Every spectator flinched. House Vauntir heirs went pale. House Aurelian apprentices choked on their own spit. House Dravencourt watchers narrowed their eyes.
Seraphina did not blink. "Surgical."
Lyra finished sealing Temari's wound and looked up, her face like winter steel. Rowan planted himself between Kael and Dominic, breath tight, hands open. "Enough."
Kael lifted the sword as if to cut again, then wavered. The electricity thinned. He blinked once, slow, like someone waking from a long nightmare.
He sank to one knee.
The sword point touched the ground and sketched a small arc of sparks.
His chest heaved. The lightning dimmed to faint threads. He looked small again, just a kid.
"Tem…a…ri…" he whispered.
The blade dissolved into light, then nothing. Kael put both hands on the floor, trying to stay upright.
Ethan finally found his legs and vaulted down the stairs, boots slamming stone.
"Aimi," he panted, "is he really possessed?"
"Two readings," Aimi said. "One is normal for Kael. The other is very strong. It wrapped around him for a moment. It is receding."
"Damn it," Ethan swore, and kept running toward the arena center, heart pounding.
Seraphina Solaris III descended from the VIP platform with the calm of someone who has seen far too much drama for one day. One flick of her fingers and the raging storm of mana around Kