My Cheat Skill Lets Me Copy Powers....But only if i kill-Chapter 41: Strings Of Fate

Chapter 40 - Strings Of Fate

The room was quiet, save for the occasional distant sound of Lysoria's bustling streets. Golden light spilled through the narrow windows, casting long shadows on the polished marble floor. Renji stood at the edge of the room, staring down at the unbroken seal of the scroll in his hand — Valecross's offer, still untouched.

He'd been in the capital for days now, and the weight of choices had yet to lift.

He ran a thumb along the scroll's edge. The Shadowforged Combat Coat rested lightly on his shoulders, a symbol of how far he'd come — and how far from the life he once knew. Even the air here was different. It didn't smell of earth or steel. It smelled clean. Sterile. Like politics.

Renji turned to the table, unfolded the scroll with precision, and scanned the words that confirmed everything Valecross had promised:

An invitation to compete. A chance for title. Wealth. Power. And binding loyalty to Lysoria.

He didn't flinch, didn't pause.

The quill moved in silence as he signed his name at the bottom.

No dramatic thoughts. No hesitation. Only resolve.

The paper dried quickly. Renji rolled the scroll and slid it into a tube, tying the seal shut. It was done.

The path forward had been chosen — not because it was what Valecross wanted, not because the guild or the king wanted it. Because Renji refused to let anyone pull his strings again. If entering this tournament gave him control over his fate, he would take it.

He stepped out into the hall, the scroll under one arm. A servant waited, silent and stiff.

"Take me to Valecross," Renji said.

No argument. No delay. The servant turned sharply and led the way.

The estate was quiet, far quieter than the streets outside. The decor spoke of wealth earned through careful maneuvering, not conquest. Tapestries of Lysoria's crest adorned the walls, flanked by displays of ornate weaponry — all polished to gleam under the golden chandeliers.

Lord Valecross waited in the same study as before, standing behind a broad mahogany desk, hands clasped behind his back. His silver-trimmed coat caught the light like polished steel.

Renji stepped forward, placing the scroll on the desk with precision.

Valecross's eyes flicked to it, then back to Renji's face. "So, you've decided."

Renji didn't blink. "I'm in."

A faint smile touched Valecross's lips — not smug, not gloating. Calculated.

"A wise choice." He lifted the scroll, confirming the seal. "This will be sent directly to the capital's central hall. Your name will be entered into the tournament within the hour."

Renji didn't respond. He was already turning toward the door.

"You'll need to prepare," Valecross added. "Competitors have begun arriving in the city. Some are known. Others... less so. Resources will be made available to you — training grounds, equipment, access to information."

Renji paused at the door. "I don't want your help."

"Of course not," Valecross said smoothly. "But take it. You've earned it. And power... power must be maintained, or it slips away."

A moment of silence. Then Renji walked out, the sound of his footsteps fading into the quiet halls.

The tournament had begun.

Even if the first match had yet to be fought.

The royal palace of Lysoria stood atop a terraced hill, its gleaming white towers reaching toward the sky like fingers of ambition. Renji's boots echoed across the polished marble floor of the palace corridor as he followed a silent attendant through hall after hall of stained glass, velvet curtains, and carved golden trim.

He wasn't here for ceremony. He wasn't here for small talk.

The folded letter burned like a brand in his coat pocket — not just ink on parchment, but a challenge, wrapped in flattery.

They reached a set of tall double doors, guarded by armored sentries bearing the Valenhardt crest — a silver phoenix against a navy backdrop. One guard stepped forward, knocking once.

"Princess Saraphina will receive you now."

Renji entered alone.

The room was expansive, more like a private study than a throne hall. Books lined dark oak shelves, and tall arched windows bathed the room in afternoon light. The scent of parchment and perfume mingled faintly in the air.

At the center stood Saraphina, seated on a chaise by the window, dressed in silk robes of navy and silver, her long hair cascading over one shoulder. She looked up from a book as Renji approached, her expression unreadable.

"I wondered if you'd come," she said softly, closing the book with a gentle snap.

Renji didn't sit.

He reached into his coat and placed the letter on the table between them, the seal already broken. Her gaze flicked to it, then back to his face.

"I read it," Renji said, voice even. "You want to marry me."

Saraphina's lips curved slightly — not a smile, not quite. "You make it sound so cold."

"What do you expect?" His eyes narrowed. "You barely know me."

"True. But I know what I've seen. What I've heard. I know the man who walked into that dungeon and walked out different." She rose, stepping closer. "And I know the kingdom watches you now. Nobles whisper your name like a storm on the horizon. You're not invisible anymore, Renji."

"That's not a reason to send that letter."

Saraphina stood before him, close, but not too close. Her gaze searched his face, looking for something beneath the calm. "Do you think I sent it for power? To bind you into the court's game?"

"You didn't?" Renji's tone was edged. "Because that's exactly what it felt like."

A pause.

Her eyes softened, just slightly. "I won't insult you with denial. Of course there are politics in everything we do. But that's not all this is. Not for me."

Her fingers brushed lightly over the letter, tracing the edge of the parchment. "When I watched you fight... when I saw you with your companions... I saw someone real. Someone unshaped by the rot of this court. I admired that. Still do."

Renji didn't respond immediately, gaze hard.

She continued, more quietly, "You make your own way. That's rare here. And perhaps I... hoped, for a moment, that path might cross mine."

Silence stretched between them. The air felt heavier.

From the corner of the room, a pair of maids watched silently, their expressions controlled, but their eyes darted to Renji with barely hidden curiosity. One shifted slightly when his gaze swept over them, her cheeks coloring before she quickly looked away.

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Saraphina noticed — but didn't comment.

Renji folded his arms, stepping back from the table. "I'm not some piece to move around."

