CHAPTER 281: CHAPTER 281: THE SHADOW OF VALOR

The tournament had been forced into silence for several days after Torwan’s death and Balthor’s sudden coronation. Grief and shock lingered among the dwarves, but life in Tharvaldur was relentless—sooner or later, the arena had to roar again. Many local students, however, chose to withdraw. The trauma of fighting under Torwan’s manipulation, and the loss of friends, was too much to carry. They would try again next year.

With so many withdrawals, the brackets had to be redrawn. The new matchups were announced with thunderous excitement, and one name instantly caught the attention of the crowd: Noel Thorne vs Dior of Valor.

When the day finally arrived, the cavern-arena was once more alive with deafening voices and waving banners. Unlike the last tense days, the atmosphere was lighter. The citizens had a new king who seemed worth believing in, and the tournament—though scarred—was a chance to celebrate again.

For the first time, Noel stood at the back of the royal balcony, next to Balthor and Noriel. From there, he could see the ocean of dwarves filling the seats, but the distance shielded him from their eyes.

"Oi, lad," Balthor muttered, leaning closer with a grin, "don’t forget—I still put my money on you. You’d better win."

Noel raised an eyebrow. "You’re still gambling even after becoming king?"

Balthor smirked wider. "Any problem with that? If anything, I’ve got more gold now. Hahaha!"

Noriel pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering in disbelief. "Unbelievable. A king betting on fights... I should’ve known."

Noel chuckled. "Well, if I win today, remember—you owe me my share. Otherwise, I’ll let your citizens know what kind of ruler you really are."

"You little—! We’re friends, right lad?" Balthor barked.

"Sure, sure," Noel said with a faint smile as he turned away. His match was next, and the weight of the crowd’s anticipation pressed down from above.

He walked through the stone corridors beneath the arena.

At the end of the passage, he pushed open the heavy door to the preparation room—and there was Dior, already waiting.

The young prince of Valor sat on a bench. His white hair was slicked back, his green eyes sharp yet calm. He looked nothing like the arrogant boy Noel remembered from the academy.

Dior was the first to break the silence. "Noel Thorne." His tone was serious, steady.

Noel tilted his head, surprised. "Something wrong?" He had expected hostility, not conversation.

Dior studied him for a moment, then nodded slightly. "Thank you."

’...Thank you? Dior? The same Dior who once tried to throw his weight around every chance he got?’ Noel almost laughed in disbelief.

"Why are you thanking me?" Noel asked cautiously.

"For stopping me that day," Dior replied, his voice low. "It forced me to think. My father—King Alveron—also spoke to me afterward. I realized how badly I was being manipulated by Lereus... and how easily I could’ve lost myself. I don’t know what would’ve happened if things had gone on."

Noel frowned. "That wasn’t me. Selene was the one who exposed him with her question."

Dior shook his head. "You don’t need to downplay it. My sister told me the rest."

Noel blinked. "Seraphina told you?"

"Yes. We don’t hate each other, Noel. I was jealous of her, once. She was always brighter, stronger, the center of attention. I only fought for the crown because I didn’t want to live in her shadow." Dior’s lips tightened, then eased into a small, confident smile. "But that’s over. The crown is hers. I’ll follow my own path now."

The air between them shifted—less rivalry, more respect.

"Still," Dior added, standing and tightening his grip on his wand, "I won’t hold back."

Noel gave a small nod. "Good."

The heavy gates rumbled open, chains grinding as the iron bars lifted. Light from the arena poured into the preparation room, golden and blinding compared to the dim corridors below.

The roar of the crowd was deafening. Thousands of voices merged into one, shaking the stone under Noel’s boots. Revenant Fang hung at his left side, his hand brushing the hilt once before letting it rest.

Across the arena, from the opposite gate, Dior appeared. His white hair gleamed under the sunlight enchantments, his emerald eyes fixed straight ahead. He carried himself like royalty. The crowd erupted again, shouts of "Valor!" echoing through the cavernous stadium.

From his hidden seat high above, Balthor’s voice rumbled with laughter, even though the king wasn’t supposed to interfere. "Come on, lad! Don’t make me lose my money!"

Noel didn’t look up, but a faint smirk tugged at his lips. ’Still the same idiot.’

The announcer’s voice boomed, amplified by magic:

"Ladies and gentlemen! Today, for the final match of the round of sixteen! Two students of the Imperial Academy of Valor!"

The crowd hushed for a heartbeat, tension thick in the air.

"On one side, Noel Thorne! The rising star, the challenger who defied all odds!"

Cheers thundered.

"And on the other... Dior of Valor! Prince of the Empire, heir of strength, wielder of royal bloodline!"

Dior raised his wand slightly, not to boast, but as a simple acknowledgement. The crowd erupted again.

The match was about to begin.

The announcer raised his hand, his voice booming across the arena.

"Begin!"

Dior raised his wand, his voice sharp. "Steel Manifest!"

A blade of gleaming metal formed in his left hand, solid and heavy, while he kept the wand steady in his right. The display drew a wave of surprise from the crowd—dual-wielding so cleanly was no easy feat.

Noel’s eyes narrowed. ’Steel magic? And dual wielding? That wasn’t in the novel.’

Dior wasted no time. He lunged, sword cutting down with speed. Noel stepped forward, Revenant Fang meeting steel in a ringing clash, sparks scattering between them.

They separated briefly before Dior pressed in again, blade angling toward Noel’s ribs. Noel parried, twisting his wrist to push him off.

Steel clashed against cursed black again and again, the rhythm sharp and precise.

The arena roared with every collision, the crowd alive. Noel noted Dior’s eyes—calm, resolute. This was no spoiled prince anymore.