The stadium did not erupt.
It froze.
Dust rolled across the arena like a living thing, swallowing the battlefield where lightning had just torn the world apart.
No one spoke.
No one breathed.
Every eye was locked on the thick cloud, waiting for shapes to emerge… or bodies.
Only a few were calm.
High-level artists leaned forward, senses extended, already piecing together fragments hidden from ordinary sight.
At the highest stand—
The Duke of Ashcroft sat unmoving.
Silent.
Vigilant.
A faint curve tugged at his lips as his eyes closed briefly, as if he already knew the answer.
…
Inside the dust cloud—
Aric knelt.
His sword was still in his grip, but only barely.
Blood dripped from his arm.
His abdomen burned.
His qi reserves were nearly empty.
Yet his eyes were sharp.
Too sharp for someone who believed he had won.
'He's not defeated yet.'
The certainty crawled up his spine.
That final strike should have erased everything in front of him.
And yet—
Nobody.
No scent of blood strong enough.
No impact crater where his opponent should have been.
His gaze shifted left.
Right.
Front.
Nothing.
Half a minute passed.
The dust thinned.
Stone fragments settled.
Aric exhaled slowly and lifted his head.
Where—
Footsteps.
Behind him.
His pupils shrank.
He twisted, sword sweeping instinctively—
Too late.
A calm voice whispered against his ear.
"Try to move… and this arrow will pierce your head instantly."
Cold.
Not fear.
Something worse.
A predator's certainty.
Aric froze.
The tip of an arrow kissed the back of his skull, steady despite the tremor in the hand holding it.
This wasn't a bluff.
This was restraint.
Slowly, Aric loosened his grip.
His sword slipped from his fingers and clattered onto the cracked stone.
Both hands rose.
The dust finally cleared.
The stadium saw everything.
Aric Falk—
The shining genius of the capital—
Kneeling.
Hands raised in surrender.
Behind him stood the unknown bowman.
Rey.
His stance was rigid, like a pillar forced to remain upright by will alone.
His hands shook violently.
Blood soaked his clothes, flowing from a deep wound above his shoulder, staining the dark coat red.
Cuts lined his body, some shallow, some vicious.
And yet—
He stood.
Where the lightning had detonated—
Nothing remained.
Only the shredded remains of his quiver lay scattered, torn apart like it had been fed to a storm.
The silence shattered.
"I surrender."
Aric's voice was hoarse but clear.
The referee flinched like he'd been struck.
The host's shout exploded through his earpiece.
He snapped back to reality.
"W–Winner of Ground 7…"
"Contestant… 19,082!"
The stadium erupted.
Shock.
Disbelief.
Roaring applause crashing over stunned silence.
Some stood frozen.
Others screamed Rey's number like a chant.
"How—?"
"Who even is he?"
"He beat Aric Falk… fairly?"
Speculation spread like wildfire.
"He's not from the capital."
"No way we'd miss someone like that."
"A hidden noble?"
"Even if he's common-born, someone will snatch him up now."
While cheers rang—
Tears fell elsewhere.
Far from the arena, in Rey's home city, in a quiet house—
Jasmine sat before the screen, hands pressed to her mouth.
Her heart shattered with every cut she saw.
When the lightning fell, she had nearly screamed.
Nearly collapsed.
And now—
Tears streamed down her face as she saw him standing.
Alive.
Broken.
But standing.
Back in the arena—
Both collapsed almost simultaneously.
Rey fell backwards.
Aric slumped forward.
Both lay on the cracked stone, chests rising and falling violently.
Aric laughed weakly.
"…Brother… what's your name?"
Rey turned his head slightly.
"Why?" he rasped.
"Planning revenge on my family later?"
Aric coughed, smiling despite the pain.
"No. Just… want to remember the man who defeated me for the first time."
A pause.
"…Rey."
Aric repeated it softly.
"Rey… huh."
They lay there, staring at the sky.
"…How did you evade my last attack?" Aric asked.
"That strike should've killed you."
Rey closed his eyes.
"Just a trick."
Aric chuckled.
"What trick won't you share with me? We're practically friends now, right?"
Rey smirked faintly, blood on his lips.
"A trickster doesn't reveal his tricks. And when did I become your friend?"
