POV: Priam Lockhart
One week had passed since my alliance with Liana. Seven days of careful balance—training with Seraphine while maintaining professional distance in public, gathering intelligence through the servant network, and watching the various factions at the academy continue their complex dances of alliance and betrayal.
The anonymous threats against Lady Elise had continued, becoming increasingly bold. A dead crow left outside her dormitory door. Her books "accidentally" destroyed in the library. A vicious rumor spread that she'd seduced a noble to gain academy entry.
Through it all, Liana had remained focused but concerned. She'd confided to me that the threats were accelerating her timeline. She needed to secure allies quickly before someone actually managed to hurt the girl she'd saved.
Which brings us to today.
Tournament Registration and Bracket Announcement.
The entire academy gathered in the Grand Amphitheater for the reveal. Combat tournaments happened every year—this one was for first-years, structured to establish initial rankings that would persist through the rest of the academic year.
Unlike formal duels that required seconds and witnesses, tournament matches were efficient and brutal. Two contestants entered the arena, fought until one yielded or was incapacitated, then the next match began. Winning improved your ranking, giving access to better training facilities and social status. Losing meant dropping in the rankings, becoming a target for those trying to climb.
Headmaster Aldric stood on the central platform, a scroll floating before him. "First-year combat tournament begins tomorrow at dawn in the Grand Arena. Matches will be single elimination for the first round, then rankings-based for subsequent rounds."
He gestured, and the scroll unfurled, displaying hundreds of names arranged in starting positions.
I scanned for the names I cared about:
Seraphine de Valois—Seed 8. High ranking, expected to advance deep into the tournament.
Liana Hart—Seed 47. Low ranking, probably to avoid early confrontations with major powers while she built her faction.
Duke Roland Vayne—Seed 2. Second only to Prince Cedric in the initial rankings.
Lord Edric Renault—Seed 19. Decent ranking, suggesting his family's military background gave him credibility despite his behavioral issues.
Priam Lockhart—Seed 156.
I stared at my name, stunned. I was in the tournament. Which meant I'd have to fight someone with magical training while I was still learning basic spells.
Of course I am. The system wouldn't put me in the tournament without narrative reason.
"Seed 156 faces Seed 1 in the first match," Aldric announced, consulting his scroll. "Tomorrow at dawn."
Seed 1. The top ranked first-year. That would be...
"Prince Cedric Aldmoor versus Priam Lockhart. Arena One, first match."
The amphitheater erupted in surprised murmurs. Not shocked that Cedric was Seed 1—that was expected. But shocked that someone like me would be placed against him in the opening match. It was either brilliant strategic placement or complete stupidity.
Liana caught my eye from across the amphitheater and mouthed: "I'll explain later."
She did this. She somehow manipulated the bracket to put me in this position. But why?
Seraphine, sitting in the noble section, turned her head slightly to look at me where I stood with the other servants. Her expression was carefully neutral, but I saw her fingers grip her chair's armrest hard enough to turn her knuckles white.
POV: Seraphine de Valois
Seraphine's mind was already three steps ahead, analyzing what Liana's bracket manipulation meant.
She's protecting him. By putting Priam against Cedric early, she ensures he loses immediately. A servant losing to the crown prince is expected, unremarkable. He doesn't advance deep enough to face her directly or to be seen as a genuine threat by major powers.
But it also means she's invested in Priam's survival. Which means they've been communicating beyond what I assumed.
The implications made her stomach twist.
Had Liana been working with Priam all along? Was his loyalty to Seraphine genuine, or was he a spy planted by the protagonist?
No. No, if he was compromised, he would have revealed my magic training, my family secrets, something. He's had multiple opportunities to betray me. He hasn't.
But doubt had been planted. And doubt was a weapon.
Seraphine realized, with a clarity that felt like cold water to the face, that she was afraid of losing him. Not as a tool or asset, but as the only person who chose her over power or necessity.
This is weakness. Father's voice. Attachment is weakness and weakness is punishment.
But Father wasn't here. And Priam had chosen to stand with her despite the cost.
Fine. If he's made his choice, I make mine. I'll trust him. And if that trust is misplaced, I'll handle the betrayal myself.
Seraphine made a note on a piece of parchment and had Rosalie deliver it to the servants' quarters that evening. Three words:
Win or lose.
POV: Priam Lockhart
The note found me in my room after evening meal. I stared at the three words, trying to decipher what Seraphine meant.
A knock at my door preceded Liana's entrance—she'd apparently learned to disable the privacy wards on servant corridors. The rose-gold-haired girl slipped inside, closing the door behind her.