"I know."

"I'm not yours to claim."

"I know that too."

Another pause.

"You'll have an answer?" she asked softly.

Renji's gaze lingered on the letter, then on her. "Not today."

He turned without another word, footsteps measured as he crossed the room.

At the door, Saraphina's voice called out, gentle but firm. "Renji... whatever you choose, know this — you've already become part of the game. The moment they started watching you."

He didn't look back.

But the door clicked shut behind him with more weight than it should have.

The royal training grounds were nothing like the rough sparring pits of Valkris. Here, everything gleamed — from the polished stone of the combat arena to the rows of finely crafted weapons lining the walls. Banners bearing noble sigils fluttered overhead, and the air smelled faintly of oil, sweat, and pride.

Renji entered quietly, eyes scanning the wide courtyard. Dozens of warriors and mages were present — all handpicked, all with something to prove. Their armor gleamed, their weapons were spotless. They were the capital's best — or thought themselves to be.

He drew more than a few glances. His Shadowforged Combat Coat wasn't standard noble fare. It marked him as guild-made, not court-born — and that made him stand out.

He didn't care.

Renji walked toward the weapon racks, scanning the selection, more out of habit than need.

A voice cut across the yard.

"Well, well... if it isn't the guild's dark horse."

Renji turned slightly as Thorne Albrecht approached, dressed in steel-blue dueling armor, a smug expression painted on his face. He was flanked by two others — one tall, heavyset with a massive axe, the other lean, carrying a spear.

Thorne stopped a few feet away, arms crossed.

"Come to train, or just to remind us all you're too good for protocol?"

Renji didn't bother answering, fingers trailing over a weighted longsword before he picked it up, testing the balance.

Thorne's smirk deepened. "You know, word is you accepted Lord Valecross's invitation. Must feel good, crawling your way into relevance."

Renji turned, sword resting across his shoulders. "Still talking. Still not interesting."

That earned a snicker from one of Thorne's companions, quickly silenced by a glare.

Thorne stepped forward, dropping the charm. "I don't care how many beasts you've killed or how many silver coins you've hoarded. This tournament? It's not the wilderness. It's skill, precision, legacy. You're a blip in a game you don't understand."

Renji's gaze didn't waver. "You can't kill me with words. Save them for the arena."

Tension thickened, a quiet hush spreading through the grounds as others watched — warriors pausing mid-training, eyes drawn to the brewing storm.

Thorne's hand twitched near his sword hilt, but he didn't draw. "I'm going to enjoy crushing you in front of the court."

Renji's voice was low. Steady. "You won't get the chance."

Thorne's smirk flickered. Then he turned sharply, striding away.

Renji watched him go, then turned back to the rack, replacing the sword.

He didn't need to prove anything today.

Not with words.

Soon, it would be with steel.

The stone corridors of the Ravenspire embassy were colder than the streets of Lysoria, carved from dark granite and adorned with black iron sconces casting flickering red light. A single long banner depicting a silver raven on crimson hung above the room's centerpiece — a glowing crystal console pulsing with mana.

Kiera stood before it, arms at her sides, her expression unreadable. The air was thick with tension. She hadn't been summoned in weeks, not since reporting Renji's evolution.

The crystal pulsed, and a voice resonated through the room — cold, controlled, authoritative.

"Kiera . Loyal agent of Ravenspire. Your orders are updated."

Kiera bowed her head. "I'm listening."

The voice didn't hesitate. "You are to enter the Royal Tournament of Lysoria. Officially, you are to represent Ravenspire's interests. Unofficially, you are to stay close to Renji Hurozawa. Influence him. Prevent Lysoria from claiming him."

Kiera's fists clenched. "And if he resists?"

A pause. Then, sharper: "You are authorized to act. Use whatever means are necessary. Renji Hurozawa must not become Lysoria's pawn. He is a weapon — and weapons belong to those strong enough to wield them. Ravenspire cannot afford to lose him."

The words struck deep.

Kiera's breath caught in her throat, her thoughts spinning. Memories of traveling with him, watching him fight, listening to his quiet resolve — and now, being ordered to use him.

"I understand," she replied at last, voice low.

"Good. Your entry has been arranged. Do not fail."

The connection cut abruptly, leaving the room in silence.

Kiera stood still for a long time, her eyes on the fading light of the crystal. Then, slowly, she pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, masking the turmoil beneath her skin.

She had her orders.

But somewhere deep inside, she already regretted obeying them.

Far beneath the polished marble of Lysoria's palace, within a sealed chamber of runes and shadows, Reina knelt, her cloak draped around her like a shroud. The air was heavy with stale mana, thick and oppressive.

A circle of etched glyphs pulsed on the ground beneath her, and at its center, her bare wrist glowed faintly, the mark of a slave seal etched like fire beneath her skin.

It had always been there.

From the moment she'd arrived in this world — summoned like a pawn, chained by magic and obligation.

She'd hidden it beneath enchantments, buried it beneath silence. But the pain now surged, pulsing in time with the king's command that echoed in her mind.

"Renji Hurozawa must not fall into Valecross's hands. If persuasion fails... remove him."

Reina's breath came fast, shallow. Her hand trembled, the mark tightening like a vice.

"No..."

Her whisper was barely audible.

She'd been watching him, protecting him in silence, hoping to one day stand beside him — not as a spy, not as a tool, but as herself.

But that was never her choice to make.

Her knees buckled, but she didn't fall. She couldn't.

The king's voice still echoed in her head.

Remove him.

Reina's fingers curled into a fist, nails biting into her palm until blood rose. She stared at it — red, real, hers.

Somewhere, Renji was forging his path, unaware that the chains around him were tightening from all sides.

Her voice cracked in the stillness.

"Forgive me..."

The runes glowed again.