Oath of the King-Chapter 38: Ashes and Embers

The sky above the tournament grounds burned red.

Not with fire — but with banners, hundreds of them, snapping like war drums in the wind.

Leonhardt stepped through the entry gate, Alden leaning heavily against him, barely upright but stubborn to walk on his own.

The crowd swallowed them instantly — knights, mercenaries, aristocrats, cutthroats in silk.All gathered for the same brutal promise:

Glory. Blood. Ascension.

Althea paced ahead, sharp-eyed, weaving through the press of bodies like a blade.

"Welcome to the Phoenix Tournament," she muttered dryly, scanning the chaos. "Where dreams come to die."

Leonhardt laughed under his breath.

"Or to be reborn," he said.

At the center of the grounds, a colossal stone arena loomed — carved from black basalt, stained darker by the centuries of spilled blood.

Above the gate, a single phrase was etched deep into the stone:

"Only the worthy rise from the ashes."

Alden lifted his head to read it, and something old and furious flickered in his fever-bright eyes.

The wounds hadn't broken him.The betrayals hadn't ended him.

If anything, they had forged him.

Leonhardt watched Alden take a shaky step forward, shoulders squaring despite the pain.

He smiled grimly.

Good.

Because in this place, weakness wasn't forgiven.

It was fed upon.

Meanwhile... unseen from the crowd...

Far above the arena, behind veiled balconies and shadowed boxes, figures in gold-threaded robes whispered.

Names were exchanged.Bets were placed.Fates were sealed.

Among them sat a woman with eyes like molten silver — cold, calculating.

Her voice was soft, but carried weight like iron.

"Watch the boy," she said. "The one with the broken sword-hand and the fevered eyes.I want to see if he burns...or if he rises."

And so it began.

The Tournament of Phoenixes.

Where every battle was a funeral.And every victory was a rebirth.

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