"Why do you have that weapon?"
Ray's voice thundered across the arena, raw with disbelief and fury. The echo carried through the silent crowd, bouncing off the marble stands until every whisper vanished into stillness.
Lucas froze. His breath caught in his throat as cold dread crept up his spine.
He hadn't expected Ray to recognize the weapon so quickly.
That sleek silver gun gleaming in his trembling hand—he had taken it from Ophelia Cogswell's workshop. The memory of that day came rushing back, as sharp and vivid as the weapon's metallic gleam.
A Few Days Ago
It had all started innocently enough.
Duke Robert's two wives, Lady Barbara and Lady Roxanne, had arranged a visit to the Inventor District. Barbara brought along her eldest son, Ethan, while Roxanne sent her eldest, John. Both boys were around Lucas's age and eager to see the wonders of the Inventor Guild.
John, ever ambitious, managed to arrange a visit to the renowned Ophelia Cogswell's workshop through Barbara. Hoping to elevate the occasion, he even sent a formal invitation to Prince Richard's family, suggesting that the royal brothers might join them.
The invitation reached the palace quickly. Lucas's elder brother accepted without hesitation, intrigued by the inventor's fame. Lucas decided to tag along—half out of curiosity, half because he didn't want to be left behind.
When they entered the workshop, it was like stepping into another world. The air shimmered faintly with mana, filled with the scent of metal, oil, and ozone. Clockwork mechanisms ticked and spun. Crystals glowed softly in glass tubes. Every surface seemed alive with motion.
Ophelia herself stood in the center—a woman with bright eyes and grease-stained gloves, smiling with the excitement of someone who had just discovered a new miracle.
"Welcome, Your Highnesses," she said. "You're just in time for a demonstration."
She lifted a slender silver weapon from her table—the prototype. Its surface was engraved with delicate runes, faint light pulsing beneath them.
"This is an energy weapon," she explained proudly. "Still experimental. It fires a focused beam of spiritual energy—a straight, concentrated blast, like a laser bullet. But it's unstable, and it drains energy far too quickly."
She activated the weapon.
A pulse of blue light shot across the room, leaving a smoking trail in the reinforced wall. The sound was sharp and clean—a whisper of power too great to belong to human hands.
Everyone gasped.
Lucas, however, couldn't look away. The weapon was beautiful—and terrifying.
When the demonstration ended, Ophelia set the weapon down on the table and invited everyone to see her other inventions in the next room. The group followed eagerly—Barbara chatting with her sister, Ethan and John laughing behind her, and Lucas's elder brother discussing rune circuitry.
But Lucas lingered.
The room had fallen quiet. The weapon lay there, gleaming faintly under the lamplight, as if waiting for him.
He hesitated. His pulse drummed in his ears.
Earlier, he had overheard Ethan mention an upcoming competition—a duel among the younger generation who had recently awakened their power. One of the confirmed participants was Ray Walker.
Lucas smirked to himself. He had always wanted to test his strength against Ray. And with a weapon like this… victory would be certain.
Ophelia's laughter echoed faintly from the other room.
Lucas's hand moved on its own. He picked up the weapon. It was cold, heavier than he expected.
"Just for a little while," he told himself. "Just until the tournament."
He slipped it beneath his cloak and walked away.
Present
Ray's eyes blazed as he pointed at the weapon. "Inventor Ophelia reported that her prototype was stolen—and now I see it in your hand! So it was you… a prince!" His voice rose with fury. "Do you have any idea what this means if the Inventor Guild finds out that royalty stole from them?"
The words struck like thunder.
Lucas's blood ran cold. He had stolen it on a whim, never considering the consequences. But now, the weight of his mistake pressed down on him—heavier than any weapon.
If the Guild found out, it wouldn't just be him who suffered. It could mean war between the Richard Kingdom and the Inventors. The Guild might even cut off all trade, banning them from ever receiving magical items again.
Ray turned toward the referee standing near the arena's edge. "Referee! That weapon is above the Qi stage. According to the rules, he should be disqualified!"
The referee froze, eyes darting nervously toward the stands where Duke Montclair is standing. His lips trembled as he struggled to speak.
Then, in an instant, the air grew heavy.
A powerful aura—cold and suffocating—descended on him. Duke Robert had moved from his seat, appearing beside the referee so fast it was as if he had simply blinked across the arena. The man's knees nearly gave out under the crushing pressure of a Golden Stage cultivator.
Ray clenched his fists, ignoring the tension. His gaze returned to Lucas.
"Hand over the weapon," he demanded, his tone cold and controlled. "That prototype isn't meant for someone at your level. It drains too much energy—you could kill yourself."
But Lucas wasn't listening anymore. Panic had turned into defiance. His pride, wounded and cornered, burned hotter than reason.
Without a word, he pulled a pill from his belt and swallowed it. His aura flared.
"Lucas!" Ray barked. "Stop this madness!"
But Lucas only shouted back, his voice cracking, "Good! Then you can die!"
He poured his energy into the weapon. Runes along its body lit up violently, glowing bright blue. The weapon hummed louder and louder, greedily absorbing his spiritual energy. His face turned pale as his strength drained away, sweat pouring down his temples.
He swallowed another pill, then another, desperate to replenish what was being torn from him. But the pain building inside his core was unbearable. His meridians burned. Cracks began forming deep within his energy center.
Still, he kept going.
Across the arena, Ray's eyes widened in horror. "Stop! You'll destroy yourself—and everyone here!"
But Lucas pulled the trigger.
A burst of blinding light consumed the air. The weapon's recoil twisted violently—bone snapping in Lucas's wrist—and the shot fired like a thunderclap.
Ray reacted instantly. He threw down a silver formation disk, activating it with all his soul energy. Glowing runes spiraled outward, forming a radiant barrier around him.
The beam struck the formation head-on.
A deafening explosion followed. The ground trembled. Cracks spread across the barrier like spiderwebs. Ray's hands blurred as he traced runes in the air, reinforcing the shield again and again, sweat flying from his brow.
The magical bullet twisted violently, pressing harder against the barrier, refusing to dissipate.
Finally, its glow began to fade—its momentum dying. Ray exhaled in relief—just as the formation shattered.
The beam burst through the cracks, weakened but still lethal. Ray ducked at the last instant. The shot grazed past him, searing the edge of his hair, and slammed into the far wall before vanishing into thin air.
The crowd erupted into gasps. The smell of scorched mana filled the air.
And before anyone could react—another aura appeared.
A golden blur streaked across the arena. Someone moved faster than sight, shattering what remained of Ray's defenses and appearing beside him.
Ray barely registered the figure before a kick—heavy and merciless—slammed into his chest.
He flew backward like a broken arrow, crashing into the far barrier. Stone shattered under the impact.
Silence followed.
Dust hung in the air. The audience could only stare—stunned, breathless, and afraid to move.
Lucas fell to his knees, the weapon clattering beside him, its glow flickering out. He gasped for air, his body shaking violently. His arm hung uselessly at his side.
He had wanted to win. To prove his strength.
Now, all he could feel was the burning pain in his core—and the sinking realization of what he had done.