Chapter – 59 – I Give Up
"There are two reasons," Queen Cynthia continued, her voice dropping to barely a whisper. "First—the fading of demonic blood. And second..."
She paused, her gaze growing distant, haunted. The chamber fell silent, the weight of her words pressing down on everyone present.
"And second," she finally said, "when the Ancient Breach closed this year and the realm masters returned to Valtheria, the Statue of Zareth wept blood."
Behind her throne stood the statue—a robed figure that seemed to watch them with an unsettling awareness. Its stone face was frozen in a serene smile, yet blood trailed down its cheeks like tears, staining the marble a deep crimson.
Princess Verna's face paled. "Why? What does it mean?"
Queen Cynthia turned to face her daughters, her expression grim. "Whenever a powerful demonic realm master enters our country, the Statue of Zareth weeps blood. I have never seen it happen in my entire life. This is the first time."
Sylvie's mind raced. "So someone—a very powerful demonic realm master—is currently in Valtheria?"
"Yes," Queen Cynthia confirmed. "And this person could help us. Especially Verna—she is my daughter, and her demonic blood has almost completely faded."
Sylvie stood silently, processing everything she had just learned. She was a pure human, the daughter of a concubine, yet she had been caught up in this web of demonic politics. She didn't hate the Queen or Verna, even after discovering their true nature. How could she? Verna had never treated her as lesser, and Queen Cynthia had always looked after her as if she were her own child.
Her brothers—the sons of other concubines—had always looked down on her, disrespecting her at every opportunity. They had made her life a living hell.
So what did it matter if someone was demon or human? True cruelty came from the heart, not the blood.
"And you suspect," Verna said slowly, "that the person who returned from the Ancient Breach—the one who caused the Statue of Zareth to weep blood—is none other than Lucien Vale."
"Yes," Queen Cynthia said. "If he is demonic like the rest of us, we need him at our side. No matter the cost."
Prince Andrin and Prince Falber were not present in this chamber. They were human—fully human—and thus excluded from these secrets. But Sylvie was different, though she didn't fully understand why.
Her thoughts drifted to tomorrow's match. She would face her most trusted friend, Anne. The thought sent a cold dread through her heart.
If Lucien truly is a demonic realm master, Anne will die if she doesn't surrender. Do I want to save her?
The Trial of Imperial Succession was nothing more than a facade—a carefully constructed illusion to hide the truth of their bloodline. But that didn't change the fact that tomorrow, she would have to face Anne in combat.
"Sylvie," Queen Cynthia said, her voice cutting through the young princess's thoughts. "Try to get closer to Lucien. We don't know much about him, but I can tell his presence is demonic. He's hiding it well—if it weren't for our origin, we wouldn't have been able to sense it." She paused, her eyes softening slightly. "Go now. Tomorrow is a big day for you."
Sylvie and Verna walked together through the palace corridors, their footsteps echoing in the silence. Verna's face was shadowed with sadness, her usual composure cracked.
"What happened, Princess Verna?" Sylvie asked gently.
Verna let out a weary sigh. "I've told you so many times not to call me that. You're a princess too. Just call me Verna."
Sylvie smiled softly. "Verna... what happened?"
Verna stopped walking, her gaze fixed on some distant point. "I feel like my life has already been decided. Ever since I was born, my path was laid out before me. Fight in the Trial of Imperial Succession. If I win, marry my champion. Repeat the cycle for the next generation." Her voice cracked. "There's no love. No choice. No one ever asked what I want in my life. Not even my own mother."
She turned to face Sylvie, a sad smile on her lips. "Norrik has feelings for me. He's my bodyguard, yet he fell in love with someone he might never achieve. It's just so sad—I can never be with him. If only he could have won against the other champions..."
Sylvie's heart ached for her sister. Verna was the kindest person she knew—a soul who had never hurt anyone, yet fate had already written her story. She was broken inside, yet still smiling.
That was the resolve of a true princess.
Sylvie remembered her own feelings from long ago. At first, she had been jealous of Verna. But now... now she only felt pity.
"All the best for tomorrow's match," Verna said, her smile genuine despite everything.
"Same to you, Verna," Sylvie replied.
The Royal Arena was more crowded than ever before.
Nobles from every corner of Valtheria had gathered, their colorful robes and ornate jewelry glittering under the midday sun. Representatives from other kingdoms had also arrived, eager to witness the final day of the Trial of Imperial Succession. Every noble family, every mortal of importance, was present.
No one wanted to miss this.
