“I refuse.”
Lucavion’s smirk curled into something sharper, something unapologetically defiant.
“I do not bow to anyone, nor obey anyone.”
The air shifted.
Tension snapped through the deck like a drawn bowstring, pulled too tight, too close to breaking.
A vein twitched on Thaddeus’ temple.
‘This boy—’
A slow, burning irritation curled within him, relentless and unyielding. His patience, already strained from far too much of this nonsense, was now on the verge of snapping entirely.
But before he could react—
A sudden, sharp movement from the side.
Aeliana barely had time to register it.
Steel gleamed in the air.
“How dare you!”
The voice rang out, filled with righteous fury.
Reinhardt Valsteyn.
The Knight Commander.
The man who had served under Thaddeus for years, who had dedicated his life to the Duchy, to the Duke—to Aeliana.
His blade flashed, a streak of silver cutting through the air with lethal precision.
It was not a warning.
It was an execution.
“No!”
Aeliana’s voice pierced through the moment, but she was too far, too late—
The sword fell.
CLANK!
Sparks exploded as metal met metal.
A shockwave tore through the deck, a pulse of force so strong it sent the loose planks groaning, the air shuddering beneath its weight.
Before it could reach her—
A barrier.
It formed in an instant, golden and unyielding, wrapping around Aeliana like a shield—an instinctual act, a forceful command of mana so absolute that it shattered the force of the shockwave before it could even graze her.
Aeliana stumbled back, but the impact never reached her.
Thaddeus’ hand was still raised, his golden eyes sharp, glowing with restrained fury.
His barrier held.
His daughter was untouched.
And before him—
CLANG!
The impact rattled through Lucavion’s arm like a shockwave, the bones in his forearm fracturing under the sheer force of Reinhardt’s strike. Pain flared, hot and searing, but he didn’t falter. His estoc, wreathed in that strange, black light, met the Knight Commander’s blade head-on. Sparks flew as their auras clashed, energy rippling outward in violent waves, tearing into the wooden deck beneath them.
Aeliana stumbled back, eyes wide, barely able to process what she was seeing.
Reinhardt’s sword should have cleaved him in two.
Yet here he stood.
Not unharmed—far from it—but alive.
Lucavion chuckled, breath ragged, as blood dripped from his broken arm. His grip on the estoc hadn’t loosened, even as the veins along his wrist bulged unnaturally, straining from the pressure. His fingers trembled, but whether from pain or exhilaration was impossible to tell.
“Ah… this is amusing,” he muttered, tilting his head, his voice edged with an odd, detached mirth. His golden eyes, usually filled with mocking arrogance, burned with something far more dangerous.
Reinhardt’s expression darkened.
The boy was smiling.
Despite the pain, despite the overwhelming disadvantage, he looked entertained.
And then there was that mana.
Thaddeus narrowed his eyes, his mind racing. It was unlike anything he had encountered in decades, yet disturbingly familiar. He had felt it before. Not this exact presence, but the essence of it—somewhere in the past, buried in the bloodstained pages of history he had once turned away from.
That creeping darkness, unfathomable yet incomplete.
“How?” the Duke murmured under his breath. His golden eyes flickered, scanning the dark energy that coiled around Lucavion’s blade. It was unstable, restless, like a caged beast gnawing at the bars of its confinement. But the most unsettling part—
It made him feel threatened.
He, an eight-star Awakened, a veteran of countless battles, a warrior whose aura alone had made seasoned knights tremble—felt a sliver of danger from this boy’s mere presence.
‘Impossible.’
Reinhardt, oblivious to the Duke’s internal alarm, pushed forward. His sword pressed down with crushing force, the sheer weight of his mana-infused strike threatening to shatter Lucavion’s defense entirely.
The estoc groaned under the pressure, its slender blade bending, on the verge of snapping.
Lucavion’s grin widened. His fractured arm screamed in protest, the pain drowning out reason, but he welcomed it.
