CHAPTER 433: THE FLAMES OF HATRED

The roar of the crowd crashed through the arena like thunder, but to Julian Cardill it was no celebration—it was the shattering of his pride. On his knees in the dirt, chest heaving, he pressed a trembling hand against his heart as though to hold the fragments together. His eyes, bloodshot with fury, locked on the man towering above him.

Helio Bandor.

The name burned in his mind like a curse. The man he had branded a cheater. The man he cast into oblivion for twenty-five long years. The man who had just bested him—not through trickery or deceit, but cleanly, indisputably, in the sight of royals, nobles, and thousands of onlookers.

"Impossible," Julian rasped, his voice hoarse with disbelief. "Even now... you mock me."

Helio—Jethru Mendel—stepped closer, his shadow falling like a blade across his rival. His voice, calm and steady, carried a weight sharper than steel.

"The only mockery, Julian, was the lie you spread to steal my victory. You’ve hidden behind it all these years, but truth cannot be buried forever. The truth now came to haunt you."

Julian’s jaw clenched. For a moment, it seemed as though he might strike again, defying the referee’s verdict. But then his disciples—stunned, ashamed—moved to his side, helping him from the dirt. The look in his eyes, however, promised the matter was far from over.

The gong sounded once more, sealing Jethru’s victory.

The arena erupted. Cries of "Justice!" and "True Master!" swelled from the stands, an avalanche of vindication decades in the making. For the first time since his escape, Helio’s name was not whispered with disdain, but proclaimed with honor.

"Helio, we thought you are dead."

"Yes, we assumed the soldiers caught up with you when you escaped and did not bother to bring you back, and just executed you."

"Helio, though the Zen Warriors disbanded, master’s legacy continues. We secretly trained disciples following Master Samuel’s doctrine."

Jethru was suddenly feeling overwhelmed, and he was unsure of what to do. Though he had left seclusion two years ago, he was still a bit reclusive, and being suddenly at the center of attention made him anxious.

Lara pushed through the crowd, still aching from her own battle, but her eyes shone as she reached her master. "You did it, Master. You were great!" she whispered, voice thick with pride.

The group of people who realized that they had stolen the spotlight from the two heroes hurriedly left the ring.

Jethru’s weathered hand came to rest on her shoulder. His eyes, gentler than any cheer, fixed on her. "We did it. Your fight paved the way for mine. Remember this, Lara—victory is not in crushing an enemy, but in standing for truth."

At the edge of the arena, Alaric lingered, silent. His mask concealed his expression. But when Lara’s gaze met his, she felt it again—the same pulse of pride, quiet but unwavering, like a tether between them.

But amidst the revelry, a shadow stirred, and the flame of hatred grew intense.

Julian, seated now in the shadows of the stands, his breath ragged, his disciples huddled close. He clutched his disciple’s arm, his breath ragged but his fury unbroken. His pride could not reconcile with the truth. Humiliation seared deeper than any wound.

"This isn’t over," he muttered, his voice low and dangerous. "He thinks today redeems him? No. I will end Jethru Mendel just as I had crushed Helio Bandor, and I will break his disciple before his very eyes."

And in that moment, Lara—still standing tall beside her master—felt a chill, as though some unseen predator had set its gaze upon her. She looked around and saw the backs of the master and disciple whom they had been beaten leave the arena.

Slayer, who was supporting his master, shifted uneasily at Julian’s iron grip. He could also feel a suffocating pressure engulfing his entire being. He could feel his master’s hatred burning brighter than his pain.

"Master... who is Jethru Mendel? I thought the man you fought was Helio." Slayer asked, confused.

"That is his name now," Julian spat. Displeasure twisted his features, and though he too had fallen, his pride demanded someone else to blame. His gaze snapped to Slayer. "And you—how could you lose to an opponent half your size?"

Slayer lowered his head. "Master, he may be small, but he is faster than the eye and stronger than he appears. His skill with that weapon is unparalleled..."

Julian cut him off with a derisive snort, but when the crowd’s eyes fell on him, hot with judgment, he turned away, spine rigid with false dignity. He hurried from the arena, unwilling to endure another moment of disgrace. He did not bother to watch the remaining fight of the masters.

When Jethru at last stepped down from the ring with Lara, a crowd awaited him—Samuel’s disciples, men once scattered, now drawn to him like sparks to flame.

News spread like wildfire: Helio Bandor had taken a new name, Jethru Mendel. Both he and his disciple Fenris Mendel had triumphed in the tournament.

"Helio," Pio greeted, voice thick with emotion. He was older by three years, one of Samuel’s most devoted students. His eyes glistened. "How have you lived these years? If Master were here, he would be happy but alas, fate was not kind to him ... and crueler still to you."

Jethru hesitated, uncertainty flickering in his eyes, then spoke softly. "Master is alive. He is with me in Calma. Together, we opened a school, the Zen Warriors Academy."

For a heartbeat there was only silence. It was as if the news did not sink in. Then, disbelief gave way to a flood of voices.

"How is master?"

"Is he living well?"

"How and when did you two find each other?"

"Where did you stay all these years?"

"Why did you come back only this time?"

"Brothers, can you all calm down?" Jethru interjected, lifting a hand. "There is still the Queen’s Banquet that we need to attend tonight. We need to rest and prepare for that."

The disciples nodded, though their eyes lingered on him, brimming with questions and joy.

Then Pio stepped closer, his voice low and full of resentment. "And Julian Cardill? He framed Master, seized the school, claimed all that was not his. What will you do about him?"

Jethru’s gaze hardened. A glint of fire lit his eyes.

"What I must," he said. "I have a plan."

The tournament was won. The truth restored. But the war with Julian Cardill had only just begun.