CHAPTER 119: MARIA AND HER MOTHER

"NOOOOO! I DID NOT FORFEIT!!"

The voice roared through the coliseum like thunder, and Arabella let out a deep, weary sigh, shaking her head, already knowing the source.

Razeal leaned to side, glancing over her shoulders toward the source of the voice and then he saw him.

Areon.

Razeal let out a low whistle.

"Damn... he’s in deep shit," he muttered, eyes narrowing. "That old dragon really used some quality poison. So cruel he was."

Areon was walking but just barely. His body twisted unnaturally, his face a sickening shade of blue. Veins bulged grotesquely across his face and all body skin, pulsing with agony. One half of his face looked deformed, as if fire itself had scorched and fused with his flesh. Flames burning out from his skin not just igniting it, but feeding off it, as if his very body was fuel for the fire.

The flame wasn’t ordinary. It burned high and erratic, wild like his unstable form. Also from the right side of his skull, a single massive dragon horn jutted out its tip ablaze like a cursed torch.

He looked half-dead. Yet, impossibly, he stood. Through sheer force of will.

The entire coliseum fell silent every voice, every breath, stolen by the sight.

This was the Prince of the House of Fire, appearing in a condition so horrifying, so inhuman, the crowd couldn’t process what they were seeing.

Areon looked barely alive.

"I HAVE NOTTT... GIVEENN... UPPP!"

The roar tore out of his throat, hoarse and cracked, a cry of agony and defiance. His voice trembled as much as his limbs. Another step forward he stumbled but didn’t fall. He caught himself, planting his massive greatsword into the ground for support, gripping it like an anchor.

Razeal raised an eyebrow, watching Areon’s approach his bloodshot, burning-red eyes; his blistered, flame-licked skin; that unnatural blue hue.

"Definitely protagonist material," he thought grimly. "He’s just built different. The Ferevine poison’s meant to paralyze even dragons with agony yet here he is. Standing. Walking. Screaming."

"YOU BASTARD!" Areon roared, pointing his trembling sword at Razeal. "YOU... YOU POISONED ME!"

Razeal blinked. Then slowly raised his hands in mock innocence, his expression the picture of offended virtue.

"Me? Poision? I didn’t. What are you even talking about?"

Nancy and Selphira turned sharply toward him, rolling there eyes.

Didn’t he just admit it himself earlier? they thought. Now he has the gall to wear that face? No shame at all...

Arabella, meanwhile, said nothing.

Her gaze remained fixed on her son steady and silently.

Watching him endure.

This all began four days ago. Areon’s body had started acting strangely random pain, surges of energy that didn’t feel right. By the third day, he couldn’t even stand. That’s when Arabella was informed.

She’d expected side effects from the dragon heart implantation. It made sense something as volatile as a dragon’s core would always come with risk.

But she checked it herself. The heart was stable. Transplanted perfectly. No irregularities.

She ordered the healers to run deeper diagnostics. They did everything spells, sacred runes, physical scans.

What they found only made her more consurned.

His body was in full-system overload every nerve ending screaming. His pain sensitivity had been amplified over 300 times. He was feeling everything. Every breath. Every movement. Every heartbeat.

As if he was being tortured from the inside.

She even summoned the Church hoping their sacred techniques might ease his suffering.

Nothing worked.

Arabella even summoned the Saintess. the most sacred healer under the divine order to examine him.

If anyone could unravel the cause of Areon’s torment, it would be her.

But something was wrong.

The Saintess had come, laid her hands upon Areon’s burning skin, and after only a moment of silence, shook her head.

"I do not know the source," she said, too quickly.

Arabella well Her instincts at that time. The Saintess’s words were too clean, too rehearsed. And that subtle flicker in her expression it wasn’t ignorance.

It was a lie.

She was hiding something.

Arabella didn’t press her. Not openly. To accuse the Saintess would trigger backlash far beyond politics. It be offending whole duke family and church itself. At worst, she could just dragg Areon to the Chamber of the Sacred Fire, deep within the volcanic sanctum, to burn away the impurity by force.

But well that was risky so she didn’t went just.

The Saintess simply left. And she let her be.

Still, Arabella got more honesty from her own healers. After hours of empty rituals and useless theories, they gave her something real.

And after hours of tests, scans, divine checks, and endless speculation, they finally stopped pretending to know.

"It might be poison," one finally admitted. "But it’s... untraceable. There’s no magical signature. No residue. We don’t know what kind."

Invisible but real.

Arabella didn’t need tests.

The moment the word "poison" left their lips, her mind turned to Razeal.

