The training courtyard smelled of dust and sweat, the morning sun hot upon the ring of packed earth. Wooden stands lined the edges, filled with young nobles and their retainers, eager for spectacle.
Lucian stood in the center, blade in hand.
His opponent across the ring was Cassian Deyros, heir of a lesser house, broad-shouldered and smug. Cassian had been a thorn in his first life, the one who had mocked him openly after this very duel. The laughter Cassian had sparked that day had followed Lucian for years, corroding his reputation.
Not this time.
"Are you certain you wish to do this again, Ardelion?" Cassian called, grinning. "The last time, you tripped over your own blade before I even moved."
The crowd chuckled.
Lucian's expression remained calm, unreadable. Inside, his pulse thudded slow and steady, every beat reminding him of the scaffold, the laughter of the mob. He had lived humiliation already—he would not taste it twice.
He raised his practice sword, voice even. "Shall we begin?"
Cassian sneered and lunged forward with reckless confidence.
The boy's style was unchanged from Lucian's memories—overbold, relying on strength, certain his opponent would crumble under pressure. In his first life, Lucian had panicked, retreating clumsily until his foot caught, his sword knocked from his hand.
This time, Lucian did not retreat.
He stepped forward.
The clash rang sharp, wood striking wood. Cassian blinked, startled as Lucian's blade turned his strike aside. Before the boy could recover, Lucian pivoted, sweeping his leg and sending Cassian staggering.
A ripple of surprise spread through the onlookers.
Cassian growled, charging again. His strikes grew wilder, faster. Lucian moved like water—deflecting, turning, never wasting motion. His mind recalled every duel, every scar, every death. To him, Cassian's swings were clumsy, telegraphed, pathetic.
The fight dragged only because Lucian allowed it. He wanted them to see.
Wanted them to remember.
Finally, with a flick of his wrist, he wrenched Cassian's blade free, sending it clattering across the ring. Before the boy could react, Lucian stepped close, pressing his sword's tip against his throat.
The crowd gasped.
Cassian froze, face red with fury and humiliation.
Lucian's voice carried, calm but sharp as steel. "You leave your guard open. You rely on strength without thought. If this were real steel, you would already be dead."
The silence that followed was thick, broken only by a few uneasy laughs. No one laughed at Lucian. They laughed at Cassian.
Lucian lowered his blade and stepped back. "Train harder. Or do not challenge me again."
Whispers erupted as Cassian stumbled from the ring, face pale with rage.
"Ardelion fought like a veteran…""…but wasn't he the one who fell flat last year?""…they say humiliation sharpens a man. Perhaps it's true."
Lucian ignored them, leaving the courtyard without haste. His mask was calm, but inside, a fierce satisfaction burned.
The past had been rewritten.
The shame that once crippled him was now Cassian's burden.
One moment in the web had shifted, and the ripples were already spreading.
Later, in his chamber, Adrian burst in, eyes alight.
"Brother! You were brilliant! Cassian's face—gods, I thought he might cry!"
Lucian allowed a faint smile. "It was necessary."
"Necessary?" Adrian laughed. "It was glorious! Everyone saw. They'll speak of it for weeks."
Lucian's smile faded into something colder. "That is precisely why it was necessary."
Adrian tilted his head, confused, but Lucian did not explain further. The boy was too young yet to understand.
But Lucian understood. In the empire, reputation was weapon and shield alike. His enemies had once used humiliation to dull his edge. Now he would use fear, respect, and whispers to sharpen it.
The duel had been more than a fight—it was the first public strand of his web.
And the nobles had walked into it willingly.
That night, Lucian unrolled his parchment again. He added Cassian's name, drawing a jagged line through it. Not an enemy to fear, but a pawn already broken.
He set the quill down, leaning back in his chair.
"One by one," he murmured, "the past will unravel. And this time, I will be the one weaving it anew."
The candlelight flickered across his cold smile, the smile of a boy who had once died in shame and now lived to turn that shame into a weapon.
The Duel of Shame had been rewritten.
And it was only the beginning.