Crimson Reverie

The crowd erupted into a frenzy, the deafening cheers and roars of excitement reverberating through the grand coliseum. Teryl had secured his place in Blaunxnarth Academy, becoming the first to claim victory against the elite knights. His triumph only served to fuel the ambitions of the other hopefuls, and one by one, they stepped forward to face their own trials. Some passed with skill and determination, while others fell short, their dreams slipping away before they had even begun.

As the chaos unfolded, Marfiera's voice cut through the noise like a blade, calling forth the next challenger. "Next, we have 3rd-level mage Kairos Varelius."

A hush fell over the arena as the name echoed through the stands. From the crowd, a tall, slim teenager emerged, his long brown hair perfectly combed, his round glasses sitting elegantly on his sharp features. His attire, pristine and regal, spoke volumes of his noble heritage. Yet, unlike the others who had stepped forward with fire in their eyes and determination in their stance, Kairos's expression was one of sheer disinterest.

Teryl, still recovering from his own battle, glanced at the approaching mage and let out a quiet sigh. His reaction was not one of admiration or curiosity—no, it was recognition. He knew exactly who Kairos Varelius was.

Kairos moved with an effortless grace, each step deliberate, calculated, and dripping with an air of arrogance that was impossible to ignore. He carried himself like someone who had already won before the battle had even begun, his gaze devoid of excitement, challenge, or even the slightest bit of concern. To him, this was not a test. It was a formality—a tedious ritual he was forced to endure before taking his rightful place among the academy's elite.

The knight who stood before him, clad in his polished armor, showed no hesitation. His stance was solid, unwavering, his grimoire already opened and prepared. A seasoned warrior, he had faced countless opponents, many of whom had entered the arena with the same overconfidence Kairos now displayed. He knew better than to underestimate anyone.

With a firm voice, the knight declared, "Begin!"

The moment the words left his lips, he sprang into action. His armor glowed with an enchantment as he invoked his spell— "Shield Tarah!" A golden aura erupted around his form, reinforcing his defenses. With a mighty leap, he soared into the air, his sword gleaming as he descended toward Kairos with a powerful downward strike.

But Kairos did not flinch. He did not move.

He merely exhaled through his nose, unimpressed, and with the laziest flick of his wrist, he pulled his hand out of his pocket. His fingers snapped once.

A deafening boom tore through the arena.

In an instant, the elite knight's momentum was obliterated. His entire body was wrenched from the air with unnatural force, an unseen power gripping him mid-flight and slamming him downward. The impact was catastrophic—he didn't just crash onto the arena floor, he was driven into it, the stone beneath him shattering as his armored form was forcibly buried several levels below the surface. The ground caved in like brittle glass, dust and debris exploding outward in a violent cloud.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

The once-roaring audience sat frozen, eyes wide in disbelief. No grand gesture, no incantation, no dramatic display of magical prowess—just a single snap of his fingers, and the fight was over before it had even begun.

Kairos rolled his shoulders, his face a mask of utter boredom. "Boring," he muttered under his breath, dusting off his immaculate sleeve as if the whole ordeal had been nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

Teryl clenched his fists, looking away, his expression tense. He had seen this before. Kairos Varelius was not someone who fought to test his limits. He fought only to remind the world how far beneath him everyone else was.

Marfiera let out a sigh, shaking her head slightly as she turned her gaze back to the arena. "Congratulations, Kairos Varelius," she announced, though her tone lacked any warmth. Kairos simply inclined his head in a shallow bow, then turned on his heel without another word. His departure was slow, deliberate, and entirely unaffected by the cheers and whispers that filled the stands. The audience erupted into excitement, voices overlapping in a chaotic mix of praise and disbelief. The way he had effortlessly dispatched the elite knight left many in awe, while others felt a deep unease at his overwhelming display of power.

As he disappeared into the chamber where the victors gathered, the trials continued. One by one, challengers stepped forth, their fates decided within moments. Those who triumphed joined the growing ranks of the accepted, while those who failed left the arena with broken pride and crushed dreams. Some walked away with dignity, heads held high, vowing to return stronger. Others could not hide their devastation, their trembling hands clutching at their grimoires as they stumbled toward the exit.

Then, a hush fell over the crowd.

The air grew heavy, charged with an intoxicating presence. A new challenger entered the arena, but this was no ordinary student. No, she was a vision of pure allure, a presence so magnetic that even the rowdiest onlookers were momentarily robbed of speech.

She moved with a grace that was almost unnatural—slow, deliberate, as if the world itself adjusted to her rhythm. Her skin was flawless, smooth as polished marble, and radiated an ethereal glow under the soft light of the arena. Her long, cascading platinum-blonde hair shimmered like woven moonlight, framing a face that could bring men to their knees. High cheekbones, full lips tinted a soft pink, and striking violet eyes that seemed to hold secrets untold—she was nothing short of mesmerizing.

But it wasn't just her face that held the crowd captive. No, it was her figure—sculpted to sinful perfection. Her curves were bold, unapologetic, the kind that made noblewomen envious and left men struggling to find their breath. Her ample bosom was hugged tightly by a corset-style bodice made from the finest enchanted silk, dyed a deep sapphire that gleamed with embedded runes. The structured design pushed her chest up just enough to be utterly distracting, drawing countless lingering gazes that ranged from admiration to outright hunger.

Her waist narrowed into an impossibly elegant hourglass before flaring into wide, womanly hips, accentuated by the cascading layers of her high-slit gown. The fabric clung to her thighs, teasing glimpses of smooth, flawless skin with each measured step she took. Black lace stockings wrapped snugly around her long, toned legs, disappearing beneath the slit of her gown, while high-heeled boots of midnight leather clicked against the stone floor with a hypnotic rhythm.

Jewelry adorned her in all the right places—a delicate sapphire choker around her slender neck, enchanted rings on her manicured fingers, and golden chains draping across the curves of her hips in a way that suggested both elegance and temptation. Every detail of her attire screamed wealth, power, and a lethal kind of seduction.

The arena was no longer a battleground; it had become her stage.

Boys howled like desperate wolves under a full moon, unable to contain their desires. Even some of the older men in the audience shifted uncomfortably, clearly enchanted by the sheer presence of the woman before them. Noble girls scowled, their envy palpable, while others whispered in hushed voices, acknowledging that she was not just beautiful—she was dangerous.

Marfiera composed herself quickly and announced with a steady voice, "Fourth-level mage, Sylvia Raelis."

As her name echoed through the arena, Sylvia simply smirked, her violet eyes glinting with mischief. With a slow, deliberate movement, she placed a hand on her hip and tilted her head, gazing toward the elite knight before her. Her expression was unreadable—was it confidence? Amusement? Or something far more sinister?

One thing was clear—this would not be a battle of strength alone. It would be a performance, and Sylvia Raelis had just stepped into the spotlight.

The moment Sylvia's name was announced, the elite knight who was meant to face her stiffened. His grip on his sword tightened, but his posture wavered for just a second—an instant of hesitation that did not go unnoticed.

