Reborn as the Last van Ambrose

Princess Liona stood on her balcony, watching the city below come alive with the excitement of the tournament. Banners flew from every tower, street vendors hawked their wares, and the inns overflowed with visitors from across the Empire and beyond.

At twenty, she had grown into a beauty that captivated all who saw her. Golden blonde hair cascaded straight down to her waist. She has high cheekbones, full lips that curved easily into a warm smile, and blue eyes that sparkle like the ocean. Her figure was the definition of perfection. An hourglass silhouette with generous curves in all the right places, a full bust that drew appreciative glances, and a slender waist that accentuated her feminine proportions. The kind of classic beauty that inspired artists and turned heads wherever she went. She embodied the ideal that many dreamed of in a partner.

A soft knock at her door pulled her from her thoughts.

"Enter," she called, not turning from the view.

"Still dreaming of escape?" Empress Alexia asked as she joined her daughter on the balcony.

Liona’s lips curved in a faint smile. "Always. Though I suspect the tournament crowds would make it difficult to slip away unnoticed."

"Indeed." Alexia studied her daughter’s profile. "You’re not dressed for the opening ceremonies."

"I’ll change shortly."

A pause stretched between them. It left an awkward silence.

"Max Luminaris has arrived in the capital," Alexia finally said. "He’s requested a private audience before the tournament begins."

Liona’s fingers tightened on the balcony railing. "Has he."

"Liona—"

"I know my duty, Mother," Liona interrupted, her voice carefully controlled. "The engagement will proceed as planned. House Luminaris’s support is crucial to stabilizing the northern territories. I understand the political necessity."

"It’s not just politics," Alexia said. "Max is a good match. Intelligent, well-positioned, not unattractive."

"High praise indeed," Liona replied dryly.

Alexia sighed. "You need to move forward, Liona. It’s been twelve years. Grim is gone."

The mention of his name made Liona flinch almost imperceptibly. "I’m well aware."

"Are you?" Alexia pressed. "Because sometimes I think you’re still that girl who ran from the throne room in tears, waiting for a boy who will never return."

Liona finally turned to face her mother, her expression composed but her eyes flashing with emotion. "I’m not waiting for anyone, Mother. I simply wish to marry for reasons beyond political expediency."

"A luxury few princesses are afforded," Alexia replied, not unkindly. "Especially in times like these."

Liona looked away. "I’ll be ready for the ceremonies."

Recognizing the dismissal, Alexia nodded and turned to leave. At the doorway, she paused. "For what it’s worth, I believe Max genuinely admires you. That’s more than many political matches begin with."

When her mother had gone, Liona returned her gaze to the city below, to the coliseum where the tournament would soon begin. For a moment, she allowed herself to remember the dance she shared, the fun she had being around a boy younger than herself, a boy who treated her like any other person.

With a deep breath, she pushed the memory away. Her mother was right about one thing.... It was time to move forward. The past, like Grim himself, was dead and buried.

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The Imperial Capital swarmed with people, a churning sea of bodies that parted instinctively as Grim strode through the main thoroughfare. His white robes stood out starkly against the colorful festival atmosphere, drawing curious glances that quickly averted when met with his cold gaze.

"Fucking crowds," he muttered, shouldering past a group of gawking visitors. "This place is even more of a shitshow than I remembered."

Chen Xing followed a step behind, his nondescript gray clothing allowing him to blend into the background. He had aged well, despite being over 30, he still looked like he was in his early twenties.

"The tournament has doubled the city’s population," Chen Xing observed.

The Imperial Coliseum loomed ahead, a massive structure of white stone and gleaming metal that had been expanded since Grim last saw it. A long line of contestants snaked from its registration entrance, young men and women from every corner of the Empire hoping for glory.

Grim observed the line. "We’re not waiting in that," he stated flatly.

"There’s a secondary entrance for nobility," Chen Xing suggested.

"Better," Grim said, changing direction abruptly. "Though nobility is a stretch these days."

[Technically, you’re still the heir to House Ambrose,] the voice reminded him. [Dead or not.] ƒгeewёbnovel.com

"A house with no land, no wealth, and no living members besides a supposedly dead boy," Grim responded silently. "Some inheritance."

They approached the smaller entrance where guards in imperial colors checked credentials.

