Alaric Blackwood POV
I barely had time to settle in the stands before the arena quieted, the first- and second-year students shifting in anticipation. Whispers spread like wildfire — some excited, some anxious, others downright skeptical.
"A thousand third-years against a single opponent?" I heard someone murmur behind me.
I couldn't help but agree; even in our academy, the numbers alone made it seem insane.
Kael's voice echoed across the arena, sharp and clear.
"Today's match is between Adrian Lewin, the Twelfth Lord, and one thousand Third-Year students of Celestara Academy! Let the battle begin!"
I glanced at the assembled seniors.
But suddenly, the Twelfth Lord said something unexpected.
"This fight… seems a little unfair."
Well, I also think fighting a thousand people is a little unfair.
A ripple of laughter ran through the Third Years.
"Hah! So he knows it's unfair… to him?" one sneered.
Another added, "Is he scared already?"
But to my surprise, the Twelfth Lord shook his head, put on a blindfold, and said,
"No — it's unfair to you."
A ripple went through the crowd. Murmurs erupted into nervous chatter. My friends and I exchanged glances — Sylwen Starleaf's usually serene eyes flickered with curiosity. I had never really seen that look on her before. I wondered why.
Liora Blackthorn twirled her short blades nervously, and even Seraphine Nightingale's usually playful posture hinted at tension.
I leaned forward, gripping the edge of my seat.
"Adrian Lewin… the Twelfth Lord of the Coalition of Twelve Lords," a trembling voice beside me whispered. "The Monster Lord…"
I didn't know much about him, but what I had heard hit me like a physical force.
Rumors said he could level armies — that he was stronger than anyone, maybe short of the Principal himself.
And here he was, about to face a thousand students.
My heart pounded, but I forced myself to stay still, letting my eyes drink in the arena.
A laugh broke out behind me, sharp and derisive.
"A blindfold? Against all of us? Hah! This is going to be too easy!"
It was one of the stronger third-years, known for his arrogance and raw power — the kind who thrived on mocking anyone he deemed weaker.
Immediately, a dozen third-years lunged, their weapons raised, spells igniting in the air. Fireballs streaked toward where Adrian stood. The crowd gasped — my friends included. I watched Sylwen's brow furrow, Althaea's grip on her sword tighten, and Liora's hand twitch toward her twin blades. Seraphine murmured an incantation under her breath, readying a defensive spell.
And then it happened.
Adrian moved.
I blinked, trying to track him, but he wasn't moving like a normal person. Not exactly. He swayed, shifted, dodged — not with reckless speed, but with precision that made it seem almost like the attacks were passing through empty air.
A fireball exploded where he had been a fraction of a second earlier, the heat washing over me. My stomach churned. Everyone around me — friends and strangers alike — gasped in disbelief.
"He… he just moved without looking?" Liora whispered, her voice tight with awe.
I could see the first wave of third-years, skilled though they were, struggling to coordinate. Spears, swords, elemental magic — all of it was aimed at him, and all of it missed. The sound of clashing steel echoed, and yet Adrian remained unscathed.
I felt my throat go dry. They were highly skilled — the reason they missed wasn't lack of training. They were going to be future leaders, after all.
But the way he moved… it was strange. Almost unnatural.
A second wave came, stronger this time. Dozens of arrows whistled through the air. A mage cast a lightning sphere that arced toward where Adrian's head had been moments before. He tilted slightly — just a simple adjustment — and it passed harmlessly over him.
The arena erupted in whispers and gasps.
"How is he…?"
"Impossible!"
"Is this a joke?"
My friends were no exception. Althaea's eyes widened in shock. Seraphine's jaw tightened, gripping her staff as if it could somehow anchor reality.
Time seemed to slow as the fight continued. One by one, third-years attacked. Each time, Adrian avoided them — sometimes with a subtle step, other times with movements so slight they seemed preordained. A fire spell meant to incinerate half the arena fizzled against thin air, narrowly missing students. Spears thrust, swords slashed — all dodged.
I noticed something unsettling: the expressions on the faces of the attackers shifted from confidence to panic. Their attacks became more desperate, more chaotic. It was beautiful and terrifying all at once — a graceful nightmare unfolding before us.
