Preparation and Choices

Kain turned his attention from the balcony and faced Knight Captain Roderick, offering a brief incline of his head that was respectful without being theatrical. His voice, when he spoke, carried clearly across the arena.

“Kain Valemont,” he announced.

“My apologies for the delay.”

There was no excuse offered, no justification. Just the words, delivered plainly, as if arriving late to a matter of life and exile were of no great concern.

Roderick studied him for a moment longer than necessary, the single visible eye sharp and unreadable, before giving a short nod. The formality was acknowledged.

Kain shifted his gaze then, briefly to Henry.

The killing intent was unmistakable. It pressed against him like a thin blade drawn close to the skin, sharp, resentful, eager. A month ago, it might have unsettled him. Two weeks ago, it might have provoked him.

Now, it was predictable and dismissed it just as easily.

‘Yeah, he always hated me...this is nothing new’

Kain looked away without reaction, as though Henry were no more than another figure in the crowd. Instead, his eyes lifted toward the balcony. He found Eira first, then Sophia beside her.

For the briefest moment, something softened in his expression. The tension in his shoulders eased, and a faint, almost absurd smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He raised one hand and gave them a small wave, casual and unbothered, utterly out of place in an arena meant for judgment.

Eira blinked.

Once, then again.

Sophia did the same, momentarily caught off guard by the sheer normalcy of the gesture.

They glanced at each other, confusion mirrored perfectly between them, no words exchanged, yet a shared understanding passed instantly.

Eira exhaled first, a quiet sigh slipping past her composure. Sophia followed a heartbeat later. Both turned their attention back to the arena, eyes settling on Kain once more.

After a brief pause, they nodded.

Not encouragement nor approval, but acknowledgment.

Kain lowered his hand, the faint smile fading as easily as it had appeared. He returned his focus to the arena, posture settling, presence steady.

The crowd murmured again, unsettled. This was not the behavior of a man resigned to defeat and that, more than anything else, made them uneasy.
 

----

Henry stood in the center of the arena, his gaze fixed on Kain as if sheer hatred might bore a hole through him. For a brief moment, he forgot the crowd, forgot the cheers that had greeted his arrival, forgot even the trial itself. All he could see was that calm expression that was unbothered and composed. Then his eyes shifted upward, following Kain’s gaze to the balcony.

To Eira.

She was not smiling openly as that would have been too obvious. But Henry saw it, the faint softening of her expression, the way the tension in her shoulders eased, the calm that settled over her as she acknowledged Kain’s presence. It was subtle, fleeting, and yet unmistakable to him.

Something inside Henry twisted violently.

‘Why him?...always him?’

His teeth ground together, jaw tightening.

‘He had done nothing, yet the moment he appeared, the air changed. Eyes followed him. Attention shifted. Even Eira, who should have been watching him, had looked away without hesitation. This trash…how dare he.’

The thought burned, hot and corrosive. A worthless noble. An unawakened failure. A bastard who had squandered every advantage given to him and still dared to stand here, to smile, to wave, as if he belonged.

‘Eira is mine.’

The words echoed in Henry’s mind with frightening clarity. He had earned her attention. He had trained for years, bled for the Valemonts, endured humiliation and hardship without complaint. And yet Kain, someone who had tormented him, looked down on him, treated him like dirt, still managed to steal the spotlight simply by existing.

His killing intent seeped out despite himself, thin but sharp, coiling around his thoughts like a living thing. The urge to crush Kain where he stood surged up violently.

‘He did not even acknowledge me.’

That, more than anything else, felt unforgivable. Henry inhaled slowly, forcing the rage down, shaping it into something colder. This wasn’t the time for recklessness.

‘I’ll humiliate him.’

He imagined it clearly now. Breaking Kain down in front of everyone. Exposing him for what he truly was. Watching the hope drain from his eyes as the crowd turned away. And when exile followed as it surely would, then Eira would finally see the truth.

‘She’ll come to me.’

As his eyes scan to see Sophia sitting gracefully.

‘Sophia too, eventually. Once Kain was gone, once the stain he represented was erased, everything would fall into place the way it was meant to.’

The future was already decided. Henry’s breathing steadied, his posture relaxing as the storm inside him settled into grim certainty as he ran his hand through his hair. He lifted his chin slightly, a faint smile touching his lips.

‘Let Kain have this moment. It would be the last one he ever stole.’

----
 

Knight Captain Roderick stepped forward once more, his presence grounding the restless air of the arena. His voice carried with practiced authority, cutting cleanly through the murmurs that still lingered at the edges of the crowd.

“Both participants are present,” he announced. “The Trial of Redemption will now commence.”

The weight of the words settled heavily.

“There are only two rules,” Roderick continued, his gaze moving deliberately between Henry and Kain. “First, this is a fight until surrender. If one does not surrender, the bout may continue without restraint. Death may occur, and is considered an acceptable outcome so long as surrender has not been given.”

A ripple of unease passed through the audience, though no one spoke.

“Second, only weapons provided here may be used. No personal arms, artifacts, or equipment are permitted.”

Roderick paused.

“Do you both agree?”

Henry nodded immediately, confidence etched into every line of his posture.

Kain followed a heartbeat later, his expression calm, unwavering.

“Very well,” Roderick said. “You have five minutes. Choose your weapons and prepare.”

They turned in opposite directions.

