(Serian POV)
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The golden city of Altheon was dressed in celebration—streamers lining the streets, holy bells chiming with every step Serian took through the crowd.
They chanted his name.
"Serian the Radiant!"
"Our Savior!"
"The Light's chosen!"
And yet…
His mind was elsewhere.
His eyes trailed to the royal balcony—where Princess Eliane stood smiling, waving beside her father.
That smile… wasn't for the people.
It was for him.
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But someone else noticed.
Kaien Dreyl, second-ranked knight of the Holy Order, son of a noble duke, and a man who hated Serian with every breath he drew behind a fake smile.
He stood beside Serian in full ceremonial armor, eyes watching Eliane—jaw tight.
"She's grown fond of you," Kaien said quietly.
Serian kept smiling for the crowd. "Has she?"
"You weren't here when she cried every night praying for a real hero."
He stepped closer. "And now she clings to a stranger. A perfect stranger."
Serian's mask didn't slip—but inside, Kael felt the ripple of something dangerous.
Jealousy.
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Later that night, after the ceremony ended and the nobles drank themselves into dazes, Kaien came to Serian's private courtyard with a wine flask and a challenge.
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"I heard you've never picked up a real sword," Kaien said, tossing a practice blade at Serian's feet. "They say the Light guides your hand. I say luck does."
Serian looked down at the blade.
Then back up—his golden eyes unreadable.
> "You wish to duel."
"I wish to expose you," Kaien sneered. "Eliane deserves more than a puppet paraded by the church."
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The duel began in the moonlight.
Kaien attacked first—fast, skilled, brutal.
But Serian…
He didn't block.
He dodged. Countered. Moved like wind itself.
He wasn't just a hero.
He was a weapon forged by Kael's mind and divine mimicry—every knight's technique, every battle instinct sharpened by an unseen master.
Kaien fell to one knee, blood on his lip.
"You…" he gasped. "You're not human."
Serian lowered his sword, voice cold.
> "You're right."
> "I'm better."
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He turned away, leaving Kaien humiliated under the stars.
And as he walked past the moonlit roses near the princess's window, Serian paused—just long enough to whisper to himself.
> "You want to steal what's mine?"
"Then try. And break."
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