The sky above them was clear again.
But nothing in the capital would ever feel the same.
"Oh come on…" Aric groaned, tilting his head slightly despite the pain.
"I'm itching to know. Tell me."
Rey let out a weak breath, half amused, half exhausted.
He didn't answer.
Because even now, he wasn't sure how he had pulled it off.
Just before the lightning descended—
Just before the world turned white—
He had drawn a single arrow.
Not to fire.
To survive.
He had poured the last scraps of his mana into his empty quiver, reinforcing it beyond what it was ever meant to endure.
Not to block the strike.
Just to delay it.
A heartbeat.
Two at most.
Without that reinforcement, the quiver would have vaporised instantly… and Rey would have been erased with it.
Even then, the backlash had shredded his skin.
The heat.
The pressure.
The graze alone had torn flesh and blackened skin beneath the surface.
Using that tiny opening, with his technique pushed to its absolute limit, he had slipped sideways—
Then behind.
Everything after that was instinct.
Luck.
And timing so thin it scared him to think about it.
Rey smiled faintly.
'That was… a ridiculous gamble.'
Aric clicked his tongue.
"You're smiling. That means it was insane, wasn't it?"
Rey didn't deny it.
They lay there like two idiots who had just tried to kill each other and somehow survived.
As if this were a park.
As if the entire capital wasn't still reeling.
Around them, the Noble section stirred violently.
Whispers spread.
Eyes sharpened.
Hosric stood with a grin so wide it hurt his face.
He was already speaking hurriedly into his communicator.
"—Yes, Sister Jasmine. He's injured, but stable. Medics are already on him. You don't need to panic."
On the other end, Jasmine's shaky breaths slowly eased.
Back on the field, stretchers arrived.
Neither Rey nor Aric could stand anymore.
They were lifted carefully, still talking as they were carried off.
The referee, hands trembling, returned Rey's applicant ID to him.
A silent acknowledgement.
Victory.
Behind them, workers rushed in, already beginning emergency repairs on Ground 7.
Cracks were filled.
Debris cleared.
The host's voice echoed through the stadium.
"Everyone! Due to the… intensity of the previous match, we experienced a timing malfunction and structural damage to the ground. The match pulled more than ten minutes."
Laughter rippled nervously through the crowd.
"But I believe you'll all agree—every second was worth it."
Applause followed.
"We'll resume the next matches in thirty minutes. Please take this time to rest and refresh yourselves."
As the crowd dispersed—
Gravion stood up.
Davin followed, spear resting on his shoulder.
"So?" Davin asked.
"Anyone worth recruiting?"
Gravion didn't answer immediately.
His gaze lingered on the path where Rey and Aric had been taken.
'Not now.
Not at this stage.'
Both of them had shown signs far beyond this era.
"…Not today," Gravion said finally.
"It won't work yet."
Davin frowned.
"Yet?"
Gravion smiled faintly.
"We'll come back tomorrow."
As they walked away, his fingers tightened.
'No one takes what I've set my eyes on.
No one.'
In the medical wing—
Chaos reigned.
Aric's wound was severe, but clean.
Straightforward.
Rey was the real problem.
The medics frowned as they examined him.
The external injuries looked worse than they were.
But beneath—
Blackened tissue.
Darkened blood.
Not poisonous.
Just… altered.
They chalked it up to lightning aftermath and thermal shock.
No one questioned it.
After bandaging, stabilising, and administering pain suppressants, both were finally cleared.
They looked ridiculous.
Wrapped head to toe in white like poorly made mummies.
Aric laughed first.
"Brother… you look worse than me."
Rey snorted.
"Shut up."
Footsteps approached.
Two figures entered.
One was Fenlor, face tight with concern.
The other looked eerily similar to Aric.
Same sharp features.
Same eyes.
Aric's expression changed instantly.
The man leaned down and whispered—
"Brother. The Patriarch is calling. Now."
Aric exhaled slowly.
"Looks like duty calls."
He turned to Rey, smiling again.
"Hope we meet again. Next time… swords."
Rey raised an eyebrow.
"You sure you want that?"
Aric's grin widened.
"If you're this terrifying with a bow, I don't even want to imagine your blade."
