UNMEI: Pantheon's Game-Chapter 115: Worth

Ramires shot up from his seat so fast that his chair clattered backward behind him.

"What's he doing?! This is against the rules!" he shouted, voice sharp with panic.

But before he could signal for guards or officials to intervene, another voice, steady, calm, unshaken, cut through the air.

"Let him," said Damion.

The words landed like a hammer.

King Aramir, Richard Neville, Magma Rodelyan, even Soul's Mirror, every official turned toward the prince.

A flicker of confusion crossed their faces. But none of them spoke.

Down below, Dune shoved Raves' sword aside like swatting away an annoying insect.

Then he turned, not to the arena officials, not to the audience.

But to Ned.

He bent slightly at the waist, bowing low.

"Let's go," he said, voice low but steady, the kind of voice that didn't ask, it simply was.

Ned's eyes widened in disbelief, blood still dripping from his busted lip.

"No, No, Dune, why did you come?"

"What are you doing, Dune?!" he rasped.

"You'll be eliminated! Don't lose because of me... Dune, please—"

But Dune didn't flinch. He simply reached out and clasped Ned's battered hand firmly in his own.

"We're going," Dune repeated.

"I don't care about this academy. If you're dead...if you're not here..." His voice tightened, but his eyes never wavered.

"We'll find another way to get stronger, Ned. But this, this is not worth it."

Above them, the officials watched in stunned silence.

The crowd murmured in confusion, some booing, others holding their breath.

And behind them, forgotten, humiliated, ignored, Raves Rodeny boiled with rage.

"Don't turn your back on me, you piece of shit!!" Raves roared, veins bulging across his neck.

He charged like a bull, his Neba flaring wildly around him, sword raised to cleave Dune apart.

But Dune... Dune didn't even look at him.

He simply shifted his weight to the side, moving with such relaxed ease it was almost casual.

As Raves thundered past him, Dune calmly extended his arm, placing his open palm squarely against Raves' face.

The entire arena gasped.

The moment Dune's hand touched him, a sickly green light bloomed around his fingers and Raves' head.

Nebastep

A symbol, etched in vibrant Neba, flared across Raves' face, as if Dune had drawn a brand onto his skull.

There was a heartbeat of stillness.

Then the platform ignited.

An invisible force exploded from Raves' face, sending his body reeling backward with a sound like a thunderclap.

The shockwave shattered the ground beneath them in a spiderweb of cracks.

Before Raves could even scream, Dune tightened his grab on his skull mid-fall, twisted, and slammed him down into the stone.

Another eruption of Neba burst on impact.

The ground cratered beneath Raves' head.

The sound was sickening.

The crowd stood frozen, too horrified to even cheer.

A horrible, gurgling shriek tore its way out of Raves' throat as he thrashed on the floor.

His face, it was gone, erased.

Bone and mangled muscle were exposed, his entire visage a ruin of blood and horror.

"My face!! ... it hurts!! Shit!"

"My eyes!"

He screamed, covering his wounded head with his arms, writhing in agony.

Even Richard Neville turned away, grimacing.

Ramires clenched his fists, jaw tight with something between awe and fear.

Dune stood over him, expression blank, cold as a winter storm.

Without a word, he turned his head upward, staring directly at the competitors' platform where Azrael Rodeny watched.

Their gazes locked.

For a moment, time seemed to freeze.

Azrael's face remained passive, but something flickered in his sharp eyes.

Below, Raves shook and sobbed, blood smearing across the broken tiles.

Dune said nothing. He didn't even acknowledge the destruction he had wrought.

He simply stood there, hand still faintly glowing and wounded, as the world around him held its breath.

The boy who broke the rules.

The brother who didn't care about titles, prestige, or winning.

The boy who would burn everything down just to save the one person who mattered.

The air in the arena froze as a shadow fell beside Dune.

Without warning, a gleaming sword pressed against his neck, cold and razor-sharp, the edge biting slightly into his skin and drawing a thin line of blood that slid down his collarbone.

