The Boy Who Walks Beyond The End-Chapter 43: Whispers Before the Duel

The news of the upcoming duel between Zen and Delan Mirros spread like wildfire across the first-year classes of Eboncrest. Whispers filled the halls, echoing in dorms, and even echoed through the training grounds.

"Aetherion's Zen challenged Delan? Seriously?"

"Isn't Delan from the Royal Class?"

"This will be a massacre."

Everywhere Zen went, eyes followed him—some in awe, many in pity, and others with cruel amusement. The pressure was mounting.

That afternoon, as Zen was passing the garden bridge leading toward the academy library, someone stepped in his way. A tall boy, silver hair flowing like polished threads, stood with arms folded and gaze sharp as steel.

"Zen, is it?"

Zen looked up. "Yeah?"

"Elvren Halcrest," the boy said, not smug, but calm—too calm. The top student in the entrance exam. Another prodigy from the Royal Class.

"I've heard about the duel. You shouldn't do it." Elvren's tone was level, not mocking—rather, it carried concern and calculation. "Delan may be a fool at times, but he's powerful. If you value your bones, or your pride, give up. Or better... leave the academy."

Zen didn't flinch, though his eyes flicked with a quiet flame. "Thanks for the warning," he said. "But I'll take my chances."

Elvren stared at him a moment longer before turning. "You're not the only one being watched."

And with that cryptic remark, he vanished into the garden's bend.

—

"Lyra and Arisella knew about the duel from the start—they even laughed at first."

But as she learned who the opponent was, her smile faltered.

"Delan Mirros... Zen, he's not just a noble. He's Royal Class. He's trained by one of the High Mages. That duel could... you could get seriously hurt."

Zen simply looked at her and smiled faintly. "Then I'll get hurt."

Lyra stepped closer, clutching his arm. "Don't be reckless. I know you're strong in your own way, but this isn't like our little sparring jokes." Her voice lowered. "You don't have to prove anything..."

Zen looked away. "I'm not doing it to prove something. I'm doing it because I must keep walking forward."

—

From that day on, Zen trained harder than ever.

Sweat soaked his clothes every evening as he practiced in the overgrown grove, alone with the rustling wind and moonlight. His arms ached. His breath would catch in his throat. But he didn't stop.

Even if he lost... he'd rather fall forward than stand still.

Yet, a dark presence loomed.

Each time Zen meditated or tried to clear his mind—when his breathing slowed and he focused—he saw it.

The fog.

It was thicker now, no longer a wisp. It crept into his mind like a quiet storm, swirling with shadows, sometimes whispering things he couldn't hear, other times showing flashes of red.

It was thicker now, no longer a wisp. It crept into his mind like a quiet storm, swirling with shadows, sometimes whispering things he couldn't hear, other times showing flashes of red.

"What are you?" he whispered one night, fingers trembling on the grass. "Why do I feel you every time I close my eyes and try to grow stronger?"

No answers. Only silence... and the sense that the fog was listening.

—

Days passed.

Five...

Then six...

One day remained before the duel.

This chapter is updat𝙚d by freeweɓnovel.cøm.

Zen stood atop a hill overlooking the academy's training fields as the sun set in a blaze of crimson and gold. He held his wooden sword tightly, the wind tousling his hair. His eyes narrowed—not in fear, but resolve.

"I might lose," he whispered. "But I will not bow."

And somewhere within, the fog pulsed... as if waiting.