"Before you get angry," she said quickly, "let me explain. The bracket placement isn't what it looks like."
"It looks like you're trying to get me killed by putting me against the strongest fighter in the first year."
"Cedric won't kill you. He's too controlled, too concerned with appearances." Liana moved closer, her voice urgent. "But here's what will happen: You'll fight him tomorrow. You'll lose—obviously, you can't beat someone with years of training and noble resources. You'll yield, take your loss, and drop out of public perception."
"And the value of that is?"
"It establishes you as a real opponent. Servant versus prince isn't a curiosity match—it's a story. You fought honorably and lost to a superior opponent. Tomorrow, when Edric Renault 'accidentally' injures someone, when Clarisse starts making her power plays, when the real political fighting begins—you'll be mostly invisible. Just a servant who had his moment and accepted his place."
She paused. "But you'll have given me exactly what I need: visibility. When Seed 1 is tested immediately, the whole bracket gets reshuffled. Major players have to adjust their strategies. And in that confusion, I can start building my harem without looking like I'm actively recruiting."
She's thinking several moves ahead. This isn't just about the tournament—it's about creating chaos that she can manipulate.
"And if I refuse? If I try to actually win?"
"You'll probably get killed. Cedric might lose control trying to put down an uppity servant, or one of his supporters will 'accidentally' interfere in the match." Liana's expression was sympathetic. "I know it's not ideal. But it's the calculation. Your death versus a better position for both our factions."
Pragmatic. Ruthless. Absolutely focused on survival and victory.
"Let me guess. Seraphine gets 'Win or lose'—meaning she approves of whatever I do."
"Did she?"
"Something like that." I sank onto my bed. "So tomorrow I become part of your story. A convenient plot point."
"You're more than that." Liana's voice was quiet. "You're someone who's trying to make a difference in a broken world. That's rare. Valuable. Which is exactly why I'm being honest with you instead of just manipulating you from the shadows like everyone else does."
"That supposed to make me feel better about throwing a match?"
"No. It's supposed to make you understand that I respect you enough to let you make the choice with full information." She headed for the door. "The match is at dawn. Arena One. Come rested and mentally ready to lose with honor."
After she left, I pulled up my system interface:
[Current Status]
Level: 3 (575/800 XP)
Skills: Shadow Step (Combat Ready), Mana Manipulation Lv. 2, Spell Formation Lv. 1
Equipment: Glamour Balm (low), Valois Grimoire (learned)
[Hidden Quests]
"Tournament Path": Participate in first match (Incomplete)
"The Meta-Game": Navigate alliance complications (In Progress)
"Chains of Service": Improve servant conditions (Ongoing)
I could try to win. Focus every scrap of magical knowledge I have and hope it's enough. I'd probably get destroyed. Cedric is trained, experienced, and has resources I can't match.
Or I can be pragmatic. Accept that sometimes losing is the better strategy. Let myself drop out of immediate consideration while bigger forces move around me.
I thought about Seraphine's words: Win or lose.
She wasn't ordering me to lose strategically. She was saying: whatever I choose, I have her support. That's what made it matter.
If I choose to lose with honor, I honor Liana's strategy and my alliance with her.
If I choose to fight with everything I have and go down swinging, I honor the part of me that refuses to accept predetermined outcomes.
Either way, I'm making a choice. That's what matters.
I made my decision.
POV: Prince Cedric Aldmoor
Cedric prepared for his tournament match with the same meticulous care he applied to everything. His armor was ceremonial but functional—enchanted steel that distributed weight perfectly and amplified magical channels.
His sword was a family heirloom—passed through generations of princes, its blade infused with royal bloodline magic. Drawing it would cause the blade to glow with amber light, and the weapon would be almost impossible to break.
But his real advantage was experience and training. Cedric had been training in combat magic and bladework since childhood. He'd sparred with royal instructors, studied tactical theory from the empire's best strategists, and internalized the lessons of dozens of ancient battles.
A servant wouldn't stand a chance.
Which made the whole situation puzzling.
The bracket placement was deliberate. Liana Hart had somehow influenced the randomization—Cedric knew enough about how such things worked to recognize when they'd been manipulated. And she'd placed a servant in his path for first match.
Why? It can't be strategy. A servant can't affect my ranking or future matches.
Unless she's trying to establish something. Test my character? See how I respond to an "unfair" match?
Cedric had learned early that everything was a test. Every social interaction, every political move, every seemingly casual decision was part of larger games being played. You had to understand what everyone wanted from you and decide whether to give it to them.