Sylvia smiled.

It wasn't just any smile. It was soft, knowing, and laced with an almost wicked amusement. Her violet eyes sparkled as she tilted her head, strands of silver-blonde hair cascading over her shoulder like liquid silk. She took a single step forward, her high heels clicking lightly against the stone.

That was all it took.

The knight exhaled sharply, his shoulders dropping as he let out a defeated chuckle. Then, to the absolute shock of everyone watching, he lowered his sword and placed a fist over his heart. "I surrender."

A stunned silence washed over the arena.

Marfiera blinked in disbelief. Even the other instructors exchanged uncertain glances. Never before had an elite knight forfeited without a fight. The audience was frozen, processing what had just happened. But before the uproar could begin, Sylvia let out a delighted giggle, pressing a hand to her lips in mock innocence.

"How charming," she mused before spinning on her heel and making her way toward the victor's chamber. She didn't strut, didn't sway her hips on purpose—but somehow, every movement exuded effortless grace, a natural seduction that sent hearts racing.

And then—chaos.

The moment she disappeared into the winners' room, the stands erupted into absolute madness.

Cries of despair, screams of heartbreak, and enraged arguments filled the air as boys—no, warriors—who had just minutes ago been strangers, now stood ready to kill each other. It was a battlefield of broken dreams.

"She's gone!" someone wailed.

"How could she leave us like this?!" another sobbed dramatically.

"You fool! She was never yours to begin with!"

"Shut your mouth, peasant! You wouldn't even deserve to breathe the same air as her!"

"Say that again, bastard! I dare you!"

Fists flew. Friendships shattered. Betrayals unfolded. The sheer devastation left in Sylvia Raelis's wake was nothing short of legendary.

Meanwhile, in the victor's chamber, Sylvia hummed a cheerful tune, twirling a strand of hair around her finger as if completely unaware of the absolute war she had ignited behind her.

The moment Odessa stepped onto the arena, a hush fell over the crowd. She wasn't like Sylvia—her presence wasn't overwhelming, nor did she command the same uncontrollable devotion—but there was something undeniably captivating about her.

Her soft, sky-blue hair framed her delicate face, cascading down her back in gentle waves. The pristine academy uniform fit her slender figure perfectly, her blue skirt swaying with each graceful step. Though her bosom was modest, her charm lay elsewhere—in the way her deep sapphire eyes held a quiet determination, in the way her long stockings clung to her shapely thighs, accentuating her toned yet feminine legs.

Some of the boys, still licking their wounds from Sylvia's departure, found themselves shifting their affections in an instant.

"She's adorable…" one whispered, clutching his chest.

"A goddess… no, an angel," another sighed, already swearing undying loyalty.

Yet, there were those who remained faithful to Sylvia, crossing their arms and scoffing.

"She's cute, sure, but no one can replace Lady Sylvia."

"Exactly! This is nothing compared to the divine presence we just witnessed."

Despite the murmurs, Odessa stood firm, her expression calm as she faced her opponent.

Across from her, the elite knight prepared himself, adjusting his stance. He wasn't about to surrender this time—no, Odessa would have to earn her place in Blaunxnarth through battle.

Marfiera lifted her wand, signaling the start.

"Begin!"

Odessa didn't hesitate. With a flick of her wrist, her grimoire glowed with a soft blue light. The pages fluttered open, and a gentle, melodic hum filled the air.

As the match began, Odessa stood her ground, her expression unwavering. Unlike the fiery aggression of Teryl or the overwhelming arrogance of Kairos, her approach was one of calculated defense.

The elite knight wasted no time, surging forward with his sword raised high. The moment his blade descended, Odessa's grimoire shimmered, and with a mere gesture of her fingers, a translucent blue barrier formed before her, absorbing the strike effortlessly.

A ripple spread across the surface of the barrier, dispersing the force of the attack like a stone dropped into still water. The knight recoiled slightly, adjusting his stance, but Odessa remained unmoving, her deep blue eyes locked onto her opponent with quiet confidence.

Gasps echoed through the crowd as the students watched in awe. Her magic wasn't flashy or destructive, yet there was something undeniably elegant about the way she wielded it. The barrier had appeared so effortlessly, as if it were a natural extension of her will.

The knight took a step back, then pivoted, slashing from another angle. Again, a barrier appeared—this time, angled just right so that his sword glanced off harmlessly, throwing him off balance.

"She's barely moving…" one student murmured in astonishment.

"It's like she knows exactly where he'll strike next," another whispered.

Odessa remained silent, her grimoire turning pages on its own as layers of translucent shields formed and disappeared with each of the knight's attacks. She wasn't simply blocking—she was redirecting, controlling the flow of battle without ever lifting a weapon.

The knight, growing frustrated, changed tactics. He raised his free hand, his own grimoire glowing. "Piercing Bolt!" he commanded, and a spear of light shot toward her at high speed.

For the first time, Odessa moved. Her hand lifted with delicate precision, and a barrier curved around her body like a bubble of glass. The moment the bolt of light struck, it didn't shatter the shield—instead, the energy dispersed, wrapping around the curve and vanishing into the air.

The crowd erupted into cheers.

"Amazing! She didn't just block it, she redirected the energy completely!"

Teryl, watching from the winners' area, smirked. "She's always been like this. She doesn't waste movement—she makes her opponents defeat themselves."

The knight gritted his teeth. He wasn't about to let a first-year student make a fool of him. With a roar, he activated his armor's enhancement magic, his body moving with newfound speed as he aimed to strike before she could react.

But Odessa simply exhaled, and as his blade came within inches of her, a final barrier materialized—this one a dome surrounding her completely. The knight's sword struck it and stopped dead, unable to move further. He pushed, grunted, tried to force his way through, but it was like pressing against solid steel.

Odessa finally spoke, her voice soft but firm.

"You cannot break what is absolute."

With a flick of her wrist, the barrier expanded outward in a pulse of energy, sending the knight flying backward. He landed hard, his sword clattering to the ground as he struggled to rise.

But it was over.

Marfiera stepped forward, raising her hand. "Winner—Odessa Stephyn."

A wave of cheers filled the arena as Odessa bowed slightly before making her way to the winners' area, her expression as calm as ever.

She had passed—not through overwhelming strength, but through unwavering, unshakable defense.

Odessa, unlike the rest, didn't just turn away after her victory. Instead, she walked toward the fallen knight, a small look of concern replacing the calm composure she had during the fight. She offered him a hand, her blue eyes filled with quiet sincerity.

"I'm sorry for sending you flying like that," she said softly.

The knight blinked, then let out a deep chuckle as he took her hand and pulled himself up. "It's okay. A test is a test, isn't it?" He dusted off his armor, shaking his head with a smirk. "Besides, you're strong—no shame in losing to someone with real talent."

