Chronicles of The God Slayer of Shadows-Chapter 53 - Fifty Three

Behind ornate glass, high above the roaring coliseum, the Duke of Dawnfire — Lord Evermoon — watched with a calculating gaze. His emerald rings shimmered faintly as he rested his chin on a gloved hand, sipping spiced wine with a pensive air. His daughter, Lady Seraphine Evermoon, sat nearby in an elegant lilac gown, her eyes following the combatants below with far more fascination than decorum demanded.

"He beat Kael's trained dog," she remarked, tilting her head. "And didn't even break form."

Lord Evermoon nodded, eyes narrowed at the lean figure of Adrien as he left the arena. "That one... he's dangerous. Not in the usual sense. Controlled. Precise. The kind of blade that doesn't flash until it's already at your throat."

Seraphine gave a sly smile. "I find him rather charming."

"I find him unregistered in the records of any known guild," her father replied coolly. "And that shadow magic... rare. Very rare."

His gaze flicked to another fighter in the arena warming up. Damien, the fiery-haired brawler, cracked his knuckles and laughed with the crowd. His energy was infectious — a contrast to Adrien's chilling calm.

"That one's no less interesting. Trained. Sharp. Carries himself like someone who knows real battle." The duke leaned forward. "And then there's the prince..."

Across the sand below, the young 7th Prince of the human capital, clad in elegant silver armor, stepped into the ring. Nobles in the observation rows whispered his name in reverence and caution. Even without words, his presence carried weight — the kind that shaped the tides of kingdoms.

"A shadow," the duke murmured, "a flame, and a crown."

Seraphine looked at him, one brow arched. "So what do you plan to do with them?"

Lord Evermoon didn't answer immediately. He watched as the crowd surged in cheers for the prince's arrival, then flicked a glance toward Adrien in the distance.

"I intend to know what they are," he said softly, "before they become what they were meant to be."

Seraphine tapped her fingers thoughtfully against her armrest, then smirked. "Perhaps I'll go introduce myself."

The Duke's estate sat on a hill overlooking Dawnfire, its towering walls and silver banners gleaming under the moonlight. Carriages rolled to a stop before its gates, their passengers stepping into a world far removed from the dust and clangor of the tournament grounds.

Adrien adjusted his dark, fitted cloak as he stepped out beside Damien. Fenrik followed behind, his expression unreadable.

"I feel like a lamb walking into a feast where we're the roast," Damien muttered, eyeing the polished guards lining the courtyard.

"Relax," Adrien replied dryly. "They'd at least marinate us first."

Inside, soft music played over murmurs and clinking goblets. Nobles, military officers, and a few robed figures of status mingled in the grand hall of marble and golden light. At the far end, seated beneath a great banner bearing a crescent over a rising sun, sat Duke Verrian Evermoon.

The man rose as they approached. He was tall and lean, dressed in fine layers of navy and gold, his hair streaked with silver. His smile was warm — too warm.

"Adrien, Damien, and the esteemed Prince Kaelen," the Duke said, his voice smooth like oiled silk. "Welcome to my home. You've stirred quite the storm in Dawnfire. I thought it only polite to offer shelter before the wind truly howls."

Kaelen, already present, nodded curtly. "Your Grace."

Damien bowed awkwardly. Adrien simply inclined his head, measured and cool.

The Duke gestured toward the banquet table. "Please. Eat. Drink. Tonight is for peace. Tomorrow, we sharpen swords again."

They seated themselves. Fenrik stood at the back, arms crossed, silent but alert.

As the feast unfolded, the Duke leaned in subtly toward each of them in turn, testing the waters. freewebnσvel.cøm

To the Prince, he spoke of responsibility and alliances. "Your Highness, it would be a shame for the capital to overlook talent such as yours. Perhaps it is time someone in power noticed."

To Damien, he offered opportunity. "The Eboncross has been too quiet lately. A man like you could light fires in the right halls. Ever considered command?"

And to Adrien...

"You intrigue me," the Duke said softly, eyes narrowing. "You fight like someone used to war. Not tournaments. There's a purpose in the way you move — something older."

Adrien looked up from his untouched wine. "Most people see a fight. You see something else. That's rare."

The Duke smiled, sipping slowly. "And useful."

Adrien offered no more than a tight-lipped smirk in response.

Later in the evening, the Duke's daughter, Lady Elira, appeared — graceful and curious, her attention quickly drawn to the three. But her gaze lingered most on Adrien, intrigued by his quiet strength.

The night wore on under the warm glow of chandelier light. Beneath it all, the Duke watched his guests, already spinning threads in the dark — connections, promises, pressure points.

And Adrien? He watched right back, already sensing the game