The arena did not quiet quickly after Kael's shocking victory. Even with his opponent lying in the dust, unconscious and defeated, the recruits around the circle still muttered and whispered like restless birds.
Some said it was a fluke.
Others claimed it was fate.
But every eye, whether doubtful or awed, was fixed on Kael.
Draven's voice broke the hum like a blade splitting wood.
"Luck."
He stepped forward, polished armor gleaming, blond hair catching the torchlight as though he were carved for the stage. His smirk spread across his face, wide and cutting.
"That's all it was. A broken spear in the hands of a boy too stubborn to die. Don't let it fool you. Put him against something real, and you'll see."
The recruits laughed nervously, clinging to Draven's confidence like moths to flame.
Kael's chest heaved with each breath, ribs aching, his side wet with blood beneath his tunic. Yet when his eyes met Draven's, they didn't waver.
"If it was luck," Kael said quietly, voice hoarse but steady, "then why aren't you the one standing here?"
For the first time, Draven's smirk faltered. Only for a moment. Then the laughter died down, leaving the arena tense with unspoken challenge.
The Captain raised a scarred hand, and silence crashed over them like thunder. His voice carried with a weight that stilled even Draven's tongue.
"Strength is not proven by striking down a single foe. The battlefield does not care for one blow, or one lucky strike. A true Luster does not falter when faced with death itself."
He gestured toward the far end of the arena. Heavy chains rattled. The sound made the recruits shift uneasily.
"Bring forth the beast."
The gates shuddered open, spilling darkness into the torch-lit circle. From within, chains scraped against stone. Then came a low hiss that vibrated in the bones.
The recruits tensed. Some shuffled backward.
A pale figure emerged, jerking forward in unnatural leaps. Its limbs were stiff, its body unnervingly rigid. Long claws glinted like polished steel, and its mouth opened to reveal fangs dripping with black saliva.
Its eyes burned red with hunger.
The Jiangshi.
Even chained, it radiated malice. Tales of the hopping vampire had been told to frighten children, but here it was—real, snarling, and terrible.
The recruits recoiled, some whispering prayers. One vomited in the sand.
Kael's grip tightened on his broken spear. He had seen a Hydra once, from a distance. That memory alone had haunted his dreams. Now one of its lesser kin stood only paces away.
"This one is weakened," the Captain growled. "Bound by chains, its power suppressed. But do not mistake it for tame. If it were unshackled, none of you would leave this arena alive."
He turned his gaze to Kael. "Step forward."
The words hit like a hammer.
Kael's heart pounded. His ribs screamed from the earlier fight, his side still wet with blood. He was barely standing—how could he fight this thing?
Aeris's voice reached him, sharp as a whip. "Don't."
He turned to her, startled.
"You're not ready," she said flatly. Her arms were crossed, but her eyes were hard. "That thing will tear you apart. Surviving one duel doesn't mean you're anything more than lucky. If you step in there now, you'll die—and worse, you'll prove everyone right."
Her words cut deeper than Draven's mockery. There was no kindness, no softness. Only a blade meant to force him into one of two choices: break, or sharpen.
Kael's gaze dropped to the spear in his hands. The wood was splintered, jagged. Useless.
He remembered the infirmary. The screams of the wounded. The pale face of his mother, wasting away in her bed. The smirk on Draven's lips as he bathed in the glory of his name.
No. He couldn't walk away. Not now.
"I'll fight," Kael said, steady though his hands trembled.
Aeris's jaw tightened, but she said nothing more.
The chains were loosed.
The Jiangshi shrieked, leaping forward in a blur of motion. Its stiff body snapped and twisted unnaturally, landing on all fours like a grotesque beast. Its claws scraped sparks from the stone as it prepared to spring.
Kael raised his spear. Sweat dripped into his eyes. Every instinct screamed at him to run.
The beast launched.
Kael rolled aside just as claws tore through the air where his throat had been. The crowd shouted, some in fear, some in excitement.
The Jiangshi's head snapped toward him, glowing eyes wide and hungry. It leapt again. This time Kael thrust with the spear—too slow.
The creature caught the shaft midair, snapping the wood in half with its claws. Kael staggered back, left holding only a jagged length of wood.
The recruits laughed, but it was thin, nervous laughter.
Draven's voice rang above them: "Now you'll see! Now the coward's blood will show!"
Kael's chest heaved. His weapon was broken, his body screaming with pain, and the Jiangshi was unrelenting.
The beast lunged, claws raking across his side. Blood sprayed. Kael cried out, stumbling to his knees.
The world dimmed. He could hear the crowd roaring, but it was muffled, distant.
I can't win.
I can't…
Darkness pressed in, heavy and suffocating. His body screamed for him to stay down. To give up.
And then—through the haze—he saw him.
A tall figure standing in the dust. Broad shoulders. Scarred armor. A spear held with effortless strength.
His father.
Kael's breath caught.
The man turned, meeting his son's eyes. No words. No gesture. Only that fierce, unyielding look Kael had seen once before in his dreams. Then he turned, walking into the shadows.
A fire sparked in Kael's chest. His lungs filled as if he'd been drowning, his limbs suddenly lighter, alive. The jagged spear shaft burned warm in his hands.
The Jiangshi screeched and lunged for the finishing blow.
Kael's eyes snapped open.
He surged to his feet, moving faster than his body should have allowed. The beast's claws slashed down, but Kael dropped low, spinning with impossible precision.
In a single motion, he drove the jagged spear upward into the creature's throat.
The wood pierced through bone, through skull. Black ichor sprayed, burning his skin. The Jiangshi shrieked, convulsing violently, before collapsing into the dirt, twitching once, then going still.
Silence fell over the arena.
Kael stood above the corpse, drenched in blood and sweat, chest heaving. His weapon was no more than a broken stick, but in his hands, it looked like the spear of a warrior.
The crowd did not laugh this time. They whispered, eyes wide.
"…That speed—"
"He moved like a veteran…"
"That wasn't luck. That was power."
Draven's smirk was gone, replaced by something colder, sharper. His fists clenched at his sides.
Aeris's eyes lingered on Kael. Still sharp, still unreadable, but for the first time, she hesitated before turning away.
And the Captain… the Captain studied him long, then gave the faintest nod.
"…He does not fall."
The recruits erupted, some cheering, others cursing, but all shaken.
Kael dropped the broken spear, his arms heavy, his side burning with pain. Yet he did not kneel. He did not falter. He stood tall, the shadow of his father blazing in his heart.
The Silent Luster had begun to awaken.