Chapter 153

The moment Lucian Thornfell stepped into the arena, the air shifted.

Heavy. Suffocating. The kind of weight that made grown men forget how to breathe.

Then came the announcement, echoing through the Bloodborne Colosseum like a gunshot.

"Next bout... Lucian Thornfell of the Thornfell Dynasty... versus Kingpin of the Rivers Family!"

A beat of silence.

Then the crowd erupted in disbelief.

"Wait-Lucian?!"

"That's a damn joke!"

"Kingpin's done for! They're feeding him to the wolves!"

Chairs scraped the floor as spectators stood, craning their necks to get a clearer view of the arena. Some people laughed, others covered their mouths in shock. More than a few just sat there stunned, blinking like they'd misheard.

In the VIP lounge, Victor Rivers froze. The name Lucian had dropped into his ears like acid.

He didn't say anything at first. Just clenched his fists.

Then, through gritted teeth, he muttered, "Why him... why now..."

The advisor beside him swallowed hard. "We've drawn the short straw, sir."

Victor's face twitched. "No. We've drawn a damn sword to the throat."

Meanwhile, Kingpin stood at the center of the arena. Alone.

Lucian entered like he owned the floor-slow steps, loose shoulders, head high. Calm. Calculated. Killer.

He didn't even look at Kingpin. Just walked past him like the man was background furniture.

Kingpin's stomach churned.

This wasn't just a fight. This was a funeral.

His.

The crowd grew louder, the noise like a wall closing in. Some shouted encouragement. Others laughed mockingly.

"I hope Kingpin wrote a will."

"He should've stayed home."

"Lucian's the kind of guy who breaks your spine and then your legacy."

Kingpin turned to face Lucian, who now stood casually at the far end of the arena,

arms folded, eyes barely open.

There was no aura of aggression.

No stance.

Just pure, indifferent dominance.

Kingpin's legs trembled.

He took a breath, but it didn't settle his nerves.

He stepped forward.

Hands together.

Bowed low.

Voice cracking.

"...Lucian Thornfell... please. I surrender. I forfeit this match."

Gasps rippled through the crowd like a shockwave.

Lucian still didn't move.

Then—almost lazily—he raised a hand and waved the man off, as if brushing a fly from his table.

The wave wasn't just dismissal.

It was disrespect. Pure, refined disdain. Delivered without a word.

And then the crowd broke.

"What the hell?!"

"Coward!"

"He bowed out without even getting hit!"

"That bastard's a disgrace to his house!"

"You see?! This is why the Rivers are done! Weak!"

Some tried to justify it.

"You expect him to fight Lucian? He's not suicidal."

"It's smart. Live to fight another day."

But those voices were drowned under the outrage.

Booing. Yelling. Some spectators even threw trash toward the arena floor.

Kingpin kept his head down and walked off in shame. Every step sounded heavier than the last.

He approached Victor Rivers and dropped to his knees.

"I'm sorry, Master Victor,” he whispered, eyes lowered. “I... I lost.”

Victor didn't answer immediately.

He looked at his fighter for a long, cold second. His jaw flexed. His fingers twitched.

Inside, his pride was bleeding out.

But his voice was steady. Measured.

"You did what you thought was best,” he said. "It's alright. We were just... unlucky."

A pat on the shoulder.

A bitter lie to keep morale from crumbling.

But inside, Victor wanted to scream. Lucian Thornfell in round one? Round one?

The gods were laughing.

Up in the Thornfell box, a slow clap sliced through the noise like a blade.

Michael Thornfell stood with a grin

that coun

cut glass.

"Congratulations father on your first Without a fight

"No need for congratulations,

kingpin doesn't even deserve to be in the same room with me, it's only

wise he did what he did.

said

sipping a wine.

Micheal looked down at the arena, then turned to the nobles near him.

"Exactly

"From

manomat I expected," he said.

father. The most powerf mang all of Ravenmoor