The King Of War Returns (Jaden Rift) novel Chapter 155

Chaos swirled in the arena. People were still reeling from what they'd just witnessed — a single name announced for two rival families, an impossible matchup that shattered the logic of the Bloodborne Trials.

But behind the curtains of power, things moved faster than the public eye could follow.

Inside the command deck of the cruise ship — a luxurious glass-paneled control room overlooking the arena — Victor Rivers stood tall, arms behind his back, watching everything unfold in silence. The gold-lined buttons of his uniform shimmered under the overhead lights. Beside him, a trembling steward held a report in both hands.

"Sir," the steward stammered, "based on the bylaws… a fighter representing two families in the same bracket is an automatic disqualification."

Victor didn't even turn.

"Is that so?" he said calmly.

"Yes, sir. Article seven, section four—"

"Burn it."

The steward blinked. "Sir?"

Victor finally looked over. His eyes weren’t kind. They were sharp, calculating. “Do you know who that boy is?”

“…Jaden Rift, sir.”

“Wrong.” Victor turned back to the arena. “He’s the King of War. The Most important person in the country, my stupid dead son has already offended him once. And you think I’m going to kick him out over a technicality?”

The steward swallowed hard. “But… what do we announce?”

Victor raised a hand. "Tell the announcer to skip the matter. Call the next round. I don’t want to hear another word about it."

As the steward rushed out, Victor’s voice echoed behind him — cold, low, and heavy.

—

Back in the arena, the announcer came back to life, trying his best to sound natural.

“Uh… moving on to the next round!”

“Representing the Daemonridge Syndicate… Rafe Virellis!”

The lights dropped low.

A blur shot across the walkway — fast, sleek, almost silent. A lean figure cloaked in black leathers landed inside the ring, moving like a shadow with bones. His eyes gleamed beneath his hood, sharp and predatory.

Rafe was one of the fastest duelists in Ravenmoor. A stealth fighter known for cutting throats before opponents even blinked. Word was, he’d once ended a match in under five seconds.

He looked across at Jaden — calm, relaxed, hands in his pockets.

Rafe scoffed.

“Tired yet? Or did breaking that musclehead earlier not even warm you up?”

Jaden just rolled his shoulders. “You going to talk the whole time or are we fighting?”

That pissed Rafe off.

The moment the bell rang, he was gone.

A blur. A flash. He vanished and reappeared behind Jaden, arm already mid-swing, blade slicing through the air.

Shink!

Missed.

Jaden wasn’t there.

Jaden stepped forward. One step.

Rafe flinched.

Then Jaden vanished.

No one saw it.

Not even the announcer.

There was only the sound.

CRACK!

A single, thunderous impact echoed through the ship.

Rafe was airborne, spinning mid-air like a tossed rag before crashing down hard, limbs splayed, blood trickling from his mouth. His eyes were rolled up. Unconscious.

The crowd was silent.

Dead silent.

Even the announcer froze, jaw open. Then he cleared his throat and muttered into the mic, stunned.

“…Wow. That was fast.”

A second later, the shockwave hit. Screams. Cheers. Pandemonium.

“And the winner is… Jaden Rift”