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The Invitation
The first attack came not with arrows, but with silk.
A golden letter arrived at the Sanctuary gates, sealed with the crest of Duke Harth—one of the last remaining nobles allied with the gods.
Inside were three words:
> "Come. Prove yourself."
Attached was a challenge: a tournament to be held in the neutral zone of Drahk's Arena, where factions gathered under false peace to test strength, gather spies… and spill blood.
Serian read it aloud before his captains.
> "He thinks I'm a child playing king."
Lira scoffed. "Then let's make him choke on his own stage."
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The Arena of Drahk
A city of steel, stone, and bloodlust—Drahk's Arena was neutral in name only.
Each year, factions sent champions to fight under glowing wards. No killing allowed… at least, not openly.
When Serian arrived with his chosen five—Lira, the beastkin girl Maika, the exiled necromancer Noren, the silent swordsman Kael, and a new mage known only as Ash—whispers followed like fire.
> "Is that the Forgotten King?"
> "He looks... ordinary."
> "Dead by round three."
But their first battle silenced doubts.
Kael moved like lightning—no wasted motion.
Lira bent light itself, dancing through swords.
And when Ash raised her hand, a tower of blue fire turned the field into molten glass.
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The Hero Watches
From a balcony above, the Hero clone sat with royalty and saints.
His eyes locked onto Serian.
> "That face…"
He didn't know why, but rage flared.
> "He's a threat," he muttered.
> "To the gods?"
> "No. To me."
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Demon's Message
Far away, in a cathedral of bones, the Demon Lord clone watched the tournament through a blood mirror.
Her children gathered around, laughing, cheering.
But her eyes stayed on Serian.
> "He doesn't even know what he's becoming."
One of her lieutenants bowed. "Shall we strike?"
She smiled gently.
> "No. Let him win. Let him shine."
> "So that when I burn his kingdom… it'll hurt more."
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Final Bout: Against the Crown Prince
The final round matched Serian's party against the crown prince of the empire—blessed by a Seraph, wrapped in holy flame.
The crowd leaned forward. The priests watched in smug silence.
And Serian?
He stepped into the arena himself.
The prince grinned. "You think you can face divinity?"
Serian smirked. "I've killed worse."
The duel began.
Steel met flame. Wind screamed. The earth cracked.
And when the dust cleared—
Serian stood, blade at the prince's throat.
> "I accept your invitation," he said coldly, "and now I return the favor."
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Aftermath
The Forgotten Kingdom had not just survived the arena.
It dominated.
The world watched.
And the gods, for the first time in an age, began to feel fear.
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