The strike landed.
For a moment, there was only dust and silence—thick, heavy, almost sacred. The crowd held its breath as the storm of debris settled over the battlefield, blurring the silhouettes of the two combatants.
Then, as the dust began to clear, the victor was revealed.
Riven Blackthorn stood tall, his obsidian blade pressed lightly against the side of Luke's neck. The flat of the sword trembled with the tension of the final blow not delivered. Riven's face was calm, unreadable, save for the faint rise and fall of his chest as he controlled his breath.
Luke was on the ground, one knee buried in the cracked stone of the arena floor. His hand still clutched his broken spear, the shaft splintered near the midpoint. His body trembled slightly, more from disbelief than pain. He looked up at Riven, his eyes wide with the weight of his defeat.
The silence broke.
"WINNER—Riven Blackthorn!" the commentator shouted, his voice echoing across the arena as cheers erupted from the crowd. The students of the Academy roared with excitement, though a few pockets remained quiet, stunned by the match's outcome.
Riven took a slow breath, then withdrew his sword and sheathed it in a smooth motion. He said nothing—just turned, his cloak sweeping behind him as he walked away from the center of the arena. His boots thudded against the stone floor, the sound steady and unhurried.
Luke slowly rose to his feet, wiping a streak of blood from his cheek. His eyes never left Riven's back. He was winded, humiliated, but somewhere deep beneath that—curiously respectful. He watched the champion disappear back fists clenched at his sides, jaw set.
Back inside the Academy walls, far from the chaos of the arena, another scene was quietly unfolding.
Elyon moved quickly down the long, stone hallway that led to Renos's office. His steps were quick, precise, but not hurried enough to draw suspicion. His boots echoed sharply off the floor, the only sound in the otherwise empty corridor.
He was deep in thought, calculating.'' If the documents are where I think they are, I can''
Then he stopped.
Ahead of him, coming around the corner, was Renos himself.
The older man's brow furrowed in surprise, though his expression quickly returned to neutral—calm, composed, but not entirely without suspicion.
"Elyon?" he said, folding his arms. "What are you doing here? You should be at the arena with the others."
Elyon's mind shifted gears instantly. His face softened, and a casual smile appeared as if it had always been there.
"Oh, I just needed a quick bathroom break. Didn't think I'd run into you here."
Renos gave a small nod, his eyes still fixed on Elyon with the calm focus of a man used to reading lies.
"I was reviewing some documents," he replied evenly.
Renos gave a nod, his voice calm. "Well, I'll be going now."
Elyon kept his friendly mask in place, his tone light. "Okay. See you at the arena."
As Renos passed him in the hallway, Elyon watched him closely, eyes narrowing just slightly behind the false smile. There was something... odd. A slight bulge at Renos's sleeve—barely noticeable. Paper? No, not just paper. A sealed document tucked carefully into the folds of his robe.
The smile on Elyon's face vanished.
His expression turned sharp, focused.
Without warning, Elyon raised his arm and pointed it toward Renos's back.And casted Arcana ray at him.
A burst of concentrated magical energy crackled from his palm, searing through the air. But just before it made contact, Renos spun to the left with inhuman speed, the blast barely missing him and scorching the floor a bit.
Without missing a beat, Renos flicked his wrist and casted a spell while muttering something under his breath. A thick, swirling mist exploded from his hands, quickly blanketing the corridor in dense, white fog.
Within seconds, everything was obscured.
Elyon's vision was gone.
He narrowed his stance and quickly casted "Magnes Shield." A shimmering Barrier formed around him, humming faintly with essence energy. It was designed to block sudden attacks—perfect for fog-covered ambushes.
He stood still, heart pounding in his ears, straining to hear the slightest movement.
Then... something strange.
A warmth in his eyes.
Subtle at first, but growing. Elyon winced and instinctively closed his eyes. It was like an invisible heat pressing against them. He opened them again, blinking rapidly. The warmth remained. A spell? A trap?
Suddenly, movement.
Through the haze, he saw it—a blade slicing through the mist, aimed directly at him.
