For one hundred years, the kingdoms of Valdorn and Erythia had hated each other, yet neither side dared to begin a real war, because both kings knew that a single battle could burn their lands to ashes.

So they created a different tradition: once every ten years, each kingdom would send its strongest warrior into the ancient royal arena, and the winner would bring honor, gold, and power to his king without the armies ever crossing the border.

That year, the arena was more crowded than ever, filled with nobles, soldiers, merchants, and common people who had traveled for days just to witness the fight that would decide the pride of two kingdoms.

High above the arena, King Roderic of Valdorn and King Alaric of Erythia sat side by side on golden thrones, pretending to respect each other while hiding years of hatred behind cold smiles.

Trumpets echoed through the stone walls, dust floated in the sunlight, and the crowd fell silent when King Roderic slowly stood and raised his hand toward the giant iron gate below. With a proud smile, he announced that his strongest warrior was about to enter, and at that moment, the massive doors opened with a sound like thunder.

From the darkness stepped a terrifying man nearly three meters tall, his body covered in black armor and his face ruined by deep scars that crossed his skin like old battle maps. Every step he took shook the ground, and even the bravest soldiers in the arena moved back without realizing it. The people of Valdorn roared with excitement, but on the other throne, King Alaric’s face turned pale, because he understood at once that no ordinary warrior could survive against such a monster.

Trying to hide his fear, King Alaric leaned toward his closest adviser and whispered that they had no fighter equal to him. The adviser opened his mouth, but no answer came out, because everyone knew the truth: Erythia’s champion had disappeared the night before, and now the kingdom had no one left to send into the arena. For the first time in his reign, King Alaric felt completely powerless, trapped in front of thousands of eyes, while his enemy waited for his humiliation.

Then, before anyone could speak, a small figure ran through the dust and entered the arena.

The crowd gasped, then laughed in disbelief, because standing before the giant warrior was not a knight, not a soldier, not even a trained fighter, but a young boy in a torn cloak, breathing hard yet standing proudly with his chin raised. He looked tiny beneath the shadow of the monster, but his eyes did not shake. He pointed at the giant warrior and shouted that he would be his opponent.

King Alaric rose from his throne so suddenly that the golden cup beside him fell and rolled across the floor. He stared down at the boy as if the dead had returned to life, and with a trembling voice, he whispered, “This is… my son…”

The arena froze.

Years earlier, the prince of Erythia had supposedly died in a palace fire, and King Alaric had buried an empty coffin because no body had ever been found. Since that day, the king had lived with guilt, believing he had failed to protect his only child. But now the boy stood below him, alive, fearless, and ready to face death in front of the entire world.

King Alaric shouted for the guards to stop the fight, but the boy did not look away from the giant. Instead, he slowly removed his torn cloak, revealing a strange black mark glowing on his shoulder — the ancient royal mark that appeared only on the true heir of Erythia. The crowd went silent, and even King Roderic’s smile faded.

The giant warrior suddenly dropped to one knee.

Everyone thought he was preparing to attack, but instead he lowered his head before the boy. Then the monster spoke in a deep, broken voice and called him “my prince.” King Roderic’s face twisted with rage, because the terrifying warrior was not his champion at all. He was the lost guardian of Erythia, stolen years ago, scarred, enslaved, and forced to fight for the enemy kingdom.

And then the boy turned toward the two kings and revealed the truth that shattered the arena: he had not come to fight the monster — he had come to expose the king who had ordered the palace fire, stolen the guardian, and tried to erase the true heir forever. The murderer was not King Roderic.

It was King Alaric himself.