Then the bully — the third-year ranked third among them — roared.
His spell was massive, a roaring inferno that threatened to obliterate everything in its path.
I felt a ripple of panic sweep through the crowd. My friends froze. Even from our distance, the heat and shockwave hit us, and I instinctively ducked.
But Adrian… he moved into it.
The explosion engulfed him. Smoke, fire, debris — everything seemed to tear apart where he had been standing. I squeezed my eyes shut, expecting the worst. When I dared to look again, the smoke was thick and choking, and for a long moment, silence fell.
Then… horror.
Through the thinning smoke, I saw him. His body was… exposed. Internal organs visible, bones showing through torn flesh. My stomach lurched. Even Althaea, usually composed, gasped aloud. Liora clutched her blades like she'd need them to escape from this nightmare. Seraphine's magic flared instinctively, as if to heal him herself, but she quickly realized nothing could reach him.
I wanted to look away, but I couldn't. Every detail was impossible to ignore — muscles, sinews, ribs — everything visible and yet… Adrian was still standing. Barely.
And then it began.
Slowly at first, almost imperceptibly, his wounds started knitting together. Muscle fibers wove themselves like threads of cloth, closing over exposed bone. Organs slipped back into place as if guided by invisible hands. Skin pulled taut over newly-formed tissue, and blood stopped flowing in frantic spurts, replaced by smooth, seamless flesh.
I watched, frozen, as the healing accelerated. In fifteen seconds, major wounds were nearly gone. Thirty seconds later, his body looked whole again — except for the blindfold and his clothing, which were tattered beyond repair. My heart raced.
Sylwen whispered, "I… I've never seen anything like this."
The crowd was in stunned silence. Even those who had attacked were frozen, unsure whether to cheer or faint. My friends were pale, their earlier shock now mingled with awe. Althaea's hand trembled on her sword, Seraphine's staff sagged in disbelief, Liora's blades were still clutched tightly, Roderick Stormrider's spear hand shook, and Sylwen's fingers hovered midair, almost unable to process what they had just witnessed.
I couldn't speak. Nothing seemed adequate.
The Monster Lord — Adrian Lewin — had survived, utterly unharmed, a living testament to power far beyond comprehension.
He healed with an elegance that was horrifying and magnificent all at once.
I looked around the arena. The first- and second-years were whispering frantically, many too scared to speak aloud.
I caught snippets — "He can't be stopped…" "That's… that's not possible…" "I didn't think anyone could be that fast…"
My friends weren't immune. I could feel their disbelief radiating off them like heat.
I turned to see Liora finally lower her blades, her eyes wide but clear. Sylwen's mouth opened as if to say something, but no words came. Althaea's knuckles whitened on her sword hilt. Seraphine's gaze remained fixed on Adrian, her mind clearly racing. Roderick leaned forward slightly, as if testing whether gravity itself had changed around him.
I swallowed hard, my throat tight. Words failed.
I had been anticipating witnessing greatness, but this… this was beyond anything I had imagined.
I could almost feel the pressure of his presence — the raw inevitability of power that dwarfed everything we had ever trained to achieve.
And yet, Adrian stood there, blindfolded, motionless, as though nothing had happened.
The smoke cleared entirely. Not a mark remained on him. Not a tremor.
Just calm, indifference, and the faint air of inevitability.
I shivered. Somewhere deep inside me, I knew that the match had ended — but not in the way anyone expected.
The third-years — our champions — were left humiliated and terrified, and no one could find the words to describe what they had seen.
I sank back into my seat, exhausted in a way I'd never known. My friends were still staring, frozen in awe.
I looked at Adrian, and for the first time, I felt the weight of the stories, the rumors, the myths — all converging on this single figure.
He was not just strong. He was untouchable. Unimaginable.
And for a long moment, I understood why he was called The Monster Lord.
The arena remained silent, the echoes of battle fading. All that remained was Adrian Lewin — perfectly healed, completely composed, and impossibly powerful.
And I, Alaric Blackwood, could only sit there, my hands gripping my knees, my friends around me too stunned to speak — knowing we had just witnessed something no one in our lives would ever forget.
He lost, but winning or losing didn't seem to be his priority.