Chapter 1 — The Traveler in the City

The city smelled of smoke, fresh bread, and iron from the smithies. Merchants shouted over one another, children darted between legs, and the distant clatter of hooves echoed through the stone streets. Among the chaos, one figure moved with calm precision.

Kaelen Drayce, the masked champion once feared as the Mirrorblade, sat on a weathered wooden bench in the city square. His hood shadowed short black hair, hiding the golden eyes that had once ruled the Colosseum. Months of wandering had taught him the value of silence. The crowds ignored him, but his presence drew attention anyway, an invisible weight pressing into the air.

A soft voice interrupted his thoughts.

“You… haven’t found anyone worthy yet, have you?”

Kaelen’s head tilted slightly. Beside him stood a young man, barely twenty, his hair dark and tousled, eyes blazing sapphire with unyielding determination. He exuded energy, impatience, and confidence all at once—a dangerous combination for someone untested.

“I am not looking,” Kaelen replied calmly, voice flat and emotionless. A warning hidden in every word.

“I don’t care about reasons,” the boy said with a grin. “I just want a fight. A real fight. One that shows me what I’m made of.”

Kaelen studied him, noting posture, tension, and instinct. The boy’s skill was raw, yet he had potential. That spark was enough.

“What is your weapon?” Kaelen asked, noticing the hilt barely visible beneath Kaelen’s rope belt.

“A sword,” Kaelen said quietly. “I was a swordsman. Now… I am nothing but a traveler.”

The boy’s eyes gleamed. “Then… would you spar with me?”

Kaelen exhaled slowly, considering. There was no reason to fight. Yet the boy’s aura called to him, promising a challenge—not just in swordsmanship, but in spirit. Finally, Kaelen nodded.

The first strike came without warning. The young prince vanished, reappearing in a flash before Kaelen, sword aimed at his chest. Kaelen’s Aether Morphblade hummed as he intercepted the attack. The boy froze, eyes wide.

“You… blocked it?” he gasped.

Kaelen said nothing.

Blows rained, a torrent of unrefined, forceful attacks. Kaelen moved with calm precision, deflecting, parrying, and countering. Every strike from the boy was met with effortless mastery.

Then the prince unleashed a technique called Rising Dragon Slash, a flowing, elegant move designed to overwhelm. Kaelen’s golden eyes focused, analyzing the motion. In an instant, he mirrored it—perfect, smoother, stronger. When his blade pressed to the boy’s chest, silence fell.

“I win,” Kaelen said simply.

The boy staggered back, disbelief and awe written across his face. “How…? I don’t even know the full technique… and you’ve perfected it. I… I’ve lost for the first time.”

Kaelen’s gaze softened slightly. “I am no one. Just a traveler.”

The boy straightened, determination undimmed. “I am Prince Aric of Valenheart. I want you to train me. I will pay anything. You have the skill, the experience… the right to teach me. Will you?”

Kaelen paused, weighing the boy’s words. He had no home, no ties, no purpose beyond wandering. For the first time in years, he felt… needed.

“Very well,” he said finally. “I will teach you.”

The prince’s eyes lit with excitement, and Kaelen felt a faint smile tug at the corner of his lips.

Unseen by both of them, a shadow flickered at the city’s edge. Dark energy pulsed faintly, warning of monsters and demons that lurked beyond the city walls. The world they knew was about to collide with something far deadlier than a young prince’s sword.

And so, the journey of the Mirrorblade began—not in the Colosseum, but in a quiet city square, with a young prince eager to learn, and a warrior who had learned to copy everything… except his own destiny.