Odessa gave a small, grateful nod before turning on her heel and skipping toward the victor's room, her light steps almost weightless. As soon as she crossed the threshold, her eyes immediately searched for Teryl.

She barely had time to react before he grinned and pulled her into a playful hug, spinning her slightly. "Odessa! You were incredible out there!"

She giggled, pushing at his chest lightly. "I just did what I always do."

Teryl smirked. "Yeah, and you made it look effortless. I swear, if you weren't my friend, I'd be jealous."

She rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her small smile as she settled beside him. Around them, the other victors murmured in quiet conversation, some still recovering from their own battles, others casting curious glances at the ones who had performed best.

As Odessa sat down, she let out a happy sigh, her heart still racing from the battle but her mind finally at ease. She had passed. She was here, with Teryl, exactly where she wanted to be.

After several rounds, only a few remained, and the tension in the air grew thicker with each passing moment. The crowd grew still, eagerly awaiting the next competitor.

"4th level mage Orion Faelan," Marfiera announced, her voice ringing clearly across the arena.

A short figure entered, and immediately, the atmosphere shifted. Orion Faelan was small, standing at only about 160 cm, his frame youthful and undeniably childlike. His tousled, messy hair stuck up in all directions, giving him a rebellious, punkish look. He had a playful, mischievous grin on his face, and though he looked like a child, his eyes sparkled with the confidence of someone who knew how to charm the crowd.

As he made his way into the arena, the audience couldn't help but be drawn to him. Girls in the stands whispered and giggled among themselves, their eyes glued to him as he casually waved. His charm was undeniable—he carried himself like someone who didn't realize the effect he had, a carefree, magnetic presence that made it hard to look away.

He was the type of boy that could make an entrance even without trying. His smile alone was enough to win over most of the crowd, making even the sternest of faces soften with fondness. He gave a cheeky wink to a group of girls in the front row, and they swooned, practically falling out of their seats.

Despite his youthful appearance, there was an aura of playful mischief that wrapped around him. He didn't seem intimidated by the looming presence of the elite knight before him; instead, he seemed almost too relaxed. As the knight readied himself, Orion remained casually poised, his smirk widening, knowing that the show was about to begin.

"Alright, let's make this fun, shall we?" he said, his voice playful and light, causing a few nervous chuckles from the audience. His confidence was infectious, and the knight, though prepared for the battle ahead, couldn't help but feel a twinge of uncertainty.

The elite knight, determined to show his superiority, raised his sword high and channeled his magic into it. "Wild Formula #4. Piercing bolts!" he commanded, and with a flash, several bolts of raw energy shot out from his blade, zipping through the air with deadly precision. They streaked toward Orion, their arcs blazing as they pierced the space between them.

But Orion didn't flinch. He didn't seem worried in the slightest. Instead, with a playful grin, he crouched slightly and, in a single bound, leaped impossibly high into the air. It wasn't just a jump—it was a graceful, almost effortless ascent that took him several meters off the ground, as if gravity itself had no power over him. His form hung suspended for a brief moment, and the bolts of energy streaked harmlessly beneath him.

"Nice trick!" Orion called down, his voice ringing with amusement, his smile still wide. "Now, let me show you what I can do!" He raised one hand into the air, his fingers curling slightly as he began to summon the wind.

A low, howling sound began to stir in the arena as the wind around him picked up, swirling with unnatural force. The temperature dropped and the arena seemed to shake with the building intensity of his magic. A gust of wind whipped through the stands, scattering debris and making the students' robes flap violently.

Within moments, the air itself seemed to tear open as a massive tornado formed in the center of the arena. The winds howled furiously, creating a vortex of raging energy that lifted debris and dust from the arena floor, tossing them around like ragdolls. The tornado expanded rapidly, spinning wildly, its center dark and chaotic as it gained power.

The arena seemed to warp around the fury of the storm, and even the elite knight had to struggle to maintain his footing. His armor creaked under the strain of the winds, and his shield glowed as he tried to protect himself, but the force of the tornado was overwhelming. Orion stood effortlessly at the top of his vortex, his hands outstretched, guiding the storm with the ease of a conductor orchestrating an elemental symphony.

The crowd gasped in awe, their eyes wide as they watched the spectacle unfold. The tornado seemed to have a life of its own, spinning faster and faster, and the knight—powerful and well-trained as he was—had no answer for the chaos swirling around him.

The energy of the tornado whipped around, dangerously close to the knight. He raised his sword in a desperate attempt to protect himself, but the wild winds tore at his movements, making him stumble back.

Orion's grin only grew wider. "I told you, this is how I play," he said, his voice clear and ringing with youthful excitement. The storm raged on, and the knight could do little more than brace himself for the chaos that would inevitably follow. The air was charged with magic, and everyone could feel it—the storm had only just begun.

The tornado howled louder, growing more intense with each passing second, its winds snapping like whips through the air. The arena trembled under the sheer force of the elemental storm Orion had summoned, and the elite knight's armored form was being whipped around helplessly by the spiraling winds. His shield was no match for the raw, chaotic power of the tempest as it twisted and turned, pulling at his every movement.

The knight's sword gleamed brightly as he tried to regain his stance, but the winds threw him off balance with each attempt. His armor screeched as it was buffeted from all sides, and the deafening sound of the tornado's fury nearly drowned out the cries of the crowd.

Orion, still suspended in the air, hovered effortlessly above the storm, his playful grin never faltering. His eyes glinted with an almost mischievous light as he controlled the whirlwind with ease, a sense of youthful joy radiating from him. He was playing with his opponent—this was not just a test for him, it was a game.

With a flick of his wrist, the wind intensified, and the tornado's power seemed to surge. The knight was now completely at the mercy of the vortex. His sword trembled in his hands as the winds clawed at it, but he couldn't keep up. He attempted to raise his shield, but it was torn from his grip and sent flying through the air like a leaf in a storm.

The crowd watched, eyes wide in shock and awe. No one had expected a display of magic like this. Orion's ability was far beyond what they'd seen from most of the other participants. His control over the storm was perfect, every gust and swirl of air moving at his command.

Finally, the knight, now barely able to stand against the force of the wind, gave a defeated grunt and dropped to his knees, unable to continue the fight. The tornado continued to rage for a few more moments, swirling wildly, before Orion lowered his hand. The winds slowly died down, the tempest losing its strength until it finally settled into a calm breeze. The debris that had been scattered throughout the arena floated gently back to the ground.

The knight, drenched in sweat and covered in dirt, pushed himself to his feet, clearly defeated. His armor was scratched, dented, and battered from the tornado's relentless assault. He bowed his head in surrender, clearly understanding that he had no chance against the young mage's power.

Orion landed gracefully in the center of the arena, his feet touching the ground lightly. He flashed a grin to the audience, his youthful, almost childlike demeanor not hiding the raw power he had just displayed. He turned to the knight, giving him a respectful nod. "Good fight," he said cheerfully, his voice carrying across the arena. The knight gave a weary but appreciative nod in return.

