The Summoning of the First King’s Clone

The King stepped forward, his voice carrying across the banquet hall with the weight of command.

“Now… the main event shall begin. Summon the First King’s clone.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Magic flared in the center of the grand hall, runes burning across the marble floor. A rift tore open in the air, spilling blinding light and a deep, resonant hum. The nobles leaned back instinctively, their bravado faltering as a figure began to emerge.

But before the clone’s form was fully revealed, the King raised his hand.

“This trial is not without risk. If the First King’s clone were to escape this hall… it would be a catastrophe.” His eyes swept over the gathering. “To ensure our safety, I have gathered the kingdom’s greatest swordsman and its most powerful mage. They will stand ready, should anything go wrong.”

Two figures stepped forward from the edge of the crowd.

The first was Sir Cedric Valtor, a towering man with broad shoulders, silver hair tied back, and a greatsword strapped across his back. His armor gleamed under the torchlight, his movements slow and deliberate, as if every step was a declaration of his own worth.

The second was Lady Selphira, a mage clad in robes of midnight blue, golden embroidery glinting with enchanted light. Her eyes shone with confidence — and just the faintest hint of arrogance — as the air around her shimmered with restrained mana.

Leo’s gaze landed on them… and for a moment, his breath caught.

 Cedric…? Selphira…?

No. These were not his comrades. Not the man who had once been his right hand in battle. Not the woman who had stood beside him at the gates of hell itself, who had woven magic into his blade so it could pierce the Demon Lord’s heart.

These were pale reflections — strong perhaps in this era, but only within the walls of this kingdom.

The King’s words echoed in his mind. “The greatest swordsman… the greatest mage…”

His fists clenched beneath the table. The greatest?
In his lifetime, he had been the greatest swordsman this world had ever seen.
And the greatest mage had been his friend — a woman whose spells could rewrite the battlefield itself.

These two… he thought, bitterness simmering, are great only in the safety of their own cage.

Rage surged in his chest, hot and sharp, but he swallowed it. His face remained calm, cold, unreadable.

Cedric’s gaze flicked toward him. The old warrior’s eyes narrowed slightly. There was something in Leo’s expression — not just disdain, but a deep, controlled fury. A fury that seemed… ancient.

What is it, Viscount wondered silently, that makes a man so young look as if he’s staring at an insult carved into his very soul?

Selphira, however, barely noticed Leo at all, her attention fixed on the summoning circle where the light was growing brighter, the figure within becoming clearer.

The clone stepped forward.

It was like watching a ghost walk into the present.

Even at only ten percent of its true power, the aura it radiated pressed on the air like a storm. Its eyes glowed faintly gold, its stance regal yet ready to strike. It was him — Roman — preserved in the prime of his life, wearing the same armor, carrying the same sword that had cleaved the Demon Lord in two.

The room went silent. The nobles who had mocked the legend moments ago now leaned back in their seats, their throats dry.

Leo stared at his own reflection across time… and for the first time in centuries, his own gaze stared back.