Reborn as the Last van Ambrose

The afternoon sun beat down on the coliseum, the stone seating now crowded with spectators eagerly awaiting the day’s main matches. Grim had retreated to a quiet alcove in one of the less-traveled corridors, mentally preparing for his upcoming fight. According to the tournament schedule, he would face a swordsman from the eastern provinces. Someone with a reputation for unorthodox techniques but no particular accolades of note.

"There you are," a familiar voice called out. "I’ve been looking everywhere."

Grim glanced up to see Chen Xing approaching, a long bundle wrapped in oiled cloth tucked under his arm and an all black sword. Despite the time that had passed Chen Xing was still a pretty boy.

"I wasn’t hiding," Grim replied. "Just avoiding unnecessary attention."

Chen Xing snorted. "After yesterday’s performance? That ship has sailed, little brother."

He set the wrapped bundle down on the stone bench beside Grim and began carefully unwinding the cloth. "You’ll need this for your match today."

As the wrapping fell away, Grim’s breath caught. Lying on the cloth was a sword unlike any typical Imperial weapon. Its blade was slender yet strong. The hilt was wrapped in black leather, with a guard that curved to cover the weilders hand.

"Is that—"

"Your grandfather’s sword?" Chen Xing finished for him. "No. That one remains where he was laid to rest, as was his wish. This is its sister blade, forged by the same swordsmith, using the same techniques. Cassius had it made years ago, intending it for you when you were ready."

Grim reached out, his fingers hovering just above the sword. "He never mentioned it."

"He was saving it for your eighteenth birthday," Chen Xing said quietly. "He didn’t live to see that day, but he made me promise I would get it to you when the time was right."

Grim wrapped his hand around the hilt and lifted the blade. It was perfectly balanced, seeming to weigh almost nothing in his grip. As he moved it through a simple pattern, the sword hummed faintly, as if resonating with his movements.

"It responds to the wielder’s intent," Chen Xing explained. "A quality rare even among master-crafted weapons. Cassius called it ’Echo’ because of how it amplifies the Celestial Mist techniques."

"Echo," Grim repeated, testing the name. It felt right somehow.

Chen Xing began rewrapping the sword. "Keep it concealed until your match. No need to give your opponents advance warning of what they’ll be facing."

Grim nodded, reluctantly allowing the blade to be covered again. "Did Yongrun send you?"

"He remains where he needs to be," Chen Xing replied cryptically. "But he wishes for your success."

[Translation: he’s still monitoring the palace for signs of Malaxis,] the voice in Grim’s head commented.

"Your match begins in an hour," Chen Xing continued, tying the bundle closed with practiced efficiency. "I suggest you use the time to center yourself. Your opponent may not be extraordinary, but complacency—"

"Is a quick path to defeat," Grim finished with a half-smile. "I know."

Chen Xing returned the smile with a slight one of his own. "So you did listen to some of what Yongrun taught you."

"Only the parts that weren’t completely boring," Grim quipped, though there was no real bite to his words.

As Chen Xing handed him the wrapped sword, his expression grew more serious. "There’s something else you should know. You’re not the only one with uncommon techniques in this tournament."

Grim thought of the petite woman he’d seen using Fire Heart Sword Dao that morning. "I noticed."

"Not just her," Chen Xing said, seeming unsurprised that Grim had already observed the woman. "Watch and learn before you reveal too much of your own abilities. Some participants might have techniques that they wait to show until the later rounds."

With that cryptic warning, Chen Xing nodded once and turned to leave. "I’ll see you after your victory," he added, his tone suggesting that any other outcome was inconceivable.

As Chen Xing’s footsteps faded, Grim carefully placed the wrapped sword beside him on the bench.

[A fine weapon,] the voice observed. [Your grandfather was more sentimental than he let on.]

"Apparently," Grim agreed, a strange tightness in his chest at the thought of Cassius planning this gift years in advance, never knowing he wouldn’t live to see Grim receive it.

He was about to gather his things and head toward the preparation area when a ripple of excitement passed through the corridor. Servants and lower-ranked contestants hurried toward viewing areas, their conversations animated.