The crowd erupted into applause, some cheering with enthusiasm and others simply staring in awe. Orion had easily passed his test, and his display of power had captivated everyone watching.

As Orion walked off the arena floor, he waved to the crowd, his charm and playful energy leaving a lasting impression. He entered the winners' room with a confident stride, ready to join the others who had passed.

Behind him, the arena slowly returned to its usual energy, the spectators still buzzing with excitement over the spectacle they had just witnessed. The air still felt charged from the residual magic, and the other participants couldn't help but glance over their shoulders at Orion, who had shown them all just how powerful one could be with a bit of youthful enthusiasm—and a whole lot of talent.

As the arena slowly began to return to normal, with the echoes of the tornado's wind dying down and the sounds of repair work starting in the background, the remaining students gathered in the waiting area. The tension from the battle seemed to hang in the air, and the excitement of the earlier matches hadn't quite worn off.

Teryl and Odessa were talking quietly among themselves, still processing the sheer power they had witnessed, when they noticed Orion and Kairos standing across the room from each other. Both of them had a look of silent defiance in their eyes. Despite their differences in personality—Orion with his carefree, almost childish nature, and Kairos with his air of superiority—the two were glaring at each other, sizing each other up in a way that clearly hinted at an impending confrontation.

Teryl raised an eyebrow. "This should be interesting," he murmured, more to himself than to Odessa.

Odessa's blue eyes narrowed, noticing the standoff between the two. She folded her arms over her chest and sighed softly, "This doesn't look good. Orion's got energy, but I don't think he's the type to hold back, and Kairos…" She trailed off, the tension in the air palpable. "He thinks too highly of himself."

Teryl chuckled, though his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah, I've seen that look before. Kairos doesn't think anyone's on his level. Especially not someone like Orion. And Orion... Well, he's not one to back down either."

The two continued to observe as the situation began to escalate. Orion stood with a grin on his face, looking almost amused, while Kairos's gaze was sharp and calculating. The air around them seemed to thicken, both of them exuding an almost unbearable sense of pride.

"I've heard about you, Faelan," Kairos said, his voice dripping with disdain. "You think you're something special, don't you? The way you controlled that storm... How cute." His tone was condescending, his arms crossed as he looked down at Orion, who didn't seem to be fazed in the slightest.

Orion tilted his head, still smiling, but there was a fire in his eyes now. "I'm not cute, I'm just better than you," he said with a smirk, completely unbothered by Kairos's words. "But you wouldn't understand. You're too busy thinking you're the best."

At that, the atmosphere became tense. Odessa stepped forward, her face more serious than before, sensing that things could get ugly very quickly. She glanced at Teryl, who seemed to be more amused than anything else.

"Hey, why don't we all just calm down?" Odessa said, her voice carrying just enough authority to get their attention. "There's no need to fight, we're all here to prove ourselves. No one's better than anyone else yet."

Orion looked over at Odessa and grinned playfully. "I'm just having some fun, Odessa. Don't worry about me." His eyes flicked back to Kairos, who was still glaring at him, his posture rigid with arrogance.

Kairos took a step forward, his eyes burning with the desire to put Orion in his place. "Fun? You think this is fun? You're just a boy playing with wind. I'm here to show everyone what real power looks like. That's what you don't get."

Orion snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. "You really think you're something, huh? Maybe if you weren't so busy stroking your own ego, you'd actually see what real power is."

The words hit their mark, and for a moment, Kairos's expression faltered, his confident posture slipping slightly. It was clear Orion's playful taunt had rattled him. He wasn't used to being mocked, especially not by someone he deemed lesser.

"Enough," Kairos finally growled, his tone cold and threatening. "Don't think you can talk to me like that. You wouldn't last a second in a real fight."

But Orion just laughed, the sound carefree and light, completely contrasting with the heated moment. "I've had my fair share of fights. You're not exactly impressing me." He gave a mock bow. "But if you really want to, we can settle this once and for all. Let's see who the crowd really wants to win."

Odessa took a few steps back, sensing the brewing tension could explode at any moment. Teryl looked between Orion and Kairos, his eyes flicking from one to the other as if enjoying the show.

Finally, the tension was broken by the voice of the announcer, Marfiera's calm and collected tone echoing across the arena. "Please, students, return to your positions. The next round will begin shortly."

The interruption brought both Orion and Kairos back to reality, their standoff dissolving as quickly as it had ignited. Orion flashed a grin at Kairos, his smile wide and almost mocking. "I'll take that as a 'no' to the fight. Shame," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Next time, maybe."

Kairos simply turned and walked away, not sparing another glance at Orion, his pride intact—for now.

Teryl chuckled quietly, watching the exchange. "That was a close one," he said, shaking his head. "But you know what? I think Kairos learned something today."

Odessa sighed, her arms still folded over her chest. "I don't think he'll admit it. Not to anyone but himself. But... at least we're all going to get a chance to prove ourselves soon, right?"

Teryl nodded, his eyes turning toward the arena as the final preparations for the last round were underway. "Right. And when we do, I think we'll all show them what we're made of. No one's walking out of here without a mark left."

As the few final rounds loomed ahead, the atmosphere in the arena shifted again. Tension hung thick in the air, but beneath it all, there was something deeper—a sense of excitement, of anticipation. Each student in the room knew that their time to shine had arrived. The question was: who would rise above the rest, and who would fall under the pressure of it all?

As the crowd settled down from the previous encounter, the atmosphere in the arena shifted once more, anticipation thick in the air. The name of the next challenger echoed through the stadium, cutting through the murmurs of the audience like a blade.

"Third-level mage, Elias Thornhart!"

The name resonated with power as a towering figure stepped into the arena. Elias Thornhart's build was unmistakable — thick muscles rippling under his battle-worn tunic, his broad shoulders casting a shadow as he walked forward. His hair was wild and untamed, resembling a mane that seemed to match the primal energy that emanated from him. To some, his appearance might have seemed like that of a caveman — raw, elemental, and untamed. His eyes, however, were sharp, and his expression was one of intense focus.

As Elias strode toward the elite knight, there was no mistaking the raw strength in his step. The knight, who had seen many challengers before, couldn't help but pause and glance up at the towering figure. Elias's imposing stature made him seem almost out of place in the academy, where many students prided themselves on their refined magical prowess. But here, his sheer physical presence was almost as commanding as his magical ability.

Without a word, Elias lifted one enormous fist, cracking his knuckles as he sized up the knight. The elite knight, undeterred by Elias's size, lifted his grimoire and prepared for the challenge, his sword gleaming at the ready.

But before anyone could make a move, Elias planted his feet firmly in the ground. His muscles flexed, his body seemingly drawing energy from the very earth beneath him. Then, with a deep exhale, his hand shot down to the earth, and a violent rumble echoed through the arena.

"Crystal Spikes, awaken!" Elias shouted, his voice booming with power.

