REINCARNATION OF THE STRONGEST WAR HERO
Chapter 45: WHISPERS IN THE NIGHT

Chapter 45: WHISPERS IN THE NIGHT

Late at night, under the sleeping sky of Arcadia, whispers stirred behind closed doors. Though the crowd had dispersed and the lights dimmed across the arena grounds, the minds of the chosen remained restless.

Noah and Emily – Noble Inn Room

In a quiet room at a high-end inn reserved for tournament officials and healers, Noah sat in a velvet chair, staring across the table at his wife.

Emily poured herself a small cup of herbal tea, the steam curling between them in soft tendrils.

He leaned in, eyes wide. "You’re telling me... Logan has five affinities?"

Emily nodded slowly, her expression unreadable.

"Lightning, fire, air, water, and gravity," she whispered. "And he used at least two of them with Tier 1 expertise—close to Tier 2—while pretending to be at the very start of Tier 1."

Noah exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair. "That boy... what in the gods’ name is he? I thought only our daughter was an exception. But looks like she is finally about to meet her match."

Emily didn’t respond immediately. Her gaze drifted toward the window, then toward the door—the one that had led to Logan’s recovery chamber just hours ago.

"He’s hiding it deliberately," she said. "But I don’t know exactly why. Maybe his family... maybe someone else. But it’s intentional. He said his father’s first wife doesn’t want him to be the focus. It’s logical, as her own son would lose the credibility to sit in the patriarch’s position. And he doesn’t want attention either."

Noah ran a hand through his hair. "This changes everything. If word gets out—"

"It won’t. Not from me. You shouldn’t let it out either," she said gently. "He doesn’t seem dangerous. If anything, he feels... righteous. Disciplined. But still—keep your eyes open. I don’t think we’ve seen even half of what he can really do."

From across the hallway, muffled laughter echoed. Somewhere down the corridor, a noble youth shouted drunkenly about tomorrow’s matchups.

But inside that room, the silence returned quickly.

Lilith Starwind – Balcony View

Lilith sat alone on a high balcony outside her room, legs crossed, the night wind brushing against her silver hair.

She stared at the moon, her gaze thoughtful.

"So tomorrow, I fight Vaylen Mord."

She wrinkled her nose.

"He’s the guy with the snake tattoo, right? Creepy aura. Strong, though."

She leaned back on her hands, sighing.

"But I wish it were Morgan... or Zephyr... or the Prince. Even that kid Logan—he’s my age, but there’s something... unique about him."

Her eyes narrowed.

"But definitely not that Rovan guy." She scoffed. "He’s a pervert if I’ve ever seen one."

She rose, stretching lazily, her joints cracking faintly in the cool air.

"Let’s hope this Mord guy lasts long enough to keep me entertained."

Zephyr and Alek – In a Luxurious Inn

In a luxurious dining room lit by floating mana-crystals, Zephyr Albrecht sat quietly at the table, his untouched meal growing cold.

Across from him, his father Alek Albrecht sipped wine, his expression cold and rigid.

"You must win tomorrow," Alek said flatly.

Zephyr didn’t look up. "My opponent’s no weakling. But I’ll try."

Alek’s glass hit the table harder than necessary. "Try?"

Zephyr finally met his father’s gaze.

"I don’t fight for victory, Father. I fight because I enjoy it. Facing a worthy opponent... that adrenaline rush... the uncertainty... that’s what drives me. Not fake glory."

Alek’s eyes narrowed. "You speak more like a mercenary than a noble heir. You are an Albrecht. You carry a name that commands respect and legacy."

"Legacy means nothing if it’s built on forced obedience," Zephyr replied calmly.

The silence between them sharpened.

Alek stood abruptly. "You know nothing. You have responsibilities as an Albrecht, Zephyr. Don’t run from it."

Zephyr said nothing more.

Nothing I say will change his ideals, he thought. That’s what all noble families are like.

Morgan Benedict – Training Room

Inside a quiet training chamber, Morgan Benedict knelt in simple attire, his sword laid across his lap.

He slowly ran a cloth over the blade, each stroke even and precise.

"Zephyr Albrecht," he murmured.

He looked up toward the ceiling, as if envisioning the battlefield already.

"A calm fighter. Calculated. Cool-headed. And passionate."

He stood, gripping the hilt tightly.

"Good. That makes him a challenge."

And challenges were the only thing that made Morgan feel truly alive.

A real opponent meant improvement.

And improvement meant strength.

Strength to one day bring those who caused his family’s downfall to their knees.

Rovan Yale – In the Same Luxurious Inn as the Albrechts

In a gaudy chamber filled with lights and a table full of food, Rovan Yale lounged on a cushioned seat while his father paced nearby.

"You’ll be fighting the Smith boy," his father said firmly. "Be careful."

Rovan smirked. "Surely, Dad. How could I lose to a twelve-year-old?"

But beneath the bravado, a flicker of unease stirred.

He remembered Logan standing unfazed after taking Varn’s best shot. Remembered the way the air shifted around him, calm and dangerous. Remembered the way he came out victorious against Lira Wynn.

He rolled his neck, forcing the grin wider.

"Still, I’ll handle him."

But even he could feel it—something heavy pressing down on the edge of his confidence.

Prince Rowan – Royal Chamber

Inside his royal chamber, Prince Rowan Hale stood alone by the tall window, arms crossed.

But his thoughts weren’t on Arven Skell, nor on tomorrow’s match.

They were fixed on a whisper that refused to leave his mind.

"Someone... save the third prince..."

Lira Wynn’s broken voice echoed again.

[Flashback]

Back at the remote inn, after Rowan’s team found her—

The healer had examined her and stepped back, shaking his head.

"She’s alive," he said. "But barely. Her mana flow is fractured. Her condition’s stable, but her mind is strained. Might take a full day. Maybe more."

Rowan had stared at her unconscious face, the bruises and shallow breath telling their own story.

[Present]

He clenched his fists, turning away from the window.

"If her warning is true... then those two didn’t come for Logan..."

He looked up at the moon.

They came for me.