The clanging of steel rang out across the Hanging Gardens of the Tower of Babel — sharp, rhythmic, and relentless. Sparks danced through the air as two blades collided again and again in a deadly ballet.
At the center of a makeshift arena stood two figures, locked in a fierce duel. Neither hesitated; each met the other's strikes with equal ferocity and skill. Every swing, every parry, was a contest of speed, strength, and will.
One of them — a young man with golden-streaked blonde hair — was drenched in sweat, his chest heaving from the intensity of their exchange. Yet determination blazed in his blue eyes as he dodged his opponent's attacks and countered with swift, precise blows of his own.
His opponent, a sapphire-haired woman slightly older than he, moved with effortless grace. Her strikes were sharp and deliberate, aimed at his vital points, her calm expression betraying none of the strain of combat.
Encircling the crude ring, a group of maids stood watching, their work momentarily forgotten. Normally, such negligence would be punished — but their master, Sol, was far too lenient and charming to scold them for it.
He believed in balance — the right measure of discipline and reward — knowing that loyalty grew best in such equilibrium.
Still, the maids weren't truly mesmerized by the technical skill of the sparring match. Most had no love for combat, even if they could channel mana. Their attention was instead fixed on Sol himself — his sculpted, sweat-slicked torso glistening under the sunlight.
Blessed with both regal bearing and striking looks, Sol was the very image of human perfection — lean, powerful, and effortlessly alluring. Many of the maids gazing at him now had heard the rumors of his passionate escapades and could hardly resist the sight before them.
His fame had only grown since his notorious encounter with five of his personal attendants. Their gossip had spread like wildfire — how gentle, how skilled, how attentive their young master was in bed — shocking even the most worldly women in the castle.
In a world where most men cared little for a woman's pleasure, Sol's approach was… revolutionary. Desire for him spread like an epidemic, and Lilith — his mischievous aunt — had even begun offering rewards to those he invited to his bed, making his situation all the more troublesome.
Back in the arena, the fight reached its climax. Sol, pushing his limits, failed to block a well-aimed strike. Pain flared through his shoulder, but he gritted his teeth and fought on. With a final burst of speed, he lunged for his opponent — only to feel cold steel at his throat.
Breathing heavily, he dropped his blade and smiled wryly. "I lost again."
His opponent, Setsuna, frowned slightly. She ignored the squeals of the maids behind her — their excitement over the chance to attend Sol's post-battle bath — and instead felt a pang of frustration.
Part of her irritation came from jealousy; she longed to cross that final line with him, to be his completely. But more than that, she hated seeing him look defeated.
As a beastwoman of the Blue Wolf tribe, Setsuna's natural strength far surpassed that of any unawakened human. Yet Sol, still so young, was already keeping up with her — even forcing her to take him seriously. His growth was terrifying.
'He doesn't even realize how monstrous his talent is,' she thought with pride and exasperation. Bound by Lilith's command, she couldn't tell him how extraordinary he truly was, not yet.
She remembered the day she first met him — a bright-eyed boy who had bought her freedom from the gladiator pits, his gaze filled not with lust but admiration. From that moment on, she had sworn her loyalty to him, body and soul.
Now, as he smiled up at her — radiant and pure — her heart swelled with the same fierce love it always had.
'Ah,' she thought tenderly, 'I really do love him.'
---
Later, after a quick bath (to the disappointment of the hopeful maids), Sol made his way to his aunt Lilith's study. His shoulder was already healing — a testament to the strange power awakening within him since his first night with Camelia.
Each time they shared intimacy, he felt himself grow — faster, stronger, sharper. He suspected that whatever ritual Camelia was preparing would soon reveal the cause.
Arriving before Lilith's chamber, he knocked.
"May I enter?"
"You may," came her smooth reply.
As always, her beauty struck him speechless. He wished she smiled more genuinely — not the seductive masks she wore so often, but real smiles from the heart.
"Good morning, Aunt," he greeted warmly.
Lilith's heart softened as she looked at him — her nephew, her pride, her light in a life otherwise steeped in monotony.
"Sol," she began, "your awakening will take place in about two weeks. Do you remember the ceremony that precedes it?"
"Yes," he nodded. "The fight in the Coliseum, followed by the visits to the four Dukes."
"Correct. A king doesn't need to be the strongest, but he must be capable of standing on his own. Before your awakening, you'll face ten opponents in succession. Fail, and your reputation will suffer. After awakening… you'll face the King of the Coliseum himself."
Sol's eyes gleamed with anticipation. Though the tradition puzzled him, he welcomed the challenge. The idea of crossing blades with the strongest gladiator thrilled him. He clenched his fist.
No matter the odds, he would win.
Because the current champion…
was someone he knew all too well.