The ground beneath him cracked open, and from the cracks, large jagged crystal spikes shot out, each one forming with a terrifying speed and precision. The audience gasped as the arena floor turned into a field of razor-sharp, shimmering crystals, the sparkling tips glinting dangerously in the light.

The elite knight had no time to react as the first spike erupted from the ground near his feet, its tip piercing through the air toward him. The knight leapt into action, narrowly avoiding the sharp attack, but the ground continued to churn beneath him, sending more spikes shooting up in every direction. Some of the crystals even tore through his armor, creating deep gashes in the metal.

Elias wasn't finished. He raised both hands high above his head, and the crystals seemed to respond to his command. They pulsed with a strange energy, vibrating as if they were alive. With a sharp motion, he clenched his fists, and the spikes began to converge upon the knight like a barrage of deadly projectiles.

The elite knight swung his sword in an attempt to block the incoming crystals, but there were too many. With every swing, the knight was pushed back, his armor cracking under the force of Elias's magic. Each strike of his blade created sparks, but the onslaught of crystal spikes was relentless, and the knight was forced to retreat.

"Is this really a test of skill?" Elias asked, his voice taunting as he stood amidst the growing field of deadly crystals. His stance was almost casual, as though he were bored by how easily he was overwhelming the knight.

The knight, now breathing heavily, realized he had no choice but to concede. The sheer force and control that Elias exhibited with his magic had left him no room to fight back. The knight's sword dropped, and he raised his hand in surrender.

"I yield," the knight said, his voice strained but respectful.

Elias let out a deep, satisfied breath as the crystal spikes that had surrounded the knight slowly retracted, sinking back into the ground. The earth rumbled one final time before falling silent, and the battlefield was once again still.

The audience, stunned into silence for a moment, suddenly erupted into applause. Some gasped in awe at Elias's sheer power, while others murmured in disbelief at the ease with which he had dismantled his opponent.

"Impressive," Marfiera's voice rang out over the arena as she announced, "Elias Thornhart has passed the test."

With a casual glance at the defeated knight, Elias smirked. His towering form radiated confidence as he strode toward the winner's circle, his massive muscles flexing with each step. He didn't need to say anything. His display had spoken for itself.

As he passed by the other students, some of them exchanged wary looks. They had witnessed power that was both awe-inspiring and frightening. It was clear that Elias wasn't just a force to be reckoned with — he was a force of nature.

Teryl, who had been watching from the sidelines, raised an eyebrow. "Well, I guess no one's going to be messing with him anytime soon," he said to Odessa, who nodded, her expression thoughtful.

Odessa's eyes narrowed as she glanced at Elias, who was now joining the rest of the victors. "I don't know," she said quietly. "He may be strong, but his arrogance... it's hard to ignore. He might have power, but he doesn't seem like someone who's interested in working with others."

Teryl chuckled. "That's probably true. But we'll see what happens. We're all here to prove something."

As Elias stood among the other victors, his cocky smirk never faded. The audience's admiration only seemed to fuel his confidence. But behind that smile, there was a challenge in his eyes — and as the next rounds approached, it was clear that the real battle for dominance had only just begun.

Understood! Let's revise Vivienne's description to better match your vision, incorporating her strong physique, the blood magic, and the assassin-like build, along with the added detail of her cleavage and weaponry.

---

The arena, which had been filled with murmurs and excitement from the previous rounds, fell into an eerie silence as the next contestant was announced. The name that echoed across the arena sent a wave of unease through the gathered students.

"Fifth-level mage, Vivienne Crowne," Marfiera announced, her voice calm but filled with a certain weight.

The crowd hushed. Fifth-level mages were incredibly rare, a feat that many could only dream of achieving, but it wasn't just Vivienne's impressive ranking that caused the tension in the air—it was her very presence.

The air seemed to grow colder as she stepped into the arena, her figure slowly emerging from the shadowed entrance. Vivienne's appearance was striking and unlike any of the others who had fought before her. There was an almost haunting quality to her, like a figure pulled from the very depths of a gothic novel.

Her long, jet-black hair cascaded down her back in smooth, dark waves, framing her pale, almost ethereal face. Her eyes, though sharp and filled with intensity, held a certain dark allure. They were a piercing shade of violet that seemed to glow against the pallor of her skin. The look on her face was unreadable, distant—a stark contrast to the flashy smiles and cocky grins of the others.

Vivienne was not just an ethereal beauty; she was also powerfully built. Her body had been honed, clearly the product of years of training—not just in magic, but in physical prowess as well. Her posture was confident, almost predatory, reflecting the kind of woman who was comfortable in her own skin, fully aware of the effect she had on those around her. Unlike the more delicate or traditional beauties, Vivienne's frame was muscular and athletic. Her toned arms, firm thighs, and defined abs were all the proof of the strength she had worked for. She stood with a presence that was undeniably commanding, but there was something colder in her form, as if she had been forged through both strength and hardship.

Her attire only served to emphasize her physicality. She wore a form-fitting, black leather corset adorned with crimson ribbons, laced tightly to accentuate her narrow waist. The corset plunged low, revealing just enough cleavage to draw attention but leaving much to the imagination. Her skirt, short and tight, was paired with high stockings that hugged her sculpted legs and wrapped around her thighs, further emphasizing her fit, assassin-like build. Her boots, knee-high and made of durable leather, clicked sharply on the ground with each step she took.

Her most notable weapons were twin daggers, strapped to each thigh, easily accessible for swift strikes. The blades glinted menacingly under the arena's lights, sharpened to a fine edge, designed for close combat and quick, deadly strikes. The deadly allure of the daggers was amplified by the aura of blood magic that surrounded her—an unsettling and potent energy that made the air heavy with its presence.

There was no doubting her power. Vivienne was not a mage to be taken lightly. Her magic—blood magic—was feared and revered in equal measure. It was a rare and dangerous magic, allowing its wielder to manipulate their own life force or even the blood of others to fuel their spells. The fact that she wielded such an art so confidently was a testament to both her strength and her deadly nature. The combination of her physical build and blood magic made her an assassin in the truest sense—efficient, lethal, and unstoppable.

The murmurs rippled through the crowd again, but this time there was no excitement. The students were frozen, captivated by her presence. Where others like Sylvia or Odessa had captured attention with their traditional beauty, Vivienne drew the gaze of every onlooker with the sheer force of her presence. Her appearance was dangerous, commanding, and undeniably powerful.

As Vivienne stepped into the center of the arena, she wasted no time. She locked eyes with the elite knight, who was now standing before her. There was no tension, no need for words. Vivienne's violet eyes never strayed from the knight, her lips curling into the faintest smile, as if daring him to make a move. There was no fear in her, only the cold, calm certainty of one who knew they had already won.

The elite knight, clearly hesitant, adjusted his stance, gripping his sword tightly, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. The chill in the air had grown heavier, and the blood magic swirling around Vivienne seemed to pulse with a life of its own.

"Ready?" the knight asked, though his voice had a nervous edge.

