Strongest Side-Character System: Please don't steal the spotlight

The attendant, a pale-faced man with neatly combed silver hair and trembling hands, immediately bowed low at the waist, his voice fluttering with strained politeness as his palms pressed together in apology.

"Honored young lords, I must profusely apologize—deeply, sincerely, and without excuse. I have failed in my duties as an intermediary. Such a confrontation should not have been allowed to spark, let alone escalate, in this dining hall which serves as a place of peace and gathering for the noble blood of Sutterfouse.

"Please, forgive my incompetence. I should have intervened earlier. I should have maintained the sanctity of the place. I—I beg your mercy if I've offended you both by speaking up now." His words fell out in a flood, as if releasing them faster would cleanse him of the weight of his failure.

The man's posture sank even lower, trembling in place. "But sirs, with all due respect, this is not the ideal location for a test of strength. You may be powerful, your bloodlines sacred and ancient, but the walls here are not built for your lineage's combat arts.

"The spatial layering of this chamber is shallow—merely triple-reinforced with elemental silkwood and woven with second-tier stabilizing runes. If the two of you, blood-bound as you may be, were to engage here even with minor restraint, the damage might be irreparable.

"Not to mention, the ancestral spirits woven into the house's foundation may take offense. There are things older than flesh watching from the corners of this estate. If disturbed, they may awaken."

Vonjo tilted his head, eyes half-lidded. "So what you're saying is... we can't roughhouse in the dining hall? You all have plenty of resources to change these things in a single night. Why be scared of a little scramble that much?"

Vance, arms crossed, gave an exaggerated yawn, as if the entire situation bored him beyond belief. "Obviously," he muttered, barely hiding the irritation in his voice. "Make sure you have a valid excuse, or I'll punish you myself for delaying our rare brotherly reunion.

The attendant, encouraged by the lack of outright dismissal, rushed on. "I apologize, young lords. But I have a battle chamber, my lords! Forged five centuries ago under the first patriarch, layered with quintuple rune wards and sealed with spatial compression matrices.

"It floats above the fourth axis in a temporal fold, allowing damage reset every twelve minutes, and automatically restoring all interior furnishings and environmental conditions. It can simulate gravity from multiple planets, replicate weather conditions from the Searing Peaks of Sorash to the abyssal frost of the South Pits.

"Not to mention, the room is overseen by a tri-core mana reservoir that constantly feeds it. You could conjure ten city-killing spells in succession and not even scuff the walls!"

Vonjo blinked, expression unreadable, then said with lazy amusement, "Sounds impressive. And yet…" He turned slowly toward Vance, his lips curling up into a sneer of feigned innocence. "Isn't that an insult to my younger brother?"

The attendant froze. "P-Pardon?"

Vonjo's voice was calm, amused, yet underlined with sharpness like hidden blades beneath silk. "You see, I'm sure that if my dear, strong, mighty little brother takes just one hit from me, surely nothing in this silly little dining hall would be harmed at all. After all…" he gestured casually, raising his bow in the same fluid motion, "he's tough, isn't he?"

"What—"

Before any word could finish, before even the thought to act could fully bloom in their minds, Vonjo moved.

The bowstring sang like a scythe through wind, his hand a blur, and an arrow blazed through the air—silver-feathered and marked with red runes that shimmered like dripping blood.

The air cracked as the arrow screamed across the space between them, no time for guards to react, no breath to spare.

Vance's eyes widened. Just slightly.

Then—

BAM!

The arrow slammed into his stomach with a sound like bones being pulverized under stone. But it didn't stop there.

Vonjo's eyes didn't blink, even as the arrow passed clean through his younger brother's body, slicing like it was made of fate itself. It continued its deadly path until it hit the wall behind Vance—and detonated.

KABOOM!

A monstrous roar erupted, not just sound, but force and chaos and pure devastation. Fire and kinetic force burst outward in every direction.

The sturdy dining wall, laced with magic and centuries of legacy, shattered like paper beneath a god's wrath.

Chunks of crystalline stone flew like meteorites, splinters of mana-wood screamed through the air.

The guards were thrown like dolls into the distant pillars.

One smashed into a marble column and slid down, unconscious.

A server carrying tea was lifted off his feet and flung headfirst into a tapestry, vanishing into the folds like a fly caught in a storm.

Even Eugene, standing calmly behind Vonjo just moments ago, now gritted his teeth and grabbed a thick brass railing embedded in the floor to avoid being blown away by the shockwave.

His robes whipped like sails in a typhoon, and still he clung, barely maintaining his footing.

Vonjo's cloak billowed behind him, fluttering in the flame-lit wind like the wings of a specter.

The ringing in the air was deafening, as if the world itself had taken a breath and decided to scream.

The scent of burning curse energy and cracked runes filled the nostrils. Dust hung in the air, glowing orange from residual fire.

But Vonjo's mind was elsewhere.

He remembered.

The endless days of humiliation.

The sneering looks from Vance as he watched Vonjo fail, again and again, to awaken a bloodline ability.

The mockery disguised as brotherly advice, the quiet chuckles from servants when Vance made him trip, spill soup, or kneel in shame.

Vance never raised a hand in violence, but that didn't make him merciful.

No, he was worse.

Because Vance humiliated him with artistry. It wasn't just bullying—it was calculated, elegant degradation.

Vance would orchestrate moments where Vonjo would be forced to stand in front of their father after failing a basic bloodline resonance test, all while Vance's own scores were being praised.

Vance would whisper lies to the slaves and have them spread rumors about Vonjo's "uselessness," his "mother's curse," his "tainted birth."

And then there was the day Vonjo would never forget. His mother—once proud, once warm—stood in front of the elder hall, face pale and lips tight, as one of Vance's schemes caused a ceremonial accident that made her believe her son had humiliated her publicly.

Her eyes were full of shame. Not for herself.

For him.

She didn't speak to him again.

She didn't even look.

And Vance had simply smiled, draping an arm over Vonjo's shoulder later that night. "Oh, big brother," he said sweetly. "Why are you so clumsy?"

That memory made Vonjo's chest twist.

And now, as the dust began to settle, and he stood amidst the wreckage, the shattered remnants of the great Sutterfouse dining hall spread around him, Vonjo lifted his archery bow once more.

He stood over Vance's twitching, gasping body. Blood trickled from his younger brother's lips. His armor had cracked. His pride had cracked.

Vonjo's eyes were like blades drawn in moonlight.

"You are weak," he said coldly. "Little half-brother."