Who else had motive? Who else stood to gain from crippling Areon days before the duel?

Who else handed him the dragon heart... almost like a gift?

Of course it was him.

On the battlefield, Areon’s flame roared higher. The fire burning on his horn surged violently, matching the fury building behind his bloodshot eyes. Every nerve in his body screamed in agony..

He stared directly at Razeal.

Liar.

Areon’s voice rasped like grinding metal.

"You... you bastard..."

His body trembled. The pain was unrelenting. But the rage carried him.

"You put something in the dragon heart. I know you did. This.." he coughed hard, blood splattering the ground. "this was your plan all along."

He gripped his sword tight, raising it with all the strength his shattered body could give.

"IS THIS WHY YOU CHALLENGED ME?!" he roared, voice cracking. "You couldn’t win fairly, so you cheated?! Disgusting. You’re not even worth hating."

The coliseum erupted in gasps.

"If you were a man," Areon snarled, "you’d have fought with honor. But you’re nothing. Dispicable."

Then the crowd exploded.

"WHAT? HE POISONED HIM?"

"Disgusting..."

"That’s not just cheating. That’s... That’s what a rapist would do."

The arena erupted into chaos.

Now they understood the cocky smirk Razeal wore that day. The misplaced confidence no shit eating arrogance. Even daring to slap Areon. Everything made sense.

the way he’d acted like victory was guaranteed.

They’d all been played.

A woman sitting in the stands leaned forward.

"That boy is vile. Absolutely despicable..." she whispered. Then blinked. Her expression shifted. "But brilliant."

She remembered how his elder sister exposed his plan... called it nothing more than a delay tactic an extension of his defeat.

But it worked.

He won.

She blinked, realization dawning.

There was awe in her voice now. "He won a match he had zero possible chance of surviving... and the fight hadn’t even started."

She shook her head slowly, her vibrant blue ponytail swaying behind her with each nod. A strange expression crossed her face half impressed, half amused.

"What a brilliancy this kid possesses..."

Her lips curled into a small, thoughtful smile.

"Dragonweaver’s son just kicked the wrong plate this time. But maybe that’s not the worst thing. Maybe he’ll learn something from it."

Her tone held no malice just observation. Amusement. Intrigue.

But beside her, Maria frowned, arms folded tightly across her chest, eyes locked on the battlefield below. Something about the woman’s tone irritated her. Deeply.

"He just cheated," Maria snapped. "No need to glorify it, Mother."

Her words were laced with bitterness.

"A person without any real power or ability... what can he even do except cheat? Schemes and tricks don’t last. They fall apart in front of true strength."

Her mother didn’t respond immediately. She watched Razeal, still standing in the center of the arena calm, unreadable but unresonably confident.

Then she spoke, voice soft but sure:

"Oh?" she said. "But at the end of the day, Maria... what matters is winning. Doesn’t matter how. Doesn’t matter why."

She glanced sideways at her daughter.

"And I’m not praising him for cheating. I’m impressed that he survived outsmarted, outmaneuvered, and outplayed someone stronger than him... with nothing but his mind and words."

Her tone sharpened slightly.

"He’s sixteen. Just like you. No legacy, no awakened bloodline. No backing. And he outsmarted someone who had all of it. And more."

She looked back to the field, where the fire still raged around Areon’s broken form.

"Can you imagine how far he could’ve gone if he had awakened Virelan’s power?" she said quietly. "If he’d passed the Ranking Ritual?"

She let out a breath half impressed, half afraid.

"He could’ve stood shoulder to shoulder with the heirs of dukes."

"Whatever. I don’t care."

Maria sneered, arms crossed tight against her chest, irritation rolling off her in waves.

"A man who can only stand on his feet by screaming or lying... isn’t special no matter how many victories he pulls out of his ass." Her tone was ice-cold, but the frustration bleeding through her words was anything but subtle.

Her mother glanced sideways, lips tightening in a faint smile. She just shook her head slightly, the faintest hint of a sigh escaping her lips.

Maria had always been overly intense. Always proud.

She have the talent for a future politician, no doubt. But maybe that was exactly what made her dangerous. Not unqualified just unstable. Emotionally volatile.

And yet... moments like this made her wonder.

Do I really want to pass the entire family to her one day?

Does she have the restraint for it? The long vision? Would she ruin the family if given power?

The thought lingered, unspoken.

"I remember," her mother said calmly, turning her head slightly toward Maria, her expression unreadable.

"You have a duel with him today too, don’t you? What was the bet you two made again?"

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