CHAPTER 122: SYLVA FAERELITH-

Razeal facepalmed the moment he saw the green-haired woman step into the arena.

"Ask for shitty luck, and it answers," he muttered, laughing under his breath. Then came a long sigh. Sometimes, I don’t even feel good when my plans go exactly how I wanted... Maybe I should’ve just let Areon fight me. He winced internally. That would’ve been a thousand times easier.

Regret stabbed through him. Poisoning Areon had seemed smart at the time. Tactical. But now? Now it just felt like totally bad idea.

If he had known the system had a training function, he might’ve built an entirely different plan. But at the time, it hadn’t been an option. And now that it was... too late. No more "could haves." Not with her standing in front of him.

She landed gracefully at the center of the arena, as if the ground bent gently to catch her. Her sky-green hair floated around her like silk in the wind, catching the sunlight in hypnotic waves. She wore a tight, embroidered outfit of deep green and gold that shimmered like leaves in morning light. On her chest: the unmistakable crest of House Faerelith an ancient tree in full bloom, encircled by drifting spirit wisps.

Her eyes those piercing, sky-colored eyes locked onto Razeal, curiosity flickering behind them. A moment ago, She remembered the killing intent he’d released moments before, and while she didn’t seem impressed, something in her gaze hinted at interest.

Not that it mattered. She wasn’t here to play games anyways.

Sylva Faerelith had a job to do.

And she hated it honestly.

The only reason she was even here was because of her mother. Duchess Faerelith had ordered (forced) her to step in. Otherwise, Sylva would never waste her time on something so beneath her. She wasn’t fond of bullying the weak, and this definitely felt like bullying.

Her gaze drifted toward Duchess Arabella in the standsbthe woman who’d begged her mother for this "favor." Sylva frowned, cheeks puffed slightly in an involuntary pout.

Can’t they just send someone from their own damn family to fight the kid?

Her eyes fell on Nancy, standing loyally at Arabella’s side. She could’ve fought him. She could win, too. So why not?

Sylva wasn’t stupid. She knew exactly what this was.

This was politics.

The Dragonwevr family was trying to pull the Faerelith house into their mess publicly, strategically. By using her, they could claim Faerelith support. After all, if a Faereliths stepped in, it wasn’t just the Dragonwevrs beating down some overconfident kid anymore.

No, now it was two ducal houses.

Dragonwevr won’t be accused of bullying, Sylva thought bitterly. At least not directly. They’ll just say they accepted a substitute and they beat the kid not them. And Faereliths will say we agreed to the terms and conditions Dragonwevr asked us too. They’ll call it a duel, nothing more. Atleast Virelans won’t be able to directly pressure one family alone now for there not so kicked out son.

Whatever. She’d fight, win, and leave. Simple.

But to the crowd, her entrance was anything but simple.

The moment Sylva Faerelith touched down in the arena, the coliseum erupted into chaos.

"Wait is that Lady Sylva?!"

"Is she the substitute for Areon?!"

"Holy shit.. this just got better!"

Cheers, gasps, curses, and wild chatter filled the seats as spectators exploded with excitement. Whispers turned to shouting. Bets were remade in real time.

"She’s stronger than Areon!"

"She’s gonna destroy that arrogant bastard!"

It was pandemonium.

Meanwhile, deep in a quiet chamber elsewhere in the stadium, Nova watched the chaos unfold through a projection screen. She shook her head slowly.

"He won’t accept it," she murmured.

It was obvious. Taking a substitute fight after winning the prize? Pointless. There was no benefit. Nothing to gain. And from what she’d seen of Razeal, he wasn’t the kind of fool he is intelligent and definitely knows what best for him.

She watched the areana below, confident in her assessment.

Most people were thinking the same.

But Razeal?

He was somewhere else entirely. Lost in thought. Lost in himself.

Whatever was running through his mind nobody could see it. Not yet.

[Just give up, Host. Maybe we would’ve had a chance if your opponent was Nancy or someone else. But her?] The system’s voice cut through the air like a cold blade. [I don’t think I need to explain. Let’s not waste time.]

Razeal stood there, silent, even as the system’s words sank in like stones in water. He had poured everything into this moment decades of obsession, preparation, and sacrifice inside system space. And now... the system was telling him to walk away. To give up.

[We are not losing anything] The system added, softer this time. [It’s just the smart choice.]

Razeal didn’t respond. Instead, he asked his own question, voice low:

"What’s her rank?"

There was a pause. Then the system replied, more cautiously.

[Forget it, Host. You know that her rank isn’t fixed she keeps changing it, masking it. And whatever she’s at now, your odds of winning are effectively zero. The Faerelith family’s unique bloodline abilities...] The system trailed off.

[You’re outmatched.]

Still, Razeal didn’t respond.

He simply stared at Sylva Faerelith, standing calm and collected in the arena, her eyes raised ever so slightly waiting for the words she expected to hear.

"I forfeit."

That’s what she assumed was coming.

Instead, she saw him smile.

A slow, cocky grin curled onto Razeal’s face.