‘This body is weak. But weakness can be entertaining, no?’
The darkness around his blade pulsed—once, then twice—before surging outward.
BOOM!
The force erupted between them, a concentrated burst of mana clashing against Reinhardt’s power. The shockwave sent cracks racing across the deck, planks splitting as the impact hurled both combatants backward.
Lucavion landed hard, rolling to absorb the force, his injured arm hanging limply at his side. His coat, once pristine, was now tattered, blood soaking through the fabric where splintered wood had torn into his skin.
Reinhardt barely stumbled, his footing unwavering, but he looked at his own blade with a frown.
A portion of his mana had been… devoured.
“What trickery is this?”
Lucavion exhaled sharply, shaking his broken arm as if testing it. The pain was unbearable. His fingers twitched uselessly. ‘Ugh. That’s not going to be of much use for now.’
Yet he was still standing.
And more importantly, he was still smiling.
Thaddeus took a slow step forward, eyes narrowing further. “Enough.”
Reinhardt took a sharp step forward, his blade still in hand, his mana still bristling around him. His breath was controlled, his stance unwavering, but the anger in his voice was unmistakable.
“This level of disrespect cannot be tolerated, Your Grace.” His eyes blazed as he turned toward Thaddeus, the weight of his conviction sharp as his blade. “He does not know his place. Shall I correct that?”
Lucavion let out a breath—slow, measured, but the strain was clear. His broken arm trembled slightly, his coat dark with blood, but his smirk remained, though thinner now.
And still, he spoke.
“What? Since when did speaking one’s mind become disrespect?”
His black eyes, sharp despite his injuries, flickered toward Reinhardt with something close to amusement—as if none of this was enough to deter him, as if nothing ever would be.
Reinhardt stiffened. “You—”
“Enough.”
Thaddeus’ voice cut through the air like a blade.
Reinhardt froze.
The ship itself seemed to still beneath the weight of the Duke’s command.
For a moment, no one moved.
And yet—
Lucavion grinned.
Even wounded, outmatched, standing before the most powerful man on this ship— he did not falter.
“Speaking without manners is not the same as speaking freely,” Reinhardt growled, his grip tightening on his sword. “You insulted the Duke himself.”
Lucavion tilted his head.
“I disagree.”
His voice did not hold arrogance this time. Nor mockery.
Only conviction.
“Manners,” he said, exhaling, shifting his weight onto his uninjured side, “are nothing more than fabricated chains. An illusion created by those in power to control those without. They are limits. They do not exist to show respect—they exist to restrict.”
Reinhardt’s brows furrowed. “That is nothing but a child’s excuse for insolence.”
Lucavion laughed. It was a short sound, low, rough—pained. His ribs ached from the impact, his arm screamed at him to be still, but he was not done.
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“Insolence?” He hummed, tilting his head, his dark eyes glinting. “If speaking honestly is insolence, then tell me, Sir Knight—who benefits from your so-called decorum?”
Reinhardt stepped forward, barely restraining himself. “Everyone. Society thrives on order, on respect. Without it, the world would crumble into chaos.”
Lucavion exhaled, slowly, deliberately.
“And yet,” he mused, his smirk curling back into place, “somehow, I suspect that the ones who demand the most respect—are the ones least deserving of it.”
Reinhardt’s eyes blazed.
“Enough of this nonsense!” His blade twitched in his grip, his composure fraying. “You speak without control. That is not freedom—that is recklessness.”
Lucavion chuckled.
And then, his gaze—his dark, piercing gaze—shifted ever so slightly.
Not toward Reinhardt.
But toward the Duke.
“Also,” he said, casually, but his voice was edged, “to me, the one who lacks manners is not the one who speaks freely, but the one who eavesdrops on conversations they were never invited into.”
Reinhardt stilled.
Aeliana’s breath hitched.
Thaddeus’ golden eyes narrowed, something cold flickering beneath them.
“Isn’t that right, mister Knight Commander?”