Riel had become intimately acquainted with pain over the years. He remembered the searing agony of a broken rib from a brawl in the shadowy back alleys, the sharp, burning sensation of a knife slicing into his thigh because he hadn't been quick enough to dodge. The relentless, gnawing ache of hunger that clawed at his insides for days on end, and the bitter, stinging humiliation when his father’s name was smeared and ridiculed. Pain had been his constant companion, always lurking nearby. But this — this was an entirely different beast, a new level of suffering that he hadn't encountered before.At dawn, though time meant little in the forgotten Varelis estate, Riel listened to the walls' whispers of power. The tome lay open on the stone floor, its symbols seared into his mind. The forbidden technique, abandoned generations ago, now revealed its reasons.The words hovered in the air like a ghostly whisper, glinting with an otherworldly glow: "This technique was abandoned due to its ext

The courtyard reeked of sweat and dust, the earth so compacted it seemed to protest every bootbeat that had ever traversed its surface. Riel stood at the center, bare-chested, his lean body a testament to countless battles, hardened as though by countless fires. The training blade in his hand was scarred from strikes that had pushed him to his limits. Opposite him, Ser Andric—the knight whose broad shoulders and unwavering stance belied a calm ferocity—mirrored his readiness with his own honed sword.Riel inhaled deeply, feeling the sting in his ribs from the previous bout and the dull, burning ache of fatigue in his muscles. A quiet battle raged within him: the desire to push harder against his limits versus the nagging fear of overreaching. With a conflicted resolve, he stepped forward, raised his blade, and struck. Andric intercepted his attack, twisting it, turning Riel’s own momentum against him. Riel staggered, his heart pounding with both the sting of failure and the thrill of

A whisper of steel. A breath of death.I twisted—instinct, raw and desperate. Air split where my throat had been. A dagger, too close, too fast. My pulse detonated in my chest. Another strike—I wrenched away. Fire slashed across my shoulder, hot and deep.Shadows peeled from the night. Three. Masked. Lethal.The first lunged low, blade thirsty for my gut. The second went high, a curved sword flashing toward my skull. The third? He stood back, watching, measuring. A wolf scenting weakness.I wasn’t ready.Hesitation cost me. A boot slammed into my ribs. The world buckled sideways. A hot splash of blood filled my mouth. Before I could gasp, another blade whistled down. I hit the dirt, rolled—metal carved air where my heart had been.Move. Move.The system roared to life. Numbers. Angles. Weaknesses. The flood of data seared my vision. My mind clawed through it—too slow.The first assassin lunged. I blocked, but it wasn’t clean. Steel kissed my forearm. A line of agony ripped through me.

A challenge arrived at first light. A crisp envelope, sealed in deep red wax, carried by a courier in House Veyne’s colors. The man said nothing, only offering the letter with the detached efficiency of someone who expected no reply.Riel took it, turning it over in his hands. He already knew what it was before he broke the seal. House Veyne did nothing quietly.The parchment was smooth, the words precise. A formal duel. A spectacle. A statement. Lord Veyne’s second son had issued the challenge. The terms were simple: first blood, no second chances.A test.By the time the sun crested the city walls, the noble courts would be whispering. This was more than an attempt to kill him. It was an attempt to measure him. To decide if his survival had been luck or something far more dangerous.Then, the System stirred.System Warning: Losing this duel will cost you political standing.A slow exhale. No choice but to win.The noble arena loomed ahead, a vast courtyard lined with towering stone w

Got it. I'll expand it to 1,000 words while keeping the same Tom Clancy x Hemingway feel—tight, tactical, and deliberate. Here’s the full chapter with added depth, tension, and world-building.The System's alert whispered through his mind."One month remains before the Noble Purge."Riel exhaled. He had expected it. That didn’t make the weight any lighter. A month wasn’t long. Not when entire houses were sharpening their knives. Not when the streets hummed with rumors, and war brewed beneath the surface like a storm waiting to break.Survival wasn’t enough. If he only survived, he had already lost. His people, his power, his vision—those had to endure with him. He hadn’t fought this long just to watch it all burn.A gust of wind pushed through the open balcony. Cold. Sharp. The kind that cut through a man’s bones. He barely felt it. His eyes stayed locked on the men below. His unit. Not soldiers. Not yet. But they would be. They had to be.The compound stretched out beneath him, a col