"Ristin, what do you think you're doing?" Yakx's voice carried none of a child's timidity, only the steel of nobility. "Attacking here would disgrace your family name!"
Ristin's face twisted between crimson rage and ashen shame, veins bulging on his forehead. For a fleeting moment, hesitation flickered in his eyes.
Since childhood, Ristin had been drilled with one imperative: *Surpass the Orphiels*. His grandfather's tirades and father's silent misery had carved this obsession into his bones. Even as his father governed Zizipan with celebrated competence, the old lord spat insults whenever news came of Count Castro's battlefield glories.
*Three years*—for three years, Ristin had dominated Yakx in the tournaments, finally earning his grandfather's grudging approval.
And yesterday, a nine-year-old shattered that legacy.
"There's no going back now," Ristin whispered. His body relaxed as resolve solidified. "Yakx. I challenge you to a duel. To the death."
"Are you *insane*?" Sophie cut in. "You're twice his age!"
Ristin didn't even glance at her. "I'll only use magic learned before age nine. I swear this on the Padro name."
Sophie looked to Yakx, who nodded after the briefest pause. Honor left no room for refusal.
---
The procession to the forest clearing moved like a funeral march. Within the ring of grim-faced guards, the combatants faced each other—one barely reaching the other's shoulder.
Sophie's nails drew blood from her palms. The guards knew: if Yakx fell, their blades would meet Ristin's throat, though outnumbered three to one.
Across the circle, Ristin's retinue stood equally somber. Their young master had chosen this path; they would follow, even unto death.
The duel began with a bow.
What followed was brutality masquerading as fairness.
Spells meant to sting when cast by children became weapons in this prolonged slaughter. Yakx's cheek split under an ice shard; Ristin's ribs cracked from a point-blank wind blade. Crimson pooled beneath them as they staggered like drunkards, yet neither yielded.
*Why?* Sophie's stomach churned. Ristin *could* have ended this—his mana reserves dwarfed Yakx's. Yet he held back, taking wounds that bled pride rather than dealing lethal blows.
When Ristin collapsed after Yakx's fireball, his charred uniform smoking, he still dragged himself up. Blood dripped from his lips as he rasped, "Again."
Yakx's next spell faltered. The boy was fighting tears now.
Sophie stepped forward—
"**HALT!**"
A voice like silver bells cut through the tension.
Through the crowd parted a snow-white stallion, its gem-encrusted saddle bearing a girl in royal blue. Behind her, a hundred cavalrymen gleamed with the crest of the Royal Knights.
"Princess Liora!" Every guard dropped to one knee—except Sophie's group, who gaped openly.
The princess dismounted, her gaze sweeping over the bloodied duelists. Then, with the weight of the crown in her tone:
"Explain this *disgrace*."
**The reckoning had arrived.**