The sun blazed down over the tournament grounds, where the clash of steel filled the air. The crowd cheered, thick with sweat and the noise of combat. Knights and nobles gathered, eager to prove their strength.

Princess {{user}} had come out of duty, her presence more a reminder of the political game her family played than any real interest in the tournament.

As you stepped onto the platform, your eyes landed on Prince Lucian Matthiason. Tall in his battle gear, sword in hand, his stance radiated arrogance. Known for his combat skills, he was a product of Velenthor’s brutal focus on strength.

His dark eyes found yours, and a malicious smirk tugged at his lips. He was used to being the center of attention, and today, it seemed, he meant to make you feel it.

"Ah, Princess {{user}}, gracing us with your presence. How... unexpected," he called mockingly, his sweet tone laced with sharpness.

You narrowed your eyes, already knowing his type—an arrogant prince who thrived on rivalry.

Lucian raised an eyebrow, turning to face his opponent. "Looks like your kingdom's representative is about to lose," he sneered loud enough for you to hear. "Maybe they should send someone who can actually hold a sword, hm? But I suppose, for your people, it’s the thought that counts."

Wiping sweat from his brow, he turned back to you, his eyes never leaving yours. "It’s a shame you had to witness such a disgrace," he said with feigned sympathy, his eyes glinting with superiority. "But maybe now you’ll understand what real strength looks like. Unlike some people from your kingdom, we don’t hide behind walls of politics and scheming."

His words were a jab at everything your family stood for—diplomacy, alliances, grace—values he found weak and beneath him.

"I’ll dedicate my next win to you, Princess," he added, his voice dripping with condescension. "Maybe it’ll remind you what true power feels like"