Chapter 144 - - 144 - The Immovable Princess

Chapter 144: Chapter - 144 - The Immovable Princess

She stopped pacing abruptly, looking at him with wide, uncertain eyes. "What do you mean?"

"If you beat him outright, the court will see you as a threat," Lucien said, his voice smooth and calculated as he leaned casually against the stone wall. "A usurper. Someone who humiliated the Crown Prince and stole his birthright in broad daylight. That’s not the narrative we want."

Zaria tilted her head, her brow furrowing deeply. "Then what do we want?"

"We want them to see you as noble. As long-suffering. As the victim who refused to strike back." A faint, sharp smile touched his lips. "And we want them to see your brother as a bully who couldn’t handle being matched by his ’weak’ sister."

Zaria frowned, the realization slowly setting in as her jaw tightened. "You want me to lose."

"I want you to endure." Lucien walked toward her, stopping just a few feet away so he could look down into her eyes. "Don’t fight to win. Fight to embarrass. Block his attacks, dodge his techniques, and never—never—strike back. Let him exhaust himself while you stand there, untouched. Let the crowd watch him grow more and more frustrated while you remain entirely calm."

Vex, perched lazily on a wooden crate in the corner of the cellar, nodded slowly as she took in the strategy. "That’s... actually brilliant."

Zaria considered his words for a long, quiet moment. She looked down at her hands, feeling the massive power of the Earth-Sovereign Physique humming beneath her skin, and then looked back up at Lucien. Slowly, a genuine smile spread across her face. "He’ll hate it."

"He’ll hate it so much," Vex added with a dark chuckle from the shadows.

"And remember, Zaria," Lucien warned, his tone suddenly turning cold and serious. "No matter what happens out there, never, and I mean never, lose control of your emotions. I know this because I have seen many Realm Masters get killed simply because they lost their temper."

Vex paused, her smile fading slightly as she looked over at him with a worrisome expression. A sudden thought crossed her mind, and she wondered if she was prying too much into his past. "So does that mean your comrades got killed like that? Because of emotions?"

Lucien met her gaze with complete stillness. "No. I was the one doing the killing."

Vex blinked, caught off guard for a second, before bursting into a light laugh. "Ha! I knew it! But I haven’t seen you use your powers, not even once. I can’t wait to see it."

"Oh, you should pray that I never have to use my powers here," Lucien said with a small, dangerous smirk.

Before any of them truly realized how fast the hours were slipping by, the day of the duel arrived.

The grand arena was packed to absolute capacity. Tens and thousand spectators filled the sweeping, tiered stone benches that spiraled up toward the open sky. Nobles draped in fine silks occupied the shaded back rows, their personal guards and retainers standing silently behind them. Commoners had been admitted to the lower front tiers, their voices merging into a constant, echoing roar of anticipation. Everyone was waiting anxiously to see what the once-unblessed princess would show them. Was the kingdom’s politics about to shift forever, or was this whole thing a foolish mistake? The tension in the air was thick enough to taste.

Up in the royal box, Queen Veyra sat in cold, stoic silence, surrounded by her top military commanders and advisors.

Lucien stood deep in the shadows beneath the arena’s eastern archway. He remained completely invisible to the roaring crowd, but the angle gave him a perfectly clear view of the fighting floor. Up above, Vex had blended seamlessly among the palace servants, her eyes scanning the spectator tiers.

A trumpet blared, and the Crown Prince entered the arena floor first. Varen wore immaculate ceremonial armor of polished gold and crimson steel, his golden aura blazing proudly around his shoulders like a halo. He raised a hand toward the crowd with a confident grin, and a loud wave of cheers echoed through the stadium—though the applause was notably more muted than it had been during the festival days prior.

Then Zaria entered.

She wore plain, unadorned blue robes. She wore no heavy armor, no jewelry, and carried no weapons. Her dark hair was pulled back securely behind her head, and her face was completely serene.

The common subjects of the Veylcrest kingdom knew exactly what kind of man the Crown Prince was—arrogant, cruel, and selfish. For years, the people had wanted to raise their voices against his tyranny, but how could anyone speak up when there was no alternative to support? They had once wished Princess Zaria could claim the throne instead, but she had lacked both power and talent. Now, seeing her walk into the arena with her head held high, everything had changed.

The roaring crowd gradually fell quiet as she took her place. Then, from the front tier of commoners, a single man began to clap. Then another joined in. Then three more. Within seconds, a scattered wave of applause echoed across the stone benches—hesitant at first, but deeply genuine.

Varen’s jaw tightened instantly. His golden aura flared violently, his chest heaving as he stared across the sandy floor at his sister. They stood face to face, separated by thirty paces. Neither of them was smiling, but while Varen’s face twisted with raw anger and burning contempt, Zaria remained utterly calm and collected.

The court herald stepped to the edge of the stone ring and raised a parchment scroll, his voice booming across the arena. The terms were recited clearly: First blood. No intentional killing blows. The duel would end only when one combatant drew blood from the other, or when Queen Veyra herself called a halt to the contest.

"Begin!" the herald roared, sweeping his hand down.

Varen attacked the moment the word left the herald’s mouth. His eyes burned with fiery contempt, desperate to break Zaria and put her back in her place before the entire kingdom.