Vivienne didn't respond. She simply raised a hand, and the temperature in the arena dropped several degrees. With a flick of her wrist, the blood around her seemed to come alive, swirling and crackling as she gathered it to her.

"Blood Bond," she muttered, a whisper of power that resonated throughout the arena.

The knight suddenly found his movements sluggish, his grip tightening around his sword as if some unseen force was draining his strength. He grunted, struggling against the sensation, but Vivienne was already moving, gliding toward him like a predator stalking its prey.

She pulled one of her daggers from its sheath with a swift motion, the blade gleaming like a silver streak as she closed the distance. In one fluid motion, she slashed, a perfectly timed cut that grazed the knight's armor, leaving a deep gash in its surface.

The knight staggered back, now fully aware of the danger she posed. He swung his sword with a renewed sense of urgency, but Vivienne was faster. She darted in and out, her strikes swift and precise. Her blood magic empowered her attacks, her movements enhanced by the very force that was now bending the knight's will to hers.

With a final, decisive movement, Vivienne's dagger sliced across the knight's throat, the blood splattering in the air like a crimson arc. The knight dropped to his knees, gasping for air as his life force began to drain from him.

Vivienne stepped back, her expression unchanged, even as the knight collapsed, defeated.

The arena fell silent, the audience stunned by the sheer efficiency and coldness of her victory. It was no longer just about strength or magic—it was about control, precision, and the deadly art of assassination.

Marfiera's voice cut through the silence. "Vivienne Crowne has passed the test."

Vivienne didn't look back at the fallen knight or the students who watched in awe. With one final glance around the arena, she turned and walked toward the victor's circle, her head held high, leaving behind only the chilling reminder of her power.

The students who had witnessed her battle now understood—Vivienne Crowne was not just a mage; she was a force of nature. She was a master of both magic and combat, and she would be a dangerous ally, or a terrifying enemy, to anyone who crossed her.

As the next round approached, the mood in the arena shifted from playful to tense, the crowd eagerly awaiting the final battles. Then, through the gates, a figure stepped into the arena. His build, at first glance, seemed almost laughable. He was lean and wiry, with tanned skin that spoke of hard labor under the sun. His ash-grey hair, messy and unkempt, had streaks of red that caught the light, almost glowing in the arena's fire-lit glow. He had a strange, unsettling grin plastered across his face, as if the world itself were a joke only he understood.

"1st level mage… Ladon Roselei," the Marfiera called out.

A wave of mockery rippled through the crowd, and whispers filled the air. "Dormant mage, the weakest of the weak," they sneered. "He doesn't even have his own grimoire... What's he doing here?"

But the moment Ladon stepped forward, the arena seemed to quiet down. His grin widened, a manic gleam in his red-tinted eyes that hinted at something far more dangerous than a mere 'weak' mage. His presence was unsettling—like a shadow looming just beyond the light, like something ancient and powerful lying dormant beneath a mask of insignificance. Though his body was slight, his aura was anything but ordinary.

He stood with the relaxed confidence of a predator, his posture lazy yet poised for violence. Ladon wasn't just another mage, and the crowd's mockery was now fading into the quiet realization that this man—this "1st level" mage—might just be the most dangerous one yet.

Ladon Roselei stood there, his grin widening as the whispers grew louder, mocking and taunting him. The crowd couldn't help but sneer at his appearance, the stark contrast between his disheveled form and the polished, well-built figures of the other mages who had passed. They found amusement in his lack of grimoire, his low level, and the sheer audacity of him stepping into the arena at all.

"Did they let anyone in these days?" one of the students shouted, his voice dripping with condescension. "He doesn't even have a real grimoire! How pathetic."

Another student, a taller figure with a smug expression, laughed loudly. "What's he going to do? Blink really hard and cast a spell with his sheer willpower? This is a joke."

Others around the arena joined in the laughter, their voices carrying through the air, mocking Ladon's apparent weakness. Some even went so far as to openly point, laughing at the fact that someone who didn't even seem like a mage had somehow made it to the academy's most prestigious trials.

"Are you sure this is a mage? He looks like he's been lost in the forest for days!" one of them joked.

But Ladon's smile didn't waver. Instead, it grew wider, more unsettling, like a wolf listening to the laughter of sheep before it pounced. He stood there, unmoving, letting the jabs wash over him, as if they were nothing more than a distant sound—like the wind rustling through trees. His posture remained lazy, a hand in his pocket as though he couldn't care less about the mockery being hurled at him.

A few moments passed, and the teasing only grew louder.

"At least we know where to look when we need to find the weakest mage in the entire arena," someone sneered from the back of the crowd. "It's right here."

The insults continued to rain down on Ladon, but his grin never faltered. There was something unnerving about the way he stood there, almost completely unmoved by the barrage of ridicule. As if he didn't hear them. Or perhaps, as if he welcomed it.

Despite the continuous mocking, the students couldn't shake the feeling that Ladon was not to be underestimated. There was a strange tension in the air, something off about him—like a storm waiting to unleash. His very presence made the air feel thick, charged with potential danger.

And yet, none of them knew why.

The arena buzzed with anticipation, but Ladon simply stood in the center of it all, like a puppet with the strings held by his own hand. The laughs and insults continued to flow, but they seemed to grow quieter in comparison to the growing unease that crept over the crowd. Ladon was more than they bargained for—too quiet, too still, too dangerous to simply be dismissed.

The arena, once filled with jeers and mockery, fell into an eerie silence. Ladon stood still, his grin gone, replaced by a deep, simmering rage. His fists were clenched so tightly that the muscles in his arms trembled. His gaze was locked on the elite knight, his eyes no longer playful, but cold and filled with fury. The knight, who had stood there with an arrogant smirk, now raised his sword as though it could protect him from the storm that was about to hit.

"I shall use this to make sure you don't burn yourself," the knight sneered, his voice dripping with condescension.

The words were like a trigger. All the mockery, all the humiliation that Ladon had endured in silence, suddenly came crashing down upon him. His body tensed, and for the first time, the crowd could feel it—a palpable shift in the air. A low growl emanated from Ladon's throat, a sound born of pure anger, as he stepped forward.

"Don't you dare look down on me!" Ladon's voice cracked through the tension like a whip, and his words were laced with raw power. His whole body coiled like a spring ready to snap.

Without warning, the arena trembled. The ground beneath their feet cracked, splitting in a flash as dust and debris flew into the air, obscuring the view. The force of the eruption sent the audience reeling back, their hearts pounding in their chests, but no one could take their eyes off the center of the arena. Ladon's aura had exploded with an intensity that shook the very foundations of the place.

And then, like a lightning strike, Ladon surged forward in a blur of motion.

Clink.

The sound was sharp, like metal against metal—but the impact wasn't just heard, it was felt. The knight, who had been so confident moments ago, was sent flying as if he were a mere ragdoll. His sword flew from his grasp, and his entire body was flung through the air, the force so immense that it shattered his armor into jagged shards. The knight's form crumpled through the air like a puppet with its strings cut. The sound of his body crashing into the stands echoed through the arena, his armor scraping against the stone and leaving deep gouges in the structure.

