Chapter 459: Not Your Place To Decide
(Lewis Hamilton Arena, Leo’s POV)
Leo continued to stare into Soron’s eyes after making his decision, as the Great God returned the gaze with a calm, unreadable expression.
Leo had considered countless factors before making this choice, but in the end, he walked away from becoming the Dragon not because of the political complications or the power struggles that came with the role, but because deep down, he simply did not feel comfortable in his own skin taking it on.
By nature, he was a man driven by freedom, someone who moved on his own terms, acted on his own whims, and answered only to himself. The idea of living a life devoted to serving others felt alien to who he was.
He recognized that he was far too selfish to care deeply for anyone outside his family, and in his heart, he truly believed that the commoners of the Cult deserved better.
For all their faith, their reverence, and their unwavering devotion, they deserved a Dragon who could love them with equal intensity. Someone who would carry their hopes and burdens as his own.
And Leo just could not see that man in his reflection.
So in the end, because he felt a genuine ache in his chest at the thought of accepting a mantle he knew he could not wear with honesty, he made the only choice that felt right.
He let it go.
"Well Joe, are my ears ringing, or did Leo Skyshard really say that he surrenders?" Dana asked, his voice laced with genuine confusion as he turned to his co-commentator, wondering if he was dreaming.
"No, your ears aren’t ringing, Dana. Leo really did just say he surrenders... but why? Why would he do that when he’s just one step away from becoming the Dragon?" Joe responded, equally baffled, as both commentators struggled to comprehend what was happening.
*Murmurs*
*Chaos*
The murmurs in the arena started out soft, confused whispers passed from one stunned spectator to another, but soon swelled into full-blown pandemonium as the crowd erupted, unable to make sense of Leo’s decision.
"Winner by submission — Aegon Veyr."
The referee finally declared, raising Veyr’s hand in victory while helping him stand, though the young warrior still looked too stunned to celebrate.
Meanwhile, Leo turned and began walking back toward the warm-up room.
"WAIT!"
Veyr shouted, his voice cracking as he caught sight of Leo leaving.
"Why?" Veyr demanded, his tone sharp and raw. "Why did you throw this away? You had me beat... so why give it up? What is this.... some kind of pity?"
"It’s nothing personal, cousin, truly," Leo said, his expression calm as he shrugged with casual ease.
"I just don’t think I’m the right person to be the next Dragon.
You, on the other hand, seem like someone who actually fits the role.
You were raised inside the Cult, shaped by its traditions, and you’ve lived through the hardship and struggle that define its people.
You’re also incredibly gifted, having broken through to the Transcendent Tier by age twenty-three.
And there’s also the fact that you pushed me harder in this fight today than nearly anyone I’ve ever faced.
So yeah... when I weighed the two of us, my selfish self against someone like you, it wasn’t really that hard.
My heart told me it should be you."
Leo’s voice remained steady and sincere, and as his words reached Veyr, the fury in the young man’s face softened, slowly replaced by disbelief and silence.
"Huh?" was all Veyr could manage, barely more than a whisper, as once again, he found himself too stunned to speak.
—---------
"Ha... Hahahaha!"
The Fourth Elder burst out laughing, clapping his hands together and wiping the sweat from his brow in pure disbelief, as relief flooded every inch of his body.
Just moments before Leo made his choice, he had felt as if he was about to lose consciousness and blackout.
His champion was on the cusp of losing the fight and he could already see the consequences of that loss cascading down to him.
His political career that he had worked so hard to build over a lifetime was on the verge of ending once Veyr lost.
However, then out of nowhere, as if the heavens had decided to play a cruel joke on the universe, Leo surrendered.
The Fourth Elder could not understand why Leo did it. He didn’t care enough to ask.
All that mattered to him was that his political career, his status, his power, his pride, had miraculously been saved.
Whatever moral reasoning or existential crisis Leo was going through meant nothing to him. The only thing that mattered was that the right name now won the match.
But before he could bask further in the absurdity of his unexpected fortune—
"OUTRAGEOUS!"
The shrill boom of a furious voice shattered the air, turning heads across the arena, as the First Elder pointed a finger straight towards Leo.
He was seated just a few booths away, face red, veins visible, finger outstretched, as he looked ready to explode.
"It is not your place to decide whether you are worthy or not! That is the Council’s right, not yours!" he roared, clenching that finger into a fist, which he slammed on the railing in front, deforming it completely.
Clearly, Leo’s choice had struck a deep nerve.
But before the First Elder could rant any further, before his indignation could erupt into a full tirade....
Soron shifted.
He didn’t rise.
He didn’t speak.
He simply lifted the smallest finger from the armrest of his makeshift stone throne.
And in that instant, an invisible pressure surged across the entire arena.
The atmosphere collapsed into a crushing stillness, thick and suffocating, as if the air itself had been bound in chains.
Every breath got caught. Every whisper died. Every movement stopped.
The divine weight of Soron’s presence descended without warning, silencing thousands, freezing even the Elders where they sat.
All eyes turned to the one being who didn’t need to speak to command obedience.
Soron looked forward, eyes calm, his little finger still raised.
And without a single word, he turned the roaring coliseum into a cathedral of silence.
As only then, with the weight of all eyes upon him, did Soron finally speak.