Standing there, silent and imposing, was Soul's Mirror, her silver hair whipping slightly in the charged air, her eyes like steel daggers.

Across the broken platform, Ramires and Richard Amellia strode toward them, heavy cloaks billowing behind them.

For a moment, no one moved.

Soul's Mirror narrowed her eyes, the blade pressing a fraction deeper.

"Permission to execute him, Your Majesty," she said coolly, voice devoid of emotion.

High above, King Aramir sat unmoving on his throne, face carved from stone.

"No," he finally said, his voice echoing across the stunned silence of the coliseum.

Soul's Mirror exhaled faintly through her nose but didn't lower her sword.

Richard stepped closer, his boots cracking bits of shattered tile beneath them.

"You," he said, his eyes narrowing at Dune.

"You have not only violated the Academy's rules but disrespected the , the King, and the Council."

Ramires crossed his arms tightly. "By every right, you should be immediately expelled, stripped of all standing, and banned from touching a sword in our city again."

Still, Dune said nothing.

He stood motionless, blood slowly dripping from his neck onto the ruined floor.

There was no apology on his lips.

No plea for mercy.

Soul's Mirror tilted her head slightly, studying him. "You have nothing to say?" she asked softly, almost curiously.

Dune's eyes, clear and sharp, didn't even flicker toward her.

Anger tightened Soul's Mirror's features.

She pressed her blade harder, sinking it a millimeter deeper into his skin, enough that more blood welled forth.

A muscle in Soul's Mirror's jaw ticked. She had seen pride, arrogance, and foolish bravery before, but this wasn't that. It was something far more dangerous.

Above, officials whispered uneasily, shifting in their seats.

Before Richard or Ramires could speak again, a broken, battered voice interrupted.

"I give up," Ned muttered, barely audible at first.

His body trembled as he forced himself up on shaky arms, face battered and bloodied beyond recognition.

"I forfeit," he said louder, his voice cracking.

"Take me out. Eliminate me, Dune should stay."

Ramires frowned, glancing sharply at Richard, who mirrored his grimace.

"No," Soul's Mirror said coldly. "You are not in a position to bargain."

Dune turned his head slightly, the sword at his neck scraping audibly, and glared down at Ned.

"What are you saying?" he asked, voice low, dangerously close to a growl.

Ned's face twisted in anguish, but he didn't back down.

"If one of us has to go, it's me," he rasped.

"You can't waste everything for me, Dune. You can't."

The officials looked ready to overrule him, ready to crush this desperate, pitiful attempt at mercy.

But then the crowd erupted.

Voices from every side of the arena rose into a deafening chorus.

"Let him stay!"

"Let Dune stay!"

"Let Ned take his brother's place!"

"LET HIM STAY!"

The chants grew louder and louder until it was impossible to ignore.

Even the King leaned forward slightly, studying the chaos below.

Ramires clenched his jaw hard enough to crack bone.

Richard looked as if he were about to burst a blood vessel.

Soul's Mirror said nothing, though her blade remained at Dune's throat, her knuckles white on the hilt.

"What are you gonna do Aramir?" Magma asked smiling.

Finally, after a long moment, King Aramir raised a hand. The crowd fell into a tense, expectant silence.

The King's gaze swept across the officials, lingered on Dune, then shifted to Ned's shaking figure.

At last, he nodded once.

"Very well," he said.

The decision slammed through the arena like a shockwave. Ned collapsed to his knees, tears streaking down the blood and grime on his face.

Dune said nothing.

Not even a sigh of relief.

He simply closed his eyes for a brief second, as if shelving away the chaos into some deep, unreachable place inside him.

The blade at his neck finally withdrew, leaving a single line of blood as a reminder.

The choice was made.

One brother would fall.

One would remain.

And the fire in Dune's eyes made one thing clear, he would not forgive those who forced this on them.