He paused, then added softly—
"I'll be waiting."
With that, he left.
Rey watched him go.
'What a troublesome guy.'
He got him to confess that he also trains in swordsmanship.
He asked Rey to agree to a sword battle someday, knowing they wouldn't meet again anytime soon. Rey agreed.
But somewhere deep inside—
He knew this wasn't the last time their paths would cross.
And the world had just taken its first real notice of him.
Aric exchanged a few more words with Fenlor before finally leaving the medical wing.
They already knew each other from past Noble gatherings, so the greetings were brief, polite, and layered with unspoken status.
Once Aric disappeared beyond the corridor—
Fenlor exploded.
"Bro—are you insane?"
He practically vibrated with excitement.
"That match… do you even realise what you just did? My friends and I were screaming like lunatics. People who didn't even like you being around me before are now begging me to introduce them to you."
He leaned closer, lowering his voice.
"Even Aric's fans. Girls who were cheering for him at first are now asking about you. You became a star in a single battle."
Rey only nodded faintly.
His head was heavy.
His body felt like it had been hollowed out and stitched back together with sheer will.
All he wanted now was sleep.
Real sleep.
"I'm heading back later," Rey muttered.
"For now… I'm resting."
The medic had already warned him not to move.
The shoulder wound could worsen if strained, and the internal shock hadn't fully settled.
Fenlor noticed Rey's eyelids drooping mid-sentence and laughed softly.
"Yeah… figures. Sleep, hero."
He left quietly.
Less than a minute later, Rey was out cold.
Like a stone dropped into deep water.
No one noticed what happened beneath the bandages.
The torn flesh began knitting together at a slow but steady pace.
The blackened edges faded.
Blood circulation normalised.
Muscle fibres reconnected.
Abilities sealed.
Mana dormant.
Yet his body healed anyway.
No art was active.
No technique was running.
And no one understood why.
Not yet.
...
High above, within the Noble gallery—
Aric entered a private section.
A man stood waiting.
Broad shoulders.
Battle-hardened posture.
A presence that pressed down without effort.
A long sword rested beside him, untouched, yet terrifying.
"Father," Aric said calmly.
"You called for me. If it's about the loss, I've already accepted your decision."
Sargas Falk turned.
The Patriarch of the Falk House.
"You lost," he said plainly.
"But that's not exactly why I called you."
Aric frowned.
"Do you know who that boy was?" Sargas continued.
Aric's expression sharpened.
"Father—whatever you're thinking, don't touch him. He's a commoner. I won't cooperate if you—"
Sargas burst out laughing.
The sound echoed, drawing glances from nearby nobles.
"Oh, my naïve son…"
He stepped closer, eyes gleaming.
"Even if I wanted to, I couldn't touch him."
Aric froze.
"The boy you're defending is already under surveillance. Not by one house. Not by two."
Sargas leaned in.
"Even Dukes are watching him."
Aric's eyes widened.
"That's impossible. He's just—"
"Do you even know his full name?" Sargas interrupted.
"…No."
Sargas smiled.
"Rey Dragonstorm."
The words landed like a hammer.
"The fallen Duke heir," Sargas continued.
"The one who was meant to inherit the throne of the Kingdom itself. Reduced to nothing. Watched by everyone. Protected by no one."
Aric's mind reeled.
"So that's why…"
Sargas straightened, his voice cold.
"And about that thing, whether you like it or not, he will come for you. Not today. Not tomorrow. But one day."
"And when that happens," he added quietly, "no one will be able to stop it."
Aric clenched his fists.
But instead of fear—
He smiled.
'So that's the weight you carry…'
After a few more instructions, Aric was dismissed.
His younger brother, Jareth, was summoned next, who was also participating in the tournament.
As Aric left the gallery, his eyes burned with resolve.
'Destiny? Fate? Control?
I'll shatter all of it.'
He pulled out his phone while walking.
A few searches later—
"Fenlor… Valemont."
He grinned.
'If I can't get Rey's number directly… I'll take the long route.'
He looked outside.
Below—
The stadium roared back to life.
Matches resumed.
Cheers erupted.
Blood would be spilt again.
But somewhere, unseen—
The game had already shifted.
And the names that mattered had finally collided.