The Talent Grading Ceremony ended as abruptly as it had begun. And with its end came another monumental rise for the Valen family. This time, those who once whispered about our downfall now stood at the edge of their own ruin.
Three of the Twelve Divine Families were brought to the brink of collapse. Perhaps they still hoped for another chance to strike us down, but their cries went unanswered.
...
Three Months Later.
My younger brother continued to grow more exceptional by the day. His talent in learning spells and controlling mana... it rivaled mine. That might not sound like much, considering my chronic illness, but when I thought about the countless grueling years I spent studying magic, the days and nights I toiled only to end up like this... it was disheartening.
Still, there was one thing I couldn't ignore.
His expressions.
Or rather, the lack of them.
He behaved like any ordinary child for the most part. But he never laughed. Never cried. Never truly reacted to anything.
Oddly, no one else seemed to notice or care.
He was overworked to the bone, barely allowed more than six hours of sleep, just enough for his body to recover from fatigue. That was the life carved out for him.
Watching him, I finally understood my place in the family.
I was a tool. Valued when useful. Discarded when broken.
No one truly cared about me. The only one who once did, my mother—had died eight years ago.
The only reason I still remained in this mansion… was my little brother.
I hated him. No doubt about that.
But even so... he was the only one who acknowledged I existed. Speaking to him, though rare—felt oddly comforting.
He showed no emotion. Yet, in a strange way, I found solace in that. There was no judgment in his voice. No forced affection. No veiled disdain.
He treated me just as I was.
...
"How's training going, Alvin?"
"As usual."
"Still keeping up with it?"
"It's easy."
"Haha. As expected of my genius brother."
"Hmm. Yeah."
...
Our conversations never lasted long. A few sentences at best.
But those moments… they mattered.
Perhaps not everything was terrible.
...
"What?! This is absurd!" I shouted.
"You can't expect me to fight my own brother!"
Six months passed. Then one day, a retainer of the house delivered a message: My 'father' had arranged a duel between me and Alvin. The victor would be named the official heir of the Valen family.
I was furious. The very idea of fighting my younger brother felt sickening.
For the first time in years, I raised my voice.
I refused to obey.
Not for my own sake, but for my brother's.
"Are you forfeiting, Young Master?" the retainer asked with a subtle smirk that vanished as quickly as it appeared.
"Hah! Of course I am! You call this a duel? Neither I nor Alvin will participate in this farce!"
But what came next left me speechless.
The retainer calmly replied, "Young Master Alvin has already agreed to the duel."
I stood frozen.
Stupefied.
...
I stood there, unable to speak. The air around me felt suddenly thinner, as if the walls of the room were closing in.
"He agreed?" I whispered.
The retainer gave a slight nod. "Without hesitation."
I clenched my fists. No—this had to be some kind of manipulation. Alvin wouldn't willingly take part in something like this… would he?
He was emotionless, yes. But that didn't mean he lacked reason. Or... was I wrong all this time?
...
That night, I couldn't sleep.
My thoughts spiraled endlessly. Images of Alvin, standing across from me in the training arena, emotionless as ever. His silver eyes, dull yet piercing. The faint hum of mana, swirling around him like a silent storm.
Would he hold back?
Would I?
Did he even see me as his brother—or simply another opponent?
I didn't know.
And that uncertainty gnawed at my mind like a curse.
...
The day of the duel arrived.
The dueling grounds of House Valen were ancient—wide, circular, with high stone pillars surrounding the platform. Spectators stood at the edges, their faces shadowed beneath enchanted veils. I could feel their eyes on me, hungry, expectant.
Alvin stood opposite me, his form straight, posture relaxed. He wore the standard Valen training robes, runes stitched into the sleeves. A silver crest shimmered on his chest.
His expression?
Blank.
Always blank.
Like he wasn't here. Like this was all a mere formality.
A game.
"Begin," the officiator announced.
And just like that, mana stirred in the air.
...
He moved first.
A pulse of condensed mana shot from his palm, refined and quick. I dodged instinctively, retaliating with a basic wind spell.
He countered it midair. Effortlessly.
There was no hesitation in his movements. No flicker of surprise, anger, or even acknowledgment.
Just pure, mechanical precision.
I grit my teeth. "Alvin! What are you doing?!"
No answer.
Another attack—this time a binding spell aimed for my legs. I deflected it, barely.
He wasn't holding back.
And I was starting to realize… he never intended to.
...
For a moment, time slowed.
I remembered our short conversations. His quiet presence beside me. The way he treated me without judgment. The faint comfort in his stillness.
Was that all a lie?
Or was this just who he truly was?
...
"You really agreed to this," I said, not as a question—but a resignation.
His mana flared in response. And I finally understood.
He wasn't doing this out of hatred.
He wasn't doing it for pride.
He was simply following orders.
Because unlike me—Alvin belonged to this family.
He was their perfect weapon.
...
And I was the defect.
...
I lowered my stance, my heartbeat steadying, not from calm, but from bitter resolve.
He wasn't fighting me.
He was obeying.
And for the first time, I saw the chains around his wrists, not literal ones, but forged from duty, expectation, and manipulation. They bound tighter than steel, guided every step he took, every spell he cast.
They've taken him from me too, I thought.
The crowd watched in silence, enthralled by the spectacle. Some even whispered bets. They didn't see brothers clashing. They saw assets being tested. Stock being compared.
Alvin stepped forward, the mana at his fingertips coalescing into a sharp arc of lightning.
I summoned a barrier, but the force of the impact still drove me back a few steps.
His strength was increasing. Growing more polished, more deadly with each exchange.
I had no intention of winning—but I couldn't let him get hurt either. And the only way to do that...
...was to surrender.
But not with silence.
No.
They'd taken my place. They'd tried to take my voice.
They would not take my will.
...
"Stop!" I shouted, my voice echoing across the dueling ring.
Alvin paused, his hand still raised mid-spell.
"I surrender."
Gasps and laughs fluttered through the air.
"I won't fight him. I won't be their puppet. And neither should you, Alvin."
He didn't move.
His eyes, usually void, blinked once—slowly. A strange shimmer flickered within them.
Confusion?
Recognition?
Emotion?
I couldn't tell.
...
The officiator cleared his throat, annoyed. "The duel is forfeited. Alvin Valen is the official heir."
The crowd began to murmur, which over time started to get louder, but I ignored them.
I looked only at my brother.
"Alvin," I said, voice softer now. "You don't have to follow their path. You don't have to become what they want."
He tilted his head.
Then turned around and walked away.
Not a single word.
...
Later that night, I stood in my chambers, packing.
There was no place for me in this mansion anymore. I'd known that for a while.
I was leaving by choice.
As myself.
And perhaps, one day, I'd return.
...
As I reached for the door, a soft knock came.
I opened it.
No one was there.
Only a folded note on the floor.
Unmarked. Sealed with a wax emblem I didn't recognize.
I opened it.
Inside, a single line written in sharp, practiced handwriting:
"Meet me at the forgotten tower. Midnight."
And beneath that, another line—less refined, shakier. Almost like a child's scrawl:
"I want to understand."
My hands trembled.
It was his writing.
Alvin's.
He had heard me.
...
To Be Continued...
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