honor.
I swallowed hard as I stood across from my sister, Hawka, ready for close combat. My body stiffened. I was not athletic—not like her.
The referee stepped forward, raising his hand for silence. His voice rang out clearly across the arena."Now, I state the rules. First, no killing. Second, magic may be used. Third, if you step outside the circle, you lose. Lastly, if a fighter can no longer continue, that person is considered defeated."
A faint spark of relief flickered inside me. So, I can use magic. But that relief quickly soured. I had no strong offensive spells—nothing compared to Hawka. This battle was going to be far harder than I had hoped. Still, I clenched my fists around the wooden sword Ashweist had given me. I need to believe in myself. This is my fight.
"Now," the referee declared, raising his arm. "Let the battle begin!"
The match started instantly. Hawka began incanting under her breath, her voice low but sharp. Energy shimmered around her form, and I could sense the growing tension in the air.
I panicked, glancing down at the wooden sword in my hand. What can I even do with this? Then it hit me—I didn't need to strike, not yet. A protection spell. Maybe that will work.
"Shield," I muttered, focusing my will. A faint shimmer spread across me like a fragile bubble.
Hawka's eyes locked onto me. Sparks danced across her body, lightning weaving around her limbs. She launched forward with blinding speed, closing the distance in an instant. Is she using lightning magic to enhance her speed?
"Protection!" I shouted again, reinforcing my barrier just as her blade slashed through the air.
The impact cracked my defense. Pain shot through me as if I had been struck directly. My knees buckled. Did she cut through my shield? Does this mean… I've already lost?