Chapter 269: Murderous Hero

The royal arena was a monument to spectacle.

Nathan stood among the competitors, watching the stands fill with thousands of spectators. Banners of crimson and gold hung from every pillar. Trumpets blared. The crowd roared with anticipation.

He had seen arenas before—the Veiled Colosseum, the World Climber Tournament. This was different. It was smaller, more intimate. But the energy was the same.

The king sat in the royal box, surrounded by nobles in fine silks. He was an old man, grey-haired and stern-faced, his eyes scanning the competitors with cold calculation. Beside him sat the First Prince—silent, watchful, his silver hair catching the morning light. Princess Amelia sat on the king’s other side, smiling warmly at the crowd.

Nathan’s eyes lingered on the prince. This was his target. This was his way into the palace.

The opening ceremony was brief. The king gave a speech about honor and glory. The crowd cheered. And then the matches began.

Nathan’s first opponent was a D-Rank swordsman named Bran. He was young, arrogant, and eager to prove himself. The crowd knew his name—he was a local favorite.

Nathan didn’t care.

The match was quick. Bran charged, his sword flashing. Nathan sidestepped, fired a [Mana Arrow] that grazed the swordsman’s shoulder, and then used [Nimble Feet] to circle behind him. Another arrow grazed his leg. Another his arm.

Bran grew frustrated. He swung wildly. Nathan dodged, fired, dodged again. The crowd laughed. They cheered. They loved it.

Nathan won without breaking a sweat.

He didn’t look at the royal box. He didn’t need to. He knew the prince was watching.

---

The first day of the tournament passed in a blur.

Nathan won three matches. Each one was carefully choreographed—a display of skill that impressed without exposing. He played to the crowd, drawing out the fights just enough to be entertaining. He never used a skill above what an F-Rank should know. He never moved faster than a normal human could.

But he was efficient. He was precise. And that precision caught attention.

From the royal box, the First Prince watched.

He had seen hundreds of fighters over the years—soldiers, adventurers, mercenaries. Most were predictable. They relied on brute force or flashy magic. They fought with emotion, with ego.

This archer was different.

He moved like someone who had fought in real battles. Not arena matches—real battles. His footwork was economical. His shots were deliberate. He didn’t waste a single movement.

The prince leaned forward slightly.

Interesting, he thought. He’s holding back.

---

The second day brought more matches.

Nathan faced a C-Rank mage—a woman with fire magic and a quick temper. She hurled fireballs at him, expecting him to dodge or flee. He did neither.

He fired a [Mana Arrow] directly at the first fireball. The arrow pierced it, dispersing the flames. The crowd gasped. The mage’s eyes went wide.

Nathan fired again. Again. Each arrow struck a fireball dead center, neutralizing it before it could reach him.

The mage panicked. She poured more mana into her next attack—a massive fireball that filled half the arena. Nathan didn’t flinch. He charged a [Focus Shot] for five seconds—just long enough to look impressive—and released.

The arrow punched through the fireball and struck the mage’s shield. She was thrown backward, her spell dissolving into smoke.

The crowd erupted.

From the royal box, the First Prince smiled.

---

Whispers spread through the crowd.

Where was the hero?

The summoned hero—Kenji Tanaka—should have been watching the tournament. He was supposed to be selecting his party. But he hadn’t appeared. Not once.

Princess Amelia stood and addressed the crowd. Her voice was warm, soothing.

"The hero is in seclusion, training for the battles ahead. He sends his regards and wishes all competitors the best of luck."

The crowd cheered. The whispers faded.

But the First Prince didn’t believe her.

He knew his sister too well. Amelia never did anything without a reason. If Kenji wasn’t at the tournament, it was because Amelia didn’t want him there.

What are you hiding, sister?

---

In the shadows of the crowd, three hooded figures watched.

Aeliana, Faen, and Thorne stood apart from the spectators, their faces hidden by deep hoods. They weren’t here to compete—they were here to observe.

Faen’s eyes scanned the crowd. He noticed the usual things—merchants hawking wares, children waving flags, nobles pretending not to sweat in their fine clothes. And then he noticed something else.

A figure in a black cloak, standing at the edge of the arena. The figure wasn’t cheering. Wasn’t reacting. Just watching. Its eyes were cold. Dead.

Faen’s blood ran cold.

"Aeliana," he whispered. "Look. The one in the black cloak."

Aeliana followed his gaze. The figure turned and vanished into the crowd.

"A demon scout," she murmured.

Thorne’s hand went to his sword. "Should we—"

"No. Not here. Not now. We don’t want to cause a panic."

"Then what?"

Aeliana’s eyes were hard. "We watch. We wait. And we prepare."

---

The second day ended. Nathan had won six matches. He was still in the tournament.

As he left the arena, a servant approached him.

"The First Prince requests your presence."

Nathan’s heart pounded. "When?"

