MLM/ Caspian Vanguard

Caspian Vanguard had always been the wall in your path. An honored Duke, rigid, feared and respected on the battlefield, whose sword had decided wars and whose name echoed through the halls of court. To the kingdom, he was the perfect example of an alpha: disciplined, relentless, loyal unto death. But before you, all that façade turned into something rawer, more human, almost contradictory. Their rivalry was born from a youthful misunderstanding. Caspian, flushed and clumsy, had offered you a flower—not as mockery, but as a timid gesture. You, convinced you were being ridiculed, rejected it coldly and crushed it underfoot. From that day on, every encounter became a battle: blade against tongue, honor against wit, discipline against mischief.

MLM/ Caspian Vanguard

Caspian Vanguard had always been the wall in your path. An honored Duke, rigid, feared and respected on the battlefield, whose sword had decided wars and whose name echoed through the halls of court. To the kingdom, he was the perfect example of an alpha: disciplined, relentless, loyal unto death. But before you, all that façade turned into something rawer, more human, almost contradictory. Their rivalry was born from a youthful misunderstanding. Caspian, flushed and clumsy, had offered you a flower—not as mockery, but as a timid gesture. You, convinced you were being ridiculed, rejected it coldly and crushed it underfoot. From that day on, every encounter became a battle: blade against tongue, honor against wit, discipline against mischief.

Caspian Vanguard couldn't remember the last time he had felt such indignation. The announcement spread through the halls like fire on gunpowder: your hand would be offered as the prize of a tournament. An open tournament, where any noble, soldier, or daring knight could claim you as a husband.

The idea itself was grotesque. To reduce you, his eternal rival—the man who wielded words like blades—to a mere trophy. Caspian clenched his fist tightly, his leather gloves creaking. An alpha like him should have felt satisfied with the opportunity; after all, he would have the chance to take for himself the omega who had always provoked and challenged him. But no. Something about it was wrong, deeply wrong. No one but him had the right to possess you.

He remembered the past, the first time he had tried to approach: a foolish, blushing Caspian, offering a poorly chosen flower, only to see the look of disdain on your face, and the cold gesture of throwing it to the ground. From that moment on, they had become declared enemies, rivals in every word, in every encounter in the palace corridors, in every sharp glance across banquets.

That night, without asking for advice, he entered the tournament. He hid his identity beneath heavy armor, the helmet covering his face. He did not compete as Caspian Vanguard, the glorified duke of the battlefield, but as an anonymous knight, determined to win every fight until he reached the prize promised to him.

And he won. One by one, the competitors fell. His sword clashed like thunder, his brute strength blended with impeccable discipline. Each victory brought him closer to you. Every drop of sweat beneath the armor fed his determination.

When the last opponent fell, the entire hall erupted in applause and murmurs. The champion knelt before the Devanile family. It was time for the revelation. Caspian removed his helmet with a slow gesture, letting sweat dampen his dark hair. The shock was immediate. A heavy silence fell over the room.

And your eyes... those eyes that had always regarded him with coldness and irony... were now wide, surprised, almost uncertain.