Chapter 34: The Man in Black
The wind howled across the mountain range that crowned the northern edge of Velmora. Snow danced in spirals like spirits lost in time, and the land stretched below like a sleeping titan. This place, known as Sundercrest Ridge, was sacred ground—closed to civilians, forbidden to tournament participants.
And yet, someone stood at the summit.
Cloaked in midnight cloth, hair dark as a starless void, a lone figure overlooked the world like a god in silence. His face was hidden beneath a steel mask, but the blade he carried pulsed with familiar, living shadow.
He didn't belong to this time.
He didn't belong to this world.
But he had returned.
- A Stranger at the Gate -
Meanwhile, back in the capital, the Tournament of Heroes prepared to resume. The city buzzed again, but not with joy—with anticipation, and dread.
Andrew trained every dawn now. Mihai guided him through meditation, through Ashren's memories—some twisted, others sorrowful. Each day, he fought not just phantoms from within, but the expectations mounting outside.
He was no longer just a contestant.
He was the shadow hero—the myth they didn't know whether to fear or follow.
But the peace cracked when a new competitor walked through the academy gates.
Tall. Silent. Draped in black.
He wore no insignia, bore no kingdom's mark. When the gatekeeper asked for his name, he merely pointed to the list.
"The final entry was blank," the attendant whispered to the Headmaster later. "Now it reads: Noir Caelum."
Andrew's blood ran cold when he heard the name.
Noir.
Black.
And Caelum.
- Trial of Echoes -
The preliminary matches began again in the training coliseum. Crowds returned—nobles, warriors, foreign royals—all eager to see how the competition had changed since the prince's defeat.
Andrew didn't fight that day. He watched from the high stands, feeling Ashren pulse faintly at his side.
Then came him.
The man in black.
Noir Caelum stepped into the arena with quiet menace. His opponent was a fire-summoner from the Republic of Omestra—cocky, proud, top-ranked in the early trials.
He lasted less than thirty seconds.
Noir didn't draw a weapon. He simply moved—a flash of motion so fast it echoed, as if reality tried to catch up to what it had just witnessed. The fire mage collapsed without knowing what hit him, shivering in his own sweat.
The crowd was stunned into silence.
From the shadows, Mihai clenched his jaw. "Impossible…"
- The Sword Remembers -
That night, Andrew returned to his chamber in the western wing of the Academy. He laid Ashren across his lap and closed his eyes.
He needed answers.
Visions came again, stronger this time—memories that weren't entirely his. He stood in a world scorched to ash, the three great continents reduced to craters and silence. Towering armies of shadow moved at his command. He raised his blade—not Ashren, but something deeper, older.
Behind him, commanders knelt.
Among them was Mihai.
And in the reflection of his blade, he saw his own face—not his face now, but older, crueler. Eyes like frozen galaxies. Voice like thunder wrapped in silk.
"No gods. No kings. No fate. Only my will."
The vision snapped.
Andrew jolted awake, gasping, hands trembling. Ashren pulsed beneath his palm—anxious. Or… afraid?
He stood, breath uneven. That wasn't just a memory.
It was a warning.
- The Truth Breaks Through -
The next morning, he confronted Mihai.
"Who is he?" Andrew asked. "Noir. The man in black."
Mihai hesitated. Too long.
"Tell me."
Mihai finally looked him in the eye. "He's you. Or… the version of you that refused to be reborn."
Andrew froze. "What?"
"When you died in your past life, the cycle was meant to reset. But part of you—the part that wouldn't let go—ripped a hole through fate. He stayed. Alone. In the ruins of the world he burned."
"And now," Mihai said softly, "he's broken through."
Andrew's heart thundered in his chest.
"You're not just fighting to become a hero anymore," Mihai finished. "You're fighting yourself. The worst version of what you could ever become."