In this case, Liana wanted... what? To see him show mercy? Cruelty? Indifference?
Whatever she's testing, I'll respond with perfect control. Exactly what a future emperor should demonstrate.
He arrived at Arena One as dawn broke, painting the sky in shades of amber and rose. The space was designed for dueling—a circular platform twenty meters across, magically reinforced to withstand combat without being damaged. Protective barriers at the edges prevented fighters from falling or being thrown into the crowd.
A small gathering had assembled despite the early hour. First-years who'd come to watch. Servants. A few faculty members observing.
And there, standing on the opposite side of the arena, was Priam Lockhart in servant's clothes that had been modified for combat—light, flexible, designed to allow magical channeling without getting in the way.
The boy looked terrified. Which was appropriate.
A referee—one of the academy's senior instructors—stood between them. "You both understand the rules? Fight until one yields, is incapacitated, or the referee calls a halt for excessive injury?"
"I understand," Cedric said calmly.
"Yes, sir," Priam replied, his voice steady despite his obvious fear.
"Prepare yourselves."
Cedric drew his sword, and the blade blazed with amber light. He settled into a fighting stance, every muscle relaxed but ready. Across from him, Priam raised his hands, palms outward—an unarmed combat stance, which was... bold or foolish.
"Begin!" the referee shouted.
Cedric moved with elegant precision, closing the distance at controlled speed. Not rushing, not showing off. Just the methodical approach of a superior fighter against an inferior opponent.
Priam stepped back, gathering something—magical energy, Cedric realized. The boy was actually trying to use magic against him.
Brave. Stupid, but brave.
Cedric accelerated, closing the distance before Priam could complete whatever spell he was forming. He angled his sword not to kill or seriously injure, but to disarm and overwhelm.
This was when Priam surprised him.
Instead of trying to fight, the boy vanished.
Not destroyed or knocked unconscious. Literally vanished. One moment he was there, the next—shadow and absence and the faint smell of magic.
Cedric spun, instincts flaring. Where was he?
A shadow detached itself from the arena's wall. Priam emerged from it—literally stepping out of darkness like it was a door—and launched a desperate attack. His hand glowed with blue mana as he struck toward Cedric's center.
Shadow Step. Advanced magic. Cedric's respect for his opponent rose slightly. He's trained. More than a servant should be.
He redirected Priam's attack with minimal effort, using his opponent's own momentum against him. Priam stumbled, barely keeping his feet.
"Very good," Cedric said, not unkindly. "You have training. That's rare for a servant."
"Thank you, Your Highness," Priam gasped, repositioning.
This time, when Cedric advanced, it was faster. He was done holding back—not enough to seriously injure, but enough to demonstrate the gap between them. His sword moved in intricate patterns, each strike designed to test and pressure Priam's defenses.
Priam tried to Shadow Step again, but Cedric anticipated it. He'd seen the movement pattern now, could predict the timing. When Priam reappeared, Cedric was waiting, his blade positioned to intercept.
The sword collided with Priam's raised forearm, and the boy's defensive shield—formed from pure mana—shattered under the impact. Priam flew backward, crashing against the arena barrier.
He collapsed to his knees, breathing hard, blood trickling from his nose.
The referee moved forward. "Do you yield?"
Priam looked up at Cedric, and their eyes met for just a moment. In that moment, Cedric saw something strange—not defeat, but acknowledgment. The boy nodded to himself, as if confirming something internally.
"I yield," Priam said clearly, raising his hand.
The referee declared Cedric the victor, and the small crowd applauded appropriately. Nothing remarkable about the match—seed 1 defeating seed 156 was exactly the expected outcome.
But as Cedric helped Priam to his feet—a gesture of respect for a worthy opponent, even if vastly outmatched—he whispered: "You were better than I expected. Who trained you?"
Priam smiled, accepting the offered hand. "Someone who believed in me when no one else did, Your Highness. That's usually enough."
As they left the arena, Cedric found himself wondering about Lady Seraphine de Valois. Because there was only one person at the academy with the knowledge and motivation to train a servant in advanced magic.
Interesting. The Ice Queen has more complexity than the rumors suggest.
POV: Liana Hart
From the audience, I watched the match unfold and felt a mix of satisfaction and concern.
Satisfaction because the bracket had worked exactly as planned. Cedric was tested early, which would make him more cautious about deeper matches. And Priam's loss was honorable and strategic—establishing him as someone with real power despite being a servant.
Concern because Priam had fought harder than we'd discussed. He'd used Shadow Step multiple times, revealed more magical capability than was tactically necessary. And Cedric had noticed. The prince was too intelligent to miss the implications.