"Alright," he said, loud enough for the arena to hear. "I agree to the duel."

Sylva blinked.

"Huh?"

Nancy raised a brow. Even Selphira tilted her head, surprised. No one had expected Razeal to accept.

He accepted?

Sylva narrowed her eyes, then gave a small, amused snort.

"At least you’re not a coward." She nodded toward him in acknowledgement. "Alright, I guess. But don’t expect me to go easy on you. I’ve been very well paid to beat the hell out of you."

She said it without malice. Just facts.

Then casually began stretching her arms, rotating her shoulders like this was routine.

Selphira, still neutral, spoke up.

"Are both parties prepared?"

Well there was really no need to say more. They had all agreed Obviously.

But before either Razeal or Sylva could respond, another voice cut in.

"Selena Luminus."

Everyone turned as Duchess Arabella stepped forward, positioning herself beside Selphira. Her eyes rose to the Luminus family chambers high above the spectator stands.

The crowd buzzed quietly with confusion. Even Razeal blinked, uncertain why the Duchess would interrupt now at the edge of battle.

Up in the stands, Selena Luminus stood still for a moment, clearly puzzled by the sudden call. Her brow creased, but after a few seconds, she gracefully stepped out from her family’s private balcony and began making her way down.

She didn’t know why Arabella had summoned her but with eyes across the Empire watching, she had no choice. Keep ducchess dignity.

The audience whispered, but none spoke loud enough to disturb the tension. Everyone was waiting.

"Hello, Aunty," she said, politely. Her voice was respectful, but her eyes questioned but clearly puzzled.

Arabella didn’t return the pleasantries.

"I want you to give your blessing to Sylva," she said, voice smooth too smooth. A sly smile danced on her lips.

But

Before Selena could even respond, Sylva’s voice snapped through the air.

"No."

She cut in instantly, her voice sharp.

"I don’t need a blessing," Sylva continued, her tone hard.

" That would be disrespectful. I’m not some helpless novice standing here."

Her pride bristled at the very idea.

Arabella turned her eyes to her calm, unwavering.

"Don’t take it personally, dear. But you’re fighting on behalf of my son. As his substitute, I have every right to make such requests."

Sylva’s expression darkened. Her jaw tightened.

"Do you think I can’t defeat him?"

The words came out low, cold, and direct. Her eyes burned into the Duchess.

"Are you doubting my strength Duchess? Respectfully, of course."

Gasps fluttered through the crowd.

But Arabella didn’t flinch.

"Not at all," she said sweetly. "There are few in the empire who can match you. I have no doubt you’ll win. This isn’t about you."

She let the words linger, her voice velvet-smooth.

"It’s about making sure he pays the price for the disgraceful trick he pulled. You see my son had taken some pain and set backs."

Sylva frowned but didn’t say anything. Whatever deal the Duchess had made, it must be big that even her mother agreed to show resistance against the Virelans, which might have even dissatisfied them.

Sylva simply exhaled, calm but slightly annoyed.

"It’s just some buffs," she muttered under her breath.

What did it matter? He was going to go down in one move before. He’d still go down in one move now. Nothing had changed.

Though a flicker of dissatisfaction crossed her face, she just crossed her arms and said nothing more.

On the side, Razeal pouted slightly, eyes narrowing.

Ah... the classic noble playbook.

The so-called "Duel of Honor" supposed to be a pure, rule-bound contest where both fighters stood equal. No tricks. No interference. Whether you were royalty or commoner, you fought the same way. Straightforward.

But nobles weren’t fools. They knew how to twist the system in their favor.

And so they created loopholes: no limits on weapons, potions, enchantments, or blessings. Anything a fighter brought into the field was considered part of their own "capabilities." Convenient, wasn’t it?

And now, they were using exactly that against him.

Razeal didn’t react.

Let them do whatever they want, he thought.

[Host... you still have time to back out of this pointless fight.]

The system’s voice echoed in his mind again, now more anxious.

[You could die. You know how absurdly powerful she is.]

"I’ll win," Razeal said quietly, without looking away from the arena. "No matter how."

This wasn’t about her. It wasn’t about anyone.

This was about himself.

He’d trained for decades. Fought battle after battle. Died milliona of times for this. It wasn’t for nothing. It wasn’t to step back now.

He had always stood against those more powerful. Always.

And he would do it again.

He would win.

[...Sigh. Do whatever you want.] The system’s voice softened.

[I’ll be with you, always. Just... don’t do something stupid.]

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Sorry, guys late again today. Please understand, writing from so many characters’ perspectives at the same time is exhausting. On top of that, I’m a little sick.

Also, I’ve been reading the comments. I’m asking you all to be patient you will get satisfying answers about why it took Razeal hundreds of years to reach S-Rank, while others are hitting it at 16-17.

Well remember Razeal got s rank in mana in 7 days..

Just keep in mind: these aren’t normal 16-17-year-olds. They’re top-tier heroines. And yes, there’s a reason for all of it. No, it was never just about talent. I can’t explain it all here it would take a whole Chapter.

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