"Done," the adjudicator intoned gravely. A silver capsule was handed to Alexander on a velvet tray by a page; he snatched it, popping it under his tongue with a grimace, the binding rune flaring briefly on his skin before fading, magic sealed away like chains on his soul. "Your Highness? Your counter-condition?"

Alexander gritted his perfect white teeth, the star-lily’s vines brushing his jaw—why this blatant favouritism toward the alpha? Everyone in the stadium wanted him to lose. Even the people of his own gender weren’t supporting him. To them, he was a strayed omega.

"I want to remove my veil entirely."

Another collective gasp spread like wildfire, nobles leaning forward in shock, whispers exploding around the arena.

"What madness?"

"Exposing that face?"

"Has he gone mad?!"

"No omega should expose their face in the public!"

Even Count Jennife’s smirk faltered into wide-eyed surprise, and the adjudicator’s bushy brows shot up, his Alpha instincts twitching at the audacity.

"What?" the adjudicator barked, leaning over the dais edge.

"I will not repeat myself," Alexander stated coolly, elegant fingers reaching up to unpin the sheer black veil.

It fluttered down like fallen night, revealing his divine face in full glory to the arena’s stunned silence—high sculpted cheekbones flushed rose-gold under the sun, full pouty lips curved defiant, long silver lashes framing piercing eyes that burned with ethereal fire.

His flawless porcelain skin radiant as if kissed by the frost, delicate nose straight and proud, pointed chin set unyielding—all framed by that massive star-lily crown blooming vivid atop cascading silver waves that tumbled to his waist.

He was a beauty so otherworldly that it hushed the crowd into reverent awe, several nobles fanning themselves dramatically.

The adjudicator gritted his teeth visibly, jaw ticking under his beard—such raw allure was distraction incarnate, potentially tilting the field unfairly. "Very well... granted. Count Jennife, your second request?"

"I will wield my Greatsword—full length, no handicaps," she demanded, patting the massive blade strapped across her back, its edge humming faintly with enchantments.

"Approved. Your Highness?" the adjudicator prompted, eyes lingering a fraction too long on Alexander’s unveiled splendour.

"I want short-ranged weapons only—nothing longer than arm’s reach," Alexander replied smooth, gesturing to the rack of arms nearby.

"What specific short-ranged weapons do you claim?" the Alpha pressed, staff glowing faintly.

"A matched pair—one dagger—curved obsidian blade, quick for slashes—and one war hammer—single-headed, balanced for bludgeoning with brutal force."

"Your Highness, think carefully now," the adjudicator warned, voice edged paternal despite his neutrality. "Your magic stands bound, and you’re no herd brute. Shouldn’t your request bind her magic in turn? Or demand armour? This seems folly against her reach."

Alexander snarled low, eyes flashing molten, the star-lily’s petals quivering as he stepped forward aggressively. "I have two conditions remaining, and she claims three more after this round—so don’t pretend excessive concern for my strategy now. The adjudicator selects the final overseer condition if needed, but we’re not there yet. Proceed."

The adjudicator gritted his teeth audibly, his salt-and-pepper beard twitching as he tore his gaze from Alexander’s breathtaking, unveiled face—those piercing eyes and full lips still rippling shockwaves through the murmuring nobles—and fixed it sternly on Count Jennife across the sandy pit.

"Count Jennife, state your third condition clearly now," he boomed, crystal staff rapping the dais for emphasis, the arena’s incense-heavy air thickening with anticipation.

Count Jennife’s smirk widened into a predatory leer, her eyes raking Alexander’s lithe form dismissively as she shifted her Greatsword’s weight on her broad shoulder.

"Your Highness, you can still back down gracefully right this instant—save yourself the humiliation before I grind you into the sand."

"I won’t yield—not to you, not to anyone," Alexander snarled back, silver hair gleaming under the sun, the massive star-lily crown’s iridescent petals fluttering defiantly as he squared his shoulders in those midnight-blue leathers, eyes blazing unbowed.

"Suit yourself then, princess," Jennife drawled, chuckling low and cruel, drawing gasps from the stands. "My third condition—I want his mouth sealed shut throughout the entire match. I’m not enduring his pathetic pleas of mercy or whiny begs when I pin him down and break him."