[The security has improved,] the voice noted. [Alexia’s been busy.]

"Good," Grim thought. "Means Malaxis can’t just waltz in whenever he feels like it."

The guard at the entrance straightened as they approached. "Documentation?" he requested, eyeing Grim’s white robes.

Grim said nothing, simply withdrawing the imperial pin from within his robes and holding it up. The golden emblem caught the sunlight, the empress’s personal seal unmistakable.

The guard’s eyes widened. "An imperial favor token," he said, his tone shifting to immediate deference. "My apologies, sir. Please, proceed directly to the registrar’s office." He stepped aside, gesturing to an ornate door behind him.

"The companion too," Grim said, his tone making it clear this wasn’t a request.

"Of course, sir."

Inside, the registrar’s office was cool and quiet compared to the chaos outside. A stern-looking woman sat behind a large desk covered in scrolls and registration forms. She glanced up as they entered, her expression neutral.

"Name and house for registration?" she asked crisply.

Grim placed the imperial token on her desk. "This is my registration."

The woman stared at the token, then at Grim’s face, her composure cracking slightly. "Sir, while this token grants you entry to the tournament, we still require your name for the records."

"Cassius Van Ambrose," he replied, watching her reaction carefully.

Her quill froze mid-stroke. "I... that’s not possible. The Ambrose line died twelve years ago."

"Clearly not," Grim replied dryly.

"I can’t simply register a dead man for the imperial tournament," she protested, recovering some of her professional demeanor.

Grim leaned forward slightly. "The pin says you can and will. Or would you prefer to explain to the Empress why you refused her token?"

[You enjoy intimidation a bit too much,] the voice commented, amused.

"It’s efficient," Grim countered internally.

The registrar swallowed hard, then nodded once and began writing. "Fighting style?" she asked, her voice slightly unsteady.

Grim considered for a moment. This choice was deliberate, a calculated move in the game he was about to play.

"Celestial Mist," he answered.

[Interesting choice,] the voice noted. [Hiding your light affinity for now.]

"Grandfather’s techniques are more... flexible."

The registrar finished her notation, then stamped the form with the imperial seal. "You’re registered for the preliminary rounds beginning tomorrow," she said, handing him a small metal token with the number seven engraved on it. "Group Seven, Eastern Arena."

Grim took the token, tucking it and the imperial pin away. "Accommodations?"

"Contestants of your... status... are typically housed in the imperial guest quarters," she answered cautiously.

"Not happening," Grim said flatly. "Too many eyes, too many questions."

"As you wish, sir."

Outside, Chen Xing kept pace as Grim moved purposefully through the crowded streets. "Was that wise?" he asked quietly. "Using your grandfather’s name?"

"It was necessary," Grim replied. "The point is to make a statement. Grim Van Ambrose is back from the dead. They’ll be shocked because theyll be expecting someone else. Its time i claim whats mine."

"And what exactly is yours?" Chen Xing asked.

Grim’s eyes hardened as he glanced toward the imperial palace rising above the city. "Justice. Vengeance. My father’s freedom." He paused. "Take your fucking pick."

[All worthy goals,] the voice commented. [But remember our primary objective.]

"I remember," Grim thought back. "But justice and vengeance make for great motivation."

They turned down a quieter street lined with modest inns, away from the main festival areas. Grim had chosen this location. It was close enough to the coliseum for convenience, far enough from the noble quarter to avoid unwanted attention.

"We’ll stay here," he decided, stopping in front of a three-story building with a faded sign reading "The Silver Inn." Nothing fancy, nothing memorable. Perfect.

As Chen Xing arranged for their rooms, Grim stood in the doorway, watching the flow of people in the street. Twelve years of exile, training, and planning had led to this moment. Tomorrow, he would step into the arena and begin the next phase of his return.

[You realize that by tomorrow night, the entire capital will be talking about the return of the Ambrose heir,] the voice said.

"That’s the point," Grim replied silently. "Let them talk. Let the rumors spread. And let’s see who comes crawling out of the woodwork in response."

His hand drifted unconsciously to the scar on his face, where the dark energy still pulsed faintly beneath his skin. Twelve years ago, Malaxis had marked him, believing him dead. Now it was time to return the favor.