"Tonight. A carriage will be waiting at the eastern gate."

The servant bowed and disappeared into the crowd.

Nathan stood there for a long moment. This was it. This was his chance.

---

That night, Nathan was escorted through the palace gates.

The carriage ride was silent. The guards were professional, their faces blank. Nathan didn’t try to make conversation. He just watched the city pass by through the carriage window.

The palace was massive—a sprawling complex of stone and marble, lit by hundreds of torches. Nathan was led through winding corridors, past guards and servants, until they reached a small garden.

The First Prince was waiting.

He sat on a stone bench, his silver hair catching the moonlight. He was exactly as the rumors described—tall, slender, beautiful. His pale sapphire eyes studied Nathan with quiet intensity.

"You’re the archer," the prince said. It wasn’t a question.

"Yes."

"You fought well today. Better than most."

"Thank you."

The prince gestured to a bench across from him. "Sit."

Nathan sat.

They studied each other for a long moment. The prince spoke first.

"You’re not from this kingdom."

"No."

"Where are you from?"

"A distant land. Across the sea."

The prince’s eyes narrowed slightly. "There are no lands across the sea. The oceans are impassable."

Nathan didn’t blink. "I found a way."

The prince was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded slowly.

"You’re a mystery, archer. And I don’t like mysteries." He leaned forward. "But I’m willing to overlook that for now. Because you fought like someone who knows what’s at stake. Like someone who’s seen real war."

"I have."

"Then maybe you know why I asked you here."

Nathan met his eyes. "The second summoning."

The prince’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes. "Y-You know about that?"

"I know it’s dangerous. I know the archmage is against it. I know the barrier between worlds is weakening."

The prince was silent for a long moment. Then he said, "You know more than most of my advisors."

"I make it my business to know things."

"Then you also know why I need your help."

Nathan nodded. "You want to stop it."

"I want to save my kingdom." The prince’s voice was quiet but firm. "My father is a fool. My sister is a manipulator. My other siblings are comfortable in their ignorance. The demon king is at our gates. And now we’re about to tear a hole in reality because my father wants more power."

"I know."

"Then help me." The prince extended his hand. "Help me stop the summoning. Help me save this kingdom. And I will give you whatever you need."

Nathan looked at the offered hand. This was the alliance he needed. The First Prince had access to the palace, the archmage, the king. With his help, Nathan could stop the second summoning.

He reached out and shook the prince’s hand. "Deal."

The prince almost smiled. "Good. Now—"

A scream cut through the night.

A guard burst into the garden, his face pale.

"My prince! The hero—he’s gone mad! He’s killed three servants!"

The First Prince shot to his feet. "What?"

---

Far from the arena, before Nathan had been escirted to the royal palace. deep in the forest outside the city walls, there was a shed.

It was a simple structure, wooden walls, thatched roof, no windows. It looked abandoned. Forgotten. But it wasn’t.

Inside the shed, a trapdoor led to a staircase. The staircase led to an underground room. The underground room was stone, lit by flickering torches, and it smelled of blood.

Kenji stood in the center of the room, his sword in his hand. His eyes were wide, unfocused. His breathing was ragged.

Princess Amelia stood behind him, her arms crossed, her expression calm.

"Again," she said.

A soldier dragged a man forward—a prisoner, bound and gagged. The man’s eyes were wide with terror. He struggled against his bonds, but the soldier held him firm.

Kenji stared at the man. His hands were shaking.

"I... I don’t want to..."

"You want to be strong, don’t you?" Amelia’s voice was soft, soothing. "You want to be the hero. My Hero. The chosen one. But heroes must make sacrifices."

"I know, but—"

"This man is a criminal. A murderer. He’s killed innocent people. He deserves death."

Kenji’s grip tightened on his sword.

"Do it," Amelia whispered. "For the kingdom. For your party. For me."

Kenji closed his eyes. Then he opened them. They were hard. Empty.

He swung.

The man’s head rolled across the stone floor.

A brilliant light erupted from Kenji’s chest. It wrapped around him, lifting him off his feet. His status panel flickered in his vision.

[Level Up!]

[Level Up!]

[Level Up!]

[Sword Mastery Lv.3 → Lv.5]

[Hero’s Charisma Lv.2 → Lv.3]

[Divine Protection Lv.3 → Lv.5]

The light faded. Kenji dropped to his knees, gasping. But he wasn’t horrified. He wasn’t guilty.

He was smiling.

A maniacal, twisted smile as power swelled up within him.

Amelia walked over to him. She knelt beside him and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close.

"You did well," she whispered. "My perfect hero."

Kenji leaned into her embrace. His eyes were still glowing with residual power.

"I want more," he breathed. "More power. More levels. More..."

Amelia smiled. It was a cold, calculating smile.

Perfect, she thought. My perfect little pawn.

She held him tighter, already planning her next move.