Elyon braced, confident the Magnes Shield would hold. But then his eyes widened as the sword passed through the shield like it wasn't even there.
"What—?"
He barely managed to leap back, narrowly dodging the strike. The shield flickered and collapsed as he landed hard on one knee. The moment his defenses fell, pain sliced across his back.
He gasped, staggering forward, hand reaching instinctively for his injury.
A mix of shock and fury boiled inside him.
"Light Bolt!" he casted, his arm behind him and unleashing a beam of radiant energy. It tore through the mist in a straight line—but hit nothing. It vanished into the fog, swallowed whole.
Silence.
No footsteps. No breath. No sign of where the attacker had gone.
Elyon gritted his teeth, blood running down his back. His senses were sharp, his mind racing. This was something else.
And Elyon knew now, without question...
He'd walked straight into a trap.
Elyon pressed his left hand to his back, his fingers quickly finding the gash. A sharp hiss escaped his lips as pain jolted through his body—hot, sudden, and raw. His fingertips came away wet with blood, and the torn fabric of his robe clung to the wound.
It wasn't deep, but it was enough to slow him down if left unattended.
With practiced precision, he casted a healing spell, and soft green and red glow wrapped around his hand. The spell wasn't strong—it wouldn't seal the wound entirely—but it dulled the pain and slowed the bleeding. Enough to keep fighting.
Magnes Shield,he casted again, reinforcing the barrier around him while continuing the healing.
Then it returned—the strange sensation in his eyes. That odd heat, almost like something inside him was waking up. He gritted his teeth and ignored it, focusing instead on his surroundings. The mist still choked the hallway, thick and blinding.
''She's still in the mist… but how is she moving like this? he thought. And what's happening to my eyes?''
His instincts screamed again. He turned just in time to see another blade cutting through the mist, coming at his back. But this time, Elyon didn't move. He remembered the last attack, how the blade had passed through both him and the shield like a ghost.
The sword came fast—too fast to dodge even if he wanted to. It sliced through the barrier once again… and then, through him.
But nothing happened.
No pain. No blood. Just cold steel passing through thin air.
Elyon blinked,.'' Illusions should have guessed''
He stayed still, wary, keeping his shield raised. Then, without warning, the mist vanished—dissolving into nothing as if it had never existed.
The corridor was clear once more.
But Elyon didn't drop his guard. Could still be an illusion. Another trick…
Then a voice spoke behind him—smooth, sly, almost mocking.
"Trust me… you don't need to keep that shield up."
Elyon spun, eyes narrowing. Standing behind him was a boy—young, silver-haired, with an elegant posture and an unsettling calm. It was Charles. But something was wrong.
His eyes—normally a blue but now blazed crimson, like flames barely held in check.
Elyon's asked. "Charles? What are you doing here?"
Charles tilted his head slightly, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.
"Charles? When did we become such close friends that you can speak my name so casually?"
Elyon straightened,his head slightly. "Apologies, Your Grace. But… what are you doing here?"
"I should be asking you that question." Charles took a slow step forward, his gaze scanning Elyon from head to toe.
"From your stance, and the fresh wound on your back… looks like you've just come out of quite the skirmish."
Elyon stammered, "Well… I was just—"
Charles waved a hand. "Don't insult me with excuses. I know what you were doing. And from what I've seen, you're rather… capable."
His eyes gleamed. "Let's test that."
A sound cracked through the air like breaking glass. From a thin, jagged fissure in the empty space, a single red rose floated out—its petals laced looking dark and decayed. It hovered, then darted toward Elyon like a thrown dagger.With the Almost black roses tip flying at him.
Elyon dodged swiftly to the left, barely avoiding it.
"I have no interest in fighting you, Your Highness," Elyon said firmly, breath tight in his chest.
"But I certainly do," Charles replied coldly, his voice edged with amusement—and danger.
Elyon clenched his fists, lowering into a battle-ready stance. He hadn't expected this turn of events. Not from Charles. Not here.
But ready or not… the game had changed.
And there was no walking away now.