"—Luminaris heir—"

"—they say he’s undefeated—"

"—never seen a technique like it—"

Grim’s interest piqued, he followed the flow of people until he reached a vantage point overlooking the main arena. The match that had drawn such attention was already underway, though "underway" might have been a generous description for what was clearly a one-sided demonstration.

A tall, handsome young man with brown hair was moving quickky across the ring. His opponent—a muscular fighter wielding a heavy broadsword—couldn’t seem to land a single blow. Each swing of the broadsword was met with empty air as the blond man seemed to flow around the attacks like water around stone.

"Max Luminaris," someone nearby whispered reverently.

So this was Julius Luminaris’s son, Grim realized. The boy who had once followed his sister Mira around, always in her shadow, now grown into a formidable fighter in his own right.

Max’s weapon was unusual. A blade that appeared almost translucent, catching and reflecting light in hypnotic patterns. As Grim watched, Max executed a technique that left trails of pure light in the air, momentarily blinding his opponent.

"Radiant Dawn Sword Dao," someone commented. "House Luminaris’s singature Sword Dao."

Max moved again, his form perfect as he traced a complex pattern with his blade. The light intensified, forming a geometric array around his opponent that contracted rapidly. The trapped fighter attempted to break through the cage of light but found his weapon passing harmlessly through while the light itself burned his skin on contact.

"I yield!" the man shouted, dropping to one knee.

The entire match had lasted less than a minute.

The efficiency was almost artistic. There was no wasted movement, no unnecessary flourish. Just pure, disciplined technique executed with masterful precision. Even Grim had to admit it was impressive.

As the crowd roared its approval, Max sheathed his blade with elegant precision. His expression remained calm, almost detached, as he bowed slightly to the defeated opponent. The gesture was technically respectful, but something in the set of his shoulders suggested he had never doubted the outcome.

[Light affinity,] the voice noted unnecessarily. [Rare and powerful. House Luminaris has been cultivating it for generations, though few of their bloodline manifest it as strongly as this one.]

Grim watched Max leave the arena, noting the controlled confidence in his movements. "Interesting," he murmured.

[An understatement,] the voice replied. [The Radiant Dawn Sword Dao is considered one of the premier light-based techniques in the empire. Second only to your families techniques.]

"Different approach, similar foundation," Grim observed. "Luminaris techniques focus on containment and control. Ambrose ones on speed and precision."

[Very good,] the voice sounded impressed. [You were paying attention during your history lessons after all.]

Grim’s match time was approaching. He returned to the alcove, collected Echo and his few other belongings, and began making his way toward the contestant preparation area. Along the way, he ducked into an empty room to change back into his white robes. The ones that so resembled his grandfather’s ceremonial garments. After yesterday’s revelation, there was no point in anonymity.

The white fabric settled around him like a second skin, familiar despite being newly made. He secured Echo to his belt, the weapon still wrapped in its cloth covering. A quick check in a polished metal mirror confirmed that he looked every inch the resurrected heir of House Ambrose.

[The tournament officials assigned you a challenging path,] the voice commented as Grim continued toward the arena entrance. [Your bracket includes three provincial champions and potentially Max Luminaris in the quarter-finals, assuming you both advance.]

"Good," Grim replied. "I’d hate to come all this way for mediocre competition."

He reached the shadowed tunnel that led to the arena floor, taking position to wait for his introduction. The roar of the crowd reverberated through the stone, the previous match having just concluded. In moments, it would be his turn to step into the sunlight and face his opponent.

Grim closed his eyes briefly, centering himself as Yongrun had taught him. The familiar routine helped focus his mind, pushing away distractions and unnecessary thoughts.

A tournament official approached, ready to guide him to the entrance when his name was called. Grim nodded his acknowledgment, fingers resting lightly on Echo’s wrapped hilt.

Then, from somewhere in the shadows behind him, came the sharp, distinctive sound of fingers snapping once.

Grim froze, every muscle suddenly tense.

That familiar sound. Only she would announce herself that way after all these years