Alexander’s olive eyes widened in raw shock, flawless cheeks paling slightly beneath the flower’s golden glow—what kind of barbaric, targeted cruelty was this?

"You can’t be serious!" he exploded, voice sharp with outrage, fists clenching at his sides as nobles whispered furiously. "Sealing my mouth? That’s not a condition—it’s a gag to silence me!"

The adjudicator nodded gravely, his Alpha bulk leaning forward, scarred jaw set firm as tradition’s weight bore down. "Valid and approved. An omega’s voice has no place on the battlefield—it disrupts an Alpha’s focus, distracts with scents and sobs. Tradition upholds this; your mouth will be bound closed magically until the duel ends completely."

"What kind of tradition is this?!"

A page approached with a silver rune-etched muzzle, but the adjudicator raised a hand. "Apply post-conditions. Now, Your Highness—your third condition?"

Alexander’s jaw tightened, grinding teeth as fury simmered, but he lifted his chin regal. "Bind her magic too—same as mine, capsule and all. No spells from either side."

Jennife popped the handed capsule without flinching, rune flaring on her skin. "Count Jennife?" the adjudicator prompted.

"My fourth request," she said smugly, tossing Alexander a dismissive glance like swatting a fly—she was utterly certain this mouthy, and weak omega couldn’t touch her even unbound. "I forfeit my last condition to him. Let the princess waste it however—won’t save him."

Everyone gasped again, a wave crashing through the stands.

"Generous?"

"Arrogant!"

"What ploy?"

Nobles exchanging stunned glances, the Omegas clutching pearls. Even the adjudicator’s heavy brows shot up, his grizzled face creasing in surprise at the unexpected largesse.

"As you wish," he rumbled, staff glowing faintly. "Your Highness? Your fourth condition."

"I want the arena set to eternal night—full dark, stars and twin moons above, no sun to blind or heat the sands," Alexander declared smooth, eyes glinting knowing as the coliseum’s massive crystal orbs overhead hummed to life.

The sky dimmed to velvet black pierced by twinkling constellations and silvery lunar glow, shadows pooling dramatic in the pit, braziers flaring brighter to cast flickering orange dances across marble pillars.

"Night?" the adjudicator echoed, hesitating a beat, Alpha instincts wary of the shift—dusk favored subtlety over brute force.

"Yes—fight under the veil of stars, as true warriors should," Alexander pressed, star-lily crown seeming to glow ethereal in the low light.

He nodded slowly after a tense pause. "Granted. Shadows fall. Now your final request, Your Highness—the fifth and last."

"My last: during the match, for fifteen seconds at the start of every minute, Count Jennife cannot attack me—no strikes, no advances, pure defense only. She stands frozen in place," Alexander stated bold, voice carrying crystal-clear into the shocked hush.

The arena erupted with whispers, and protests. How could an omega demand this?! It was outrageous!

"What?!" Count Jennife yelled, face twisting apoplectic, Greatsword hilt creaking under her white-knuckled grip. "You cocky little—that’s not a condition, it’s a handicap!"

"Yes," Alexander replied coolly, lips curving a defiant smirk that lit his divine features ghostly under moonlight, silver hair shimmering like liquid starlight. "Are you scared now, Count? Don’t be. After all, you demanded my mouth sealed shut because you couldn’t bear hearing me talk through your ’victory.’ Fair’s fair—fifteen seconds to breathe."

The adjudicator turned to Jennife, staff poised. "Count? Do you accept, or forfeit the field?"

Jennife’s jaw worked furious, gray eyes boring into Alexander’s luminous beauty, but arrogance won—no omega could exploit such slivers against her.

"Fine, do whatever the hells you want with your pity seconds," she spat venomous, rolling her shoulders with forced bravado. "No—wait, make it a full minute if you’re so desperate, and I’m still certain you won’t land a single blow, princess. You’ll be boot-kissed before the first chime."

"Thank you for the generosity," Alexander said dryly, eyes flashing triumph beneath the star-lily’s bloom, the arena now a shadowed stage primed for upset.

The adjudicator nodded once, staff slamming the dais with resonant boom, runes igniting across the pit in binding azure chains. "Very well—all conditions sealed by Aether’s oath: magic bound for both, princess’s mouth muted, night eternal, weapons assigned, and timed pauses enforced. Pages—arm them, muzzle the omega, and... begin at my mark!"