The sheer force of the blow was so violent that the trajectory of the knight's flight carved a path through the arena, sending the very fabric of the tribunes into chaos. The once pristine rows of seats were obliterated by the knight's brutal path, splintering and cracking as the force of Ladon's attack sent shockwaves through the stands. Smoke billowed into the air from the sheer impact, mixing with the dust that had already filled the arena, giving the scene an almost apocalyptic feel.

Heat radiated from Ladon's fist, his body now surrounded by an aura of raw, untamed energy. The ground beneath him cracked further, as though even the earth itself was reacting to the power he had just unleashed. The crowd was still silent, unable to comprehend what had just happened. The knight, who had been regarded as the elite of the arena, was now nothing more than a broken figure, lying among the wreckage of the tribunes.

Ladon stood amidst the dust and smoke, his chest rising and falling with the weight of the power he had just released. His eyes, once filled with mirth, were now cold and unyielding, his stance unwavering. The mocking voices of the crowd had died, leaving nothing but a stunned silence in their wake.

With one strike, Ladon had torn through the arrogance of the arena, proving in an instant that beneath his humble exterior lay a force of unimaginable strength. His power, his fury—it was undeniable. The arena would never forget the day the so-called "weakest" mage had taken down an elite knight with nothing but his fist, leaving a crater of destruction in his wake.

Ladon's grin returned, but this time, it was no longer a childish smirk—it was the smile of a predator who had just made his point.

The arena was still in stunned silence, a palpable tension hanging in the air as Ladon stood victorious, his grin wide and self-assured. His strike had sent shockwaves through the entire arena, the elite knight lying in ruins, his shattered armor and broken form a testament to Ladon's raw power. The once-jeering crowd, who had mocked him moments before, now stared in stunned disbelief. Their insults had died on their tongues, replaced by an undeniable awe.

From the winner's platform, a chorus of gasps echoed. The professors, who had watched the duel with practiced eyes, exchanged glances, each one silently processing the implications of what had just transpired.

Marfiera Drumkal, the Wand and Wild Flux instructor, had her hand over her mouth, a soft gasp escaping her lips. She had seen many students, many fighters, in her time, but nothing like this. The force of Ladon's strike had been so sudden, so unexpected, that it left her at a loss for words. She shifted her gaze from the wreckage of the arena to the young mage standing tall at its center. A dormant mage… with this much power? The thought lingered in her mind, as she felt a flutter of uncertainty. Had they underestimated this "dormant mage" more than they realized?

Beside her, Donovan Sidius, the combat instructor, stood stone-faced, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. There was a flicker of something—something akin to respect—behind his cold blue eyes. It was fleeting, barely perceptible, but it was there. His body language stiffened for just a moment before he nodded imperceptibly. Ladon had done something no one had expected. No one had foreseen this much force from him, and it unsettled even the hardened veteran. This boy could become a real threat...

Then, Teryl Volcaryn, the fire-wielding mage, who had been watching the scene unfold from the side, leaned forward slightly. His sharp eyes never left Ladon, and a hint of intrigue played across his face. He had seen great mages before, but Ladon had something different—something untamed. It wasn't the refined magic that Teryl had come to expect from the academy's higher levels, but the sheer ferocity of Ladon's attack. Teryl felt a slight knot form in his stomach, a realization that perhaps his own mastery of fire might not be enough to face someone like Ladon in battle. This boy had shown that raw power, without any restraints or refinement, could be just as deadly. The challenge had just been raised.

On the other side, Odessa Stephyn, who had faced her own intense battles in the arena, stood frozen for a moment. Her mind raced as she processed the events. She had fought with grace, with strategy. But Ladon? He hadn't fought with precision or planning—he had simply exploded into action, crushing his opponent with overwhelming force. She could feel the weight of his power now, and it was unsettling. The air around him seemed to hum with energy, raw and untamed, like a storm waiting to tear through everything. How had he done that? She couldn't help but ask herself. She had always believed that mastery of magic and control was the key to strength, but Ladon's display had shattered that notion.

Sylvia Raelis, who had been basking in the attention of her victory moments before, now found herself lost in thought. The expression on her face faltered, her confident smirk replaced with a look of introspection. She had faced the elite knight with poise, defeating him with elegance and precision, yet here was Ladon, a "dormant mage," whose single punch had obliterated the knight's armor and sent him flying. Sylvia's flawless exterior cracked for a moment, and a flicker of something—was it respect?—passed through her features. This… this is what true strength looks like, she thought. Ladon was a wildcard, a force of nature that couldn't be ignored, and she knew that her previous ease with the knights would no longer be enough. There was a new player in the game now.

Vivienne Crowne, the 5th-level mage, observed from the sidelines with quiet intensity. Her eyes narrowed, her lips pressing together in a thin line as she analyzed Ladon. She had seen many fighters in her time, many with titles and noble blood, yet something about Ladon intrigued her. He was not refined or polished, not like the others. But his raw, untamed power spoke volumes. Vivienne's mind began to work, calculating, considering what it meant for someone with no lineage, no title, to wield such raw might. She would need to keep an eye on him. This display of power had thrown the entire hierarchy of the academy into question. If Ladon could truly harness this strength, then perhaps the rules of the academy—of power itself—were about to change.

And then, from the audience, the whispers began. They started low, uncertain, but slowly grew louder, cascading through the crowd like a wave crashing onto the shore.

"Did you see that?"

"He just—he just sent the elite knight flying!"

"He's a dormant mage! How is that possible?"

The whispers became shouts, and the crowd, once mocking, was now filled with a mixture of awe, confusion, and reverence. Ladon had not just defeated the knight—he had obliterated him with such power that no one in the crowd could ignore it. They had underestimated him, and now they realized it. The very air seemed to hum with the energy of what had just transpired.

Ladon stood amidst the wreckage, his grin widening as he soaked in the reactions. His fists were clenched at his sides, the remnants of the explosion still crackling with faint sparks of energy. He could feel the weight of the stares from all around him. They had all seen it now—the dormant mage, who had never been expected to be anything, had just become the most talked-about figure in the arena. And as he looked out over the stunned crowd, he knew one thing for sure.

He was no longer just a forgotten name. He was someone to watch.

In the stillness that followed, the principal, Eryx Thornfield, finally clapped his hands once, breaking the tension. The sound was sharp, commanding attention, and the crowd immediately quieted. His voice rang out, calm and measured, yet there was an undeniable edge to it.

"Ladon Roselei," he began, his gaze piercing the young mage, "You have shown us that power does not come from lineage or expectation. It comes from the will to act, to create. You have earned your place here."

The crowd fell silent once more. Thornfield's words carried weight, resonating deeply with the students and the professors alike. Ladon had changed the game.