The tables laid out along the edges of the arena were stocked with meticulous care, as though the Valemont armory itself had been distilled into a single display. Spears of varying lengths rested in orderly rows, their shafts smooth and reinforced, their tips honed to lethal sharpness. Longswords and arming swords lay beside them, blades gleaming faintly in the light. There were shields of different shapes, each bearing the subtle crest of Valemont craftsmanship. Daggers, short blades, axes, halberds, and even heavier polearms completed the selection, every piece balanced and battle-ready.

This was not a ceremonial assortment. These were weapons meant to kill.

Kain stopped before the nearest table and lifted a spear, testing its weight with practiced hands. The balance was perfect, centered, responsive. He ran his fingers briefly along the shaft before inspecting the tip. Sharpened.

‘They didn’t cut corners...as expected.’

He set the spear back down and let his gaze drift across the arena.

Henry had already made his choice.

A spear rested confidently in his grip, paired with a sturdy shield strapped to his arm. The combination was textbook Valemont, reach, control, defense. The weapon of someone who had trained for years within the house’s doctrine.

‘He did not earn his nickname The Bastion from just sitting around.’

Kain watched him for a moment, expression unreadable.

‘Of course,’ he thought. ‘Exactly what I expected.’

Five minutes ticked away, the tension tightening with every passing second.
 

Kain moved slowly along the line of weapons, letting his fingers brush past hafts and hilts without urgency. He passed them all. Instead, he stopped before two blades that had become extensions of his body over the past month.

The short sword came first. He lifted it from the table and tested the balance, feeling how naturally it settled into his grip. Without hesitation, he slid it into a sheath and secured it horizontally behind his waist, the placement unconventional but deliberate, close enough to draw instantly, out of the way when not needed.

Then he reached for the longsword. The weight settled into his hands, familiar and heavy all at once. A month ago, merely lifting it had been an ordeal. His arms had shaken, his stance had collapsed, and every swing had felt like borrowing strength he did not possess. Now, the blade still carried weight, honest, unyielding, but it no longer overwhelmed him.

‘I earned this, but its still a bit heavier than expected’, he thought.

He rolled his shoulders once and gave the sword a short twirl, the steel humming softly through the air. A few controlled practice slashes followed, clean arcs, before he settled into a two-handed grip, and looked down the length of the blade.

Satisfied, Kain nodded to himself. He turned and walked toward Knight-Captain Roderick.

The reaction was immediate. Murmurs spread through the crowd like sparks catching dry grass.

“Hey…is he using a short sword and a longsword?”

“A Valemont heir not using a spear...pft”

“No spear? Seriously?”

“He really is trash.”

“First Valemont in history to reject the spear…that's just sad.”

“He’s dead. Completely dead.”

Disbelief bled quickly into mockery, and mockery into certainty. The choice was wrong, everyone knew it. A Valemont without a spear was a contradiction, an embarrassment, a joke waiting to be put down.

Henry noticed too. For a moment, surprise flickered across his face as he took in Kain’s weapons. Then his lips curved upward in a faint smirk. Whatever uncertainty had existed vanished entirely.

Above them, four figures watched in silence.

Gerald Valemont’s expression did not change.

Eira’s gaze remained fixed on Kain, sharp and unreadable.

Sophia’s eyes narrowed slightly, thoughtful rather than dismissive.

And Sven, standing just behind Gerald, merely adjusted his glasses, the corner of his mouth twitching with something that might have been interest.

The crowd saw foolishness, they did not see familiarity nor resolve. Kain stopped beside Roderick, longsword resting calmly in his hands, posture steady as stone. He was ready.

Roderick stepped between them, his gaze moving from one combatant to the other, measuring not their weapons but their composure.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Kain answered immediately, his eyes fixed not on Roderick, but on Henry. There was no hesitation in his voice, no tension, no bravado.

Henry let out a soft scoff.

“Not a spear, I see,” he said, tilting his head slightly as his eyes flicked toward Kain’s weapons. “Honestly, it’s embarrassing. A Valemont who won’t even carry his house’s weapon…do you have no shame at all?”

“...”

A few knights near the railing chuckled under their breath, especially those run in Henry’s circle. The sound carried, quiet and mocking.

Henry’s smile widened.

“Let’s make this a fair fight, Young Master Kain.”

Kain exhaled slowly, then smirked despite himself.

“Yeah,” he replied casually. “Sure…a fair fight.”

Roderick’s expression hardened.

“Shake hands,” he ordered. “Then move twenty paces apart.”

They stepped forward. Henry extended his hand first, grip firm and confident, his smile never wavering as their palms met. At once, the pressure increased, not enough to draw attention, not enough to be obvious, but calculated all the same. A warning.

Kain felt it immediately.

‘At least he’s not using aura,’ he thought calmly. ‘Otherwise my hand would’ve been crushed. The pressure was tolerable. Annoying, but meaningless.’

Kain held on without flinching, his expression unchanged. Just a steady grip that lasted exactly as long as necessary.

Henry released first.

They separated without ceremony and turned away from one another, each counting their steps as they moved to opposite sides of the arena. Twenty paces. The space between them felt vast and razor-thin all at once.

When they stopped, Roderick gave a single nod.

He raised his voice, sharp and commanding, cutting through the tension like a blade.

“The Trial of Redemption begins!”

He stepped back and out of the arena.

And in that instant, the world narrowed.

Only two men standing on stone, weapons in hand and the understanding that one of them would leave this place changed forever.