He'll figure out Seraphine trained him. Probably already has.
The real question was whether he'd use that information. In this world where power and ambition drove everything, people typically used leverage immediately.
But Cedric wasn't typical. He was too controlled, too strategic. He'd use the information when it benefited him most—not immediately, but when it provided maximum advantage.
We need to accelerate our timeline. Seraphine needs to move first, establish her position before Cedric decides to exploit what he's learned.
I made a mental note to speak with Priam about this. We needed to coordinate better. The meta-game was becoming more complex as everyone started moving at once.
A light touch on my shoulder interrupted my thoughts. Lord Garrick, the strategist, smiled down at me with those calculating gray eyes.
"Interesting match, wasn't it?" he said casually. "A servant with magical training. Very rare. Very carefully hidden. Very suggestive of conspiracy at the highest levels of the academy."
He knows. Or suspects enough that the distinction doesn't matter.
"I'm not sure what you mean, Lord Garrick."
"Of course you don't." His smile widened. "But when you figure out that we're all playing the same game from different starting positions, come find me. I think we might have more in common than you'd expect."
He walked away, leaving me standing there.
Another player. Another person who knows this isn't what it appears to be.
Or was he just very clever at reading situations? The system had never mentioned other reincarnators besides me and Priam.
Either way, he's dangerous. He needs to be monitored.
I updated my mental list:
Definite Reincarnators: Priam Lockhart, Liana Hart
Suspected: Garrick Thorne (intelligence gathered too quickly), possibly others
Does not know: Everyone else (supposedly)
POV: Seraphine de Valois
Seraphine watched Priam yield to Cedric and felt relief flood through her so intensely it was almost painful.
He'd survived. Fought well, lost honorably, and lived to continue their work.
And in doing so, he'd likely attracted Cedric's attention in a way that could become useful or catastrophic depending on how things unfolded.
Priam is right. We're living a story that can be changed. But every change creates new ripples, new complications.
After the match, she had her first combat class with Professor Nyx. The dark mage had decided that the tournament would serve as midterm evaluation—students would fight in controlled scenarios while Nyx observed their actual combat capability rather than just theoretical knowledge.
When Seraphine's turn came, she faced one of the Vermillion twins in a simulation arena—a enclosed space where Nyx controlled all variables including the terrain itself.
"Begin," Nyx commanded, and the arena transformed. Suddenly they were standing in a dark forest, moonlight filtering through twisted branches. Mist clung to the ground.
The Vermillion twin immediately summoned flames—beautiful crimson fire that danced across her palms. "Last chance to yield, Valois."
Seraphine smiled coldly. "I think not."
She dove into the shadows at her feet, pulling darkness around herself like a cloak. The Vermillion twin's flames carved through the space she'd occupied moments before, missing entirely.
Shadow magic is my inheritance. This is where I'm strongest.
Seraphine emerged from a different shadow, striking with conjured darkness that was nearly solid. Her opponent blocked with fire, and the two magics collided in a spectacular explosion of light and dark.
They danced around the arena—fire and shadow, light and darkness, heat and cold. Seraphine lost herself in the combat, letting the magic flow through her with natural grace.
She'd been afraid of her blood magic, afraid of following her mother's path and meeting the same fate. But here, using her magic in controlled circumstances against a worthy opponent, she felt something shift inside.
This is power. Real power, not the cruel kind Father demanded. Power to protect myself and those I choose to protect.
The Vermillion twin was skilled, but Seraphine was faster, more creative. She won the simulation easily, leaving her opponent gasping and defeated.
When the scenario ended, Nyx was studying her with those unsettling silver eyes. "Your shadow magic is advanced for your age. Family training?"
"Yes, Professor."
"It shows. Discipline, control, creativity. You could be dangerous if you fully unlocked your potential." Nyx gestured, dismissing her. "Continue training. You have potential to become something significant."
As Seraphine left the arena, she found herself thinking about Priam's words: Win or lose.
She had won this match. But the real victory was knowing she wasn't fighting alone anymore. Someone had chosen to stand with her, to train her, to believe she could be more than the villain the world had cast her as.
Maybe that's what changes the story. Not grand gestures or desperate battles, but small moments of genuine connection. Someone choosing you despite all the reasons not to.
She made a decision that would have consequences neither of them could predict.
Tonight, after everyone slept, she would visit Priam's room in the servants' quarters. It was a risk—a huge risk. But risks were the only things that mattered anymore.
Win or lose, Priam. We fight together.
End of Chapter 7