As Ladon entered the victor's side, the atmosphere around him felt tense. His heart pounded in his chest, and though the adrenaline from his fight with the elite knight was still coursing through his veins, he couldn't shake the whispers and side glances that followed him. Other winners had already claimed their seats, some greeting each other with quiet congratulations, while others eyed Ladon with suspicion.

He could hear the mutterings, the doubts, the venomous whispers that buzzed around him like angry bees.

"He's a fraud."

"It was rigged. The knight must've let him win."

"How could a dormant mage do that? He must've cheated. There's no way someone like him could have that much power."

Ladon felt the weight of the accusations, but he didn't let them show. He remained calm, an indifferent smirk playing on his lips. His eyes remained locked on the others in the room, knowing that the skepticism wouldn't disappear so easily. But they were wrong. He had earned his place here. He didn't need anyone's validation. His power spoke louder than any whispers could ever reach.

However, the doubts only grew louder when he took his seat among the other winners. He could sense the eyes on him, eyes that tried to decipher the truth of his victory, eyes that questioned whether he truly belonged. A few students dared to speak up, their voices dripping with envy and disbelief. But Ladon didn't care. Let them doubt. Let them talk. They would come to realize, eventually, that nothing could stop him.

Then, the silence was broken as Marfiera's voice rang out across the arena once more.

"3rd level mage Caspian Harkin."

Ladon turned his gaze towards the center of the arena, where the last challenger would soon step forward. Caspian Harkin—a name that had already begun to stir whispers among the crowd, but this time, the murmurs were different. Caspian wasn't a wildcard like Ladon. No, his presence was commanding, his reputation already well-known, and his quiet smile as he looked at the elite knight signaled his confidence in a way that was almost chilling.

Caspian wiped the blood from his lip, still reeling from the crushing blow he had taken. His body ached, but there was no time for weakness. The elite knight was already advancing again, his heavy footsteps echoing ominously through the arena.

Caspian gritted his teeth and struggled to get to his feet. His head spun, but he focused, forcing himself to calm down. The arena was buzzing with energy, the crowd watching in suspense, waiting to see if the inexperienced 3rd-level mage could survive against a warrior of this caliber.

"Ready?" the knight taunted, his voice deep and mocking.

Caspian barely nodded, still trying to catch his breath. He was out of his depth—this wasn't a fight he was supposed to win. But something inside him stirred. He had to fight, or he wouldn't make it out of here. Not alive, anyway.

Before Caspian could fully react, the knight was already charging forward with terrifying speed. Caspian barely had time to brace himself before the knight's boot slammed into his gut, sending him flying backward. The force was so intense, Caspian felt as if his insides had been rearranged. He slammed hard into the ground, gasping for air as the wind was knocked out of him.

"Ughh..." Caspian groaned, trying to push himself up. His body screamed in protest, and every movement felt like it was draining the last bit of energy he had. He staggered to his feet, barely keeping his balance.

"Pathetic," the knight sneered, his voice cold and condescending. "You can't even take a single hit."

Caspian clenched his fists. He had no choice. There was no room for hesitation. If he didn't act now, he'd be crushed like the others before him. He reached for his grimoire, his fingers trembling as he opened it, the dark pages flicking in the air. He had no idea what spells would work, but he had to try.

Suddenly, the pages illuminated, revealing a series of spells he'd never seen before. The words seemed to pulse with energy: Dark Chain, Veil of Dusk, Darkness, and Summon Beast.

His heart skipped a beat. Summon Beast? He remembered hearing rumors about mages who could summon creatures from the void, but he'd never imagined he'd be able to do it himself. But these were no ordinary creatures—no, these were shadows of those who had died. Caspian's mind raced.

Looking at the arena around him, Caspian chose the spell that seemed the most natural. With a swift motion, he focused his will into the air, his mana coiling around him. Black smoke poured from the grimoire, spiraling upward and coalescing into a dark rift in the air. The crowd gasped as shadows began to form out of the mist, taking shape with frightening speed.

From the rift emerged five large wolves, their glowing eyes and razor-sharp teeth gleaming. At their center, a massive alpha wolf appeared, its hulking form even larger than the rest. Its fur was black as night, rippling with dark energy. Caspian's breath caught in his throat. This was no ordinary summoning—these were creatures of death itself.

The wolves growled, their presence sending a chill through the arena. The knight stopped in his tracks, momentarily taken aback by the appearance of these beasts. They weren't just intimidating—they were terrifying. Caspian could feel the power of the creatures he'd summoned, but even more than that, he felt their hunger. They wanted blood.

"Go!" Caspian shouted, pointing toward the knight.

Without hesitation, the wolves charged. The alpha wolf leapt forward first, snarling as it moved with predatory precision. The other wolves followed, their teeth bared, their claws digging into the ground with each step. They moved like a single, coordinated force—no longer just magic, but a relentless pack of death itself.

The knight raised his sword to defend, but even he couldn't keep up with the onslaught. The alpha wolf lunged at him, its teeth sinking into the knight's armor with a sickening crunch. The knight let out a roar of pain as the wolf's bite crushed through his defenses. The other wolves circled, tearing at the knight's legs, trying to pull him to the ground.

Caspian watched in a mix of awe and horror as his summoned beasts tore into the elite knight. He didn't want to admit it, but there was something exhilarating about it. The power was undeniable. His wolves were relentless, savage creatures, and the knight was struggling to keep up.

Despite the chaos, Caspian's focus remained sharp. He didn't dare look away, not for a moment. The knight wasn't finished yet. He could see the anger in the man's eyes as he swung his sword, cutting down one of the smaller wolves with a single swipe. But there were too many—too much ferocity in the pack. And the alpha, enraged, was too strong.

"Is that all?" the knight spat, swinging his sword again.

Caspian grit his teeth. He had no intention of letting the knight recover. The wolves were strong, but Caspian needed to finish this. He raised his hand, reaching deep into the spell that connected him to his summoned beasts. He commanded them to attack with everything they had, to keep the knight on the defensive. The wolves snarled in response, their attacks coming faster, fiercer.

The knight staggered under the weight of the assault. Another swipe of his sword cleaved through the air, but it was too late. The alpha wolf, furious and relentless, lunged once more. With a powerful strike, it knocked the knight's sword from his hands and sent him crashing to the ground.

The elite knight was pinned. The wolves, now with their jaws clamped around his armor, held him there, leaving him unable to escape.

Caspian stood panting, sweat dripping from his forehead. He could barely believe it himself, but he had done it. The knight, who had once seemed so invincible, was now defeated by the creatures Caspian had summoned.

"Yield!" Caspian called out, his voice shaky but firm. "You've lost."

The knight, bloodied and bruised, glared at Caspian with a mixture of anger and respect. "I yield," he growled, his voice strained. "You may have won this time, boy."

Caspian's heart raced in his chest as the wolves backed away, and the arena was filled with the roaring cheers of the crowd. He had barely survived—barely won—but against all odds, he had done it.

The elite knight had been defeated, and Caspian Harkin had earned his place in the academy.