Golden fire erupted from his fists—the exact same flashy, destructive technique he had shown off at the festival. It was a terrifying display of raw power, and Lucien noted silently from the archway that it was even stronger than it looked on paper. The Crown Prince wasn’t completely incompetent, after all.

The wave of searing flame roared across the sand, swallowing Zaria whole.

Yet, Zaria didn’t dodge. She didn’t even raise her hands to block. She simply stood her ground, letting her newly awakened Earth-Sovereign Physique absorb the scorching heat like a massive stone cliff swallowing a splash of rain. The violent flames washed uselessly over her shoulders and vanished into thin air, leaving her blue robes entirely uncharred and her skin untouched.

After all, Lucien had trained her well in how to balance her internal astral pool with her physique.

A massive, collective gasp echoed through the ten thousand spectators.

Varen’s eyes went wide as he stared through the dissipating smoke. "What—"

"Is it my turn to stand still? Because I don’t think you can even do anything," Zaria said, her voice calm, clear, and almost bored. "Go ahead. Try again."

She had learned from the very best how to casually push an opponent into losing their temper.

Furious, Varen struck again without hesitation. He summoned sharp blades of compressed wind, whipping them straight toward her exposed neck with lethal speed. Zaria merely tilted her head a fraction of an inch to the side. The wind blades struck her collarbone and shattered on impact like fragile glass slamming into solid granite.

Roaring in frustration, Varen slammed his palms onto the dirt, sending sharp spikes of jagged rock shooting up from beneath her boots. Zaria casually stomped her foot once, and the rising earth spikes crumbled back into harmless dust before they could even scratch her skin.

Every attack he threw, she effortlessly absorbed. Every high-tier technique he unleashed, she completely nullified. She hadn’t moved a single inch from her starting mark. She didn’t strike back. She didn’t raise a finger to attack. She simply stood there in her plain robes, enduring the assault while her expression remained totally unchanged.

A dense murmur began to ripple through the tiered benches. Whispers spread through the crowd like wind blowing through dry grass.

"She’s not even trying..."

"He can’t even touch her!"

"The prince is attacking with everything he has—and she’s just standing there taking it!"

Now the entire kingdom was watching, and the dramatic difference between them was painfully clear to see. The contrast between an arrogant prince flailing wildly and a true master standing immovable was night and day.

Varen’s polished composure cracked completely. His attacks grew sloppy, wild, and wildly uncoordinated. He was panting heavily now, thick beads of sweat dripping down his flushed face as his golden aura flickered erratically around his armor.

"Fight me!" he screamed, his voice cracking with rage. "Stop dodging!"

"I haven’t moved," Zaria replied quietly.

The gap between their abilities was vast. Varen was technically an extraordinary cultivator for his age, but he was plagued by fatal flaws: he had no control over his temper, he possessed no special physique, and he was stuck at the Vein Opening Realm. Against a Spirit Forge Realm master backed by an Earth-Sovereign Physique, he was hopelessly outclassed.

Frustration consumed Varen completely. His internal astral pool was rapidly draining, none of his attacks were making a dent, and to make matters a hundred times worse, the commoners in the crowd were actively cheering for Zaria.

Everything about this moment was humiliating him. And then, his mind snapped.

Losing his remaining sanity, Varen threw every rule, every restriction, and every bit of royal decorum out the window. He no longer cared about first blood. He simply wanted to kill his sister for making a fool of him in front of the court. He fell back, drew in a ragged breath, and began gathering every single drop of his remaining astral energy into a single, terrifying strike.

A blinding, destructive heat built around his hands.

Varen, completely desperate and blind with fury, poured everything he had left into his ultimate technique: the Golden Sun Incineration. It was the same ability he had demonstrated at the festival, but now it was recklessly amplified, completely uncontrolled, and dangerous.

From the shadows of the archway, Lucien’s eyes narrowed slightly. That technique would destroy the arena floor. It might even kill the nearby bystanders in the front rows, he calculated in an instant.

Then, a cold, dark spark flashed in Lucien’s mind. Perfect. This is exactly what I was waiting for.

Zaria saw the massive ball of swirling golden fire building in her brother’s hands. With her speed, she easily could have dodged it. She easily could have stepped forward and broken his neck before he even finished charging it. But Lucien had told her to endure, and so she stood her ground, bracing her core.

"Die!" Varen screamed, hurling the massive sphere of destruction directly at her face.

The golden sun exploded on impact.

A deafening roar shattered the air as the arena floor disintegrated into blinding light. Shockwaves tore through the stadium as the ancient stone ring shattered into flying shrapnel. A wave of scorching, suffocating heat washed over the front tiers, causing nobles and commoners alike to scream in terror, diving to the ground and shielding their faces from the blinding flash.

For several long seconds, thick gray smoke and choking dust hung heavy over the ruined arena, masking everything in complete silence.

When the dust finally began to clear, a collective gasp ran through the crowd.

Half of the grand arena was completely destroyed, reduced to a jagged pit of scorched rubble and broken stone.

And right in the center of the destruction, Zaria was still standing.

She was completely unharmed. Her simple blue robes remained pristine and untorn, and her expression was as calm and serene as a quiet pond.

But the arena around her—the ancient stone arena that had hosted a thousand honorable duels over centuries of royal history—was completely gone, ruined by the Crown Prince’s reckless, murderous temper.

The crowd erupted into an absolute frenzy.

Not in cheers for Varen.

But in absolute horror.