13 Chapter 13: Why Should I Trust You?{Edited}

Leo's world was an abyss of pitch blackness, a void stretched into what felt like an eternity.

Then…

A voice sliced through the stillness, sharp and laced with irritation. [How long do you intend to remain standing there,] it demanded.

"Standing?" he croaked, blinking away the clinging darkness.

His vision cleared, revealing a sight that sent his jaw crashing towards his knees. "What da...?!" he breathed, staring at himself.

He stood tall, grasping a sword thrumming with crimson energy, it's movements as fluid as flames dancing on a wick.

Hair the purest white framed fiery red eyes that burned with an unnerving intensity.

"Mel... what happened?" he choked out, confusion clouding his mind.

A sigh, heavy and reluctant, hung in the air. [Apparently,] Mel drawled.

[your hatred for that arrogant went off the roof, and your sword… reacted.]

His throat tightened.

"Does that mean..." he trailed off.

Mel's voice held a touch of exasperation. [Yes, it means it took over. More accurately, your rage did.]

"This... this is..." he stammered, unable to form a coherent sentence.

[I know,] Mel cut in, her voice softening. [I understand your feelings. The idea of having your own body… at the mercy of some...] she started, then stopped abruptly.

"No, it's not that,"

[Huh?]

"You don't understand. It's actually a boon," he grined.

Silence. Mel gaped, speechless.

"Now that I think about it, all I gotta do is hate someone, then BOOM! Rage takes over…. Hmm, I could literally sleep for weeks while someone else fights my battles," he reasoned.

[What?!] Mel spluttered.

"This is pure gold," he crowed, oblivious to her alarm.

[I know you're crazy and all, but have you forgotten? This is a RAGE sword! Are you telling me you plan to generate enough hate to last WEEKS? Even demons wouldn't manage that!] Mel shrieked, her voice laced with disbelief.

His grin faltered.

The realization slammed into him like a physical blow.

"Shit, I totally forgot about that..." he muttered, the excitement draining from his voice. "No... dammit!"

[Seriously! Being impulsive is one thing, but at least be logical!] Mel scolded.

"Yeah, like you're the epitome of reason," he quipped back.

"So, where's the kid now? Dead?" he asked, his gaze scanning the arena.

[Not quite,] Mel replied, her tone grim.

[But thanks to you, he's lost more than a few brain cells.]

His eyes landed on a still figure lying outside the platform, his heart skipping a beat.

*Ba-dum!*

As he drew closer, the face of the lifeless Rio came into view.

His eyes were vacant, staring sightlessly at the clouds, tongue lolling out as if seeking solace.

A chilling grin crept across Leo's face as he approached the seemly corpse.

[STOP SMILING! UGH!]

"Mel, please," he pleaded, his voice dripping with mock innocence.

"Could you not be so judgmental about my smile?"

Leo then focused on Rio's sword, lying abandoned a few feet away, now twisted wreck.

The silence of the arena was deafening.

The crowd, once roaring with excitement, now sat transfixed, their faces awash with shock and horror.

Despite the gravity of the situation, Leo felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins. The silence amplified his ego, feeding his newfound sense of power.

He reveled in their horrified gazes, a smug grin plastered across his face.

"The... The winner is... Le.. Leo!" the announcer stammered, disbelief coloring his voice.

Duke Constel, the stern ruler, abruptly rose and stormed out of the arena, leaving a trail of stunned silence in his wake.

The once celebratory atmosphere had morphed into a solemn void, many knights leaving with heavy hearts. Rio, once seen as a candidate for the position of heir, had fallen from grace.

And Leo, the banished outcast, had emerged victorious, albeit through means both brutal and unsettling.

This act had redefined him in the eyes of many, transforming him from a weakling to a force to be reckoned with.

.....

The sun, a crimson ember bleeding onto the horizon, painted the world in hues of fading glory. Stars, like tiny diamonds scattered across black velvet, began to peek through the gathering twilight.

Yet, for Leo, the beauty of the setting sun held no solace.

He was a fugitive, a shadow flitting through the imposing stone labyrinth of the Constel fortress.

Guarded by grizzled veterans, their watchful eyes glinting like polished steel under the flickering torches, the fortress thrummed with hidden dangers.

Yet, Leo moved with the silent grace of a panther, each step calculated, each breath a held whisper.

He knew one misstep, one careless sound, could spell his doom.

After an eternity of tense silence, he reached his destination: a towering oak door, polished to a mirror-like sheen. Hesitantly, he rapped twice, the sound sharp and jarring in the stillness.

*Knock-knock!*

"Keep knocking, and you'll be meeting your ancestors before dusk," rumbled a voice from within, laced with venom.

"It's me, Leo," he replied, his voice barely a whisper.

A pregnant pause followed, then the door creaked open, revealing a sight that made Leo's blood run cold.

There stood Rio, his once proud face contorted in a mask of fury. His eyes, dull with shock and betrayal, held the chilling promise of vengeance.

"What are you doing here, you wretched cur?" Rio spat, his voice barely controlled.

Leo, despite the churning fear in his gut, held his ground. A smirk, laced with a dangerous edge, played on his lips. "A proposition, my dear brother."

Rio scoffed, the sound echoing harshly in the confined space. "What could you possibly offer me, after what you've done?"

"The Grand Mansion," Leo said, his voice unwavering. The audacity of his offer hung heavy in the air.

Rio's eyes narrowed, disbelief battling with a flicker of avarice. "The Grand Mansion? Are you mad?"

"Perhaps," Leo replied, his smirk widening. "But consider this: while I may have taken your glory, you still regain the trust of your faction. With the mansion, you'll still have wealth, influence, a chance to rebuild your reputation."

The silence was deafening, broken only by the crackling fire in the hearth. Rio seemed to weigh his options, his face an unreadable mask. The mansion – a symbol of power and prestige – could be his saving grace, a way to salvage some semblance of his shattered future.

But could he trust Leo?