Rena Vale sat with the Vale family, her eyes scanning the arena with barely concealed impatience. She had heard the rumors—that Lucien had become a champion, that he had killed another champion in brutal fashion—but she found it hard to believe.
The Lucien she remembered was weak. Nervous. Eager to please.
I want to see it with my own eyes, she thought. I want to see how strong he truly is.
Deep in her heart, a darker desire stirred. She wanted him to lose. She wanted to see him brought low, humbled, vulnerable. Only then could she control him. Only then could she use him for her own purposes.
Dain, her retainer, leaned close. "We're finally going to see Lucien in action. Let's just hope he doesn't embarrass the Vale family's name."
Rena nodded absently. "Yes. Let's see how he does. After this fight, I'll meet him. I can't wait much longer. I don't care if he wins or loses—I just want my problem solved as soon as possible."
Aria, sitting nearby, overheard the conversation and frowned. She said nothing, but her eyes held a flicker of something—disappointment, perhaps. Or anger.
The Royal Minister, Baelen Thorne, flew into the center of the arena, his voice amplified by astral energy to reach every corner of the massive structure.
"Today is the final day of the Trial of Imperial Succession!" he announced, his voice booming across the arena. "I am honored that everyone from Valtheria has gathered to witness the selection of our future heir!"
A roar of approval rose from the crowd.
The Emperor and Queen Cynthia sat on the highest throne, their presence commanding absolute attention. The Emperor was a stoic figure, his face unreadable. Queen Cynthia, however, drew every eye.
"Look, it's Queen Cynthia!"
"She's so beautiful—like an eternal being!"
"We're so lucky to see Her Majesty!"
"Her grace is upon us!"
"It's been decades since I last saw Her Majesty," an old man murmured, his voice filled with awe. "She hasn't aged a single day."
Queen Cynthia rose from her throne, raising her hand in a graceful gesture to acknowledge the crowd. The cheers intensified. Then she sat back down, her expression serene but her eyes sharp and calculating.
"The first fight today," Baelen Thorne continued, "will be fought between the champion of Princess Verna—Norrik—and the champion of Princess Sylvie—Lucien Vale!"
The crowd erupted into cheers and applause.
"Norrik is the trusted servant and bodyguard of Princess Verna," the Minister declared. "He has protected her with his very soul and body for years. I, Baelen Thorne, Royal Minister of Valtheria, pay my respects for his years of faithful service."
Norrik raised his hand in acknowledgment. The crowd screamed his name.
In the final day of the Trial, champions were introduced with all their achievements—not just for the sake of honor, but because if they died in the arena, at least they would be remembered. And to send a message to other nations: that Valtheria's champions were no nobodies.
Norrik's achievement was simple yet profound: he had protected Princess Verna her entire life. She had never been harmed—not once. For a bodyguard, that was the ultimate accomplishment.
"And on the opposite side," Baelen Thorne continued, his voice rising with excitement, "we have Lucien Vale!"
The crowd's roar intensified, reaching a fever pitch.
"The youngest to ever achieve the Peak Spirit Forge Realm! The savior of the Vale family, who single-handedly brought a fallen noble house back to prominence! The champion who defeated his opponent without using astral energy or skills! And—" Baelen Thorne paused for dramatic effect, "—the slayer of the Shadow Scale Dragon!"
Gasps and screams filled the arena. The news of the Shadow Scale Dragon's defeat had spread like wildfire, but this was the first official confirmation. People were stunned. Shocked. Ecstatic.
Lucien raised his hand, a one-sided smile playing on his lips. He looked utterly unconcerned, as if the adoration of thousands meant nothing to him.
Rena's heart pounded. Is this really the same Lucien?
Norrik and Lucien stood facing each other in the arena. Norrik was a beast of a man—but lean, shy, but with the instincts of a predator. His eyes were sharp, his body coiled like a spring.
But his animal instincts were screaming at him. Warning him.
Danger. Danger. Run.
Lucien looked at Norrik with no emotion whatsoever. Not anger. Not happiness. Not even curiosity. To Lucien, Norrik was nothing more than a very small thorn—annoying, but ultimately insignificant. This wasn't a battle of revenge or greed. It was just another day.
Both champions readied themselves, their astral energy coiling beneath their skin. They waited for the signal.
Baelen Thorne raised his hand. "Fight begin!"
Norrik lunged forward—
And then something flew into the arena, landing at Norrik's feet with a soft thud.
A glove.
Princess Verna's glove.
Princess Verna rose from her seat, her voice clear and steady as she addressed the entire arena. "I give up."
Silence.
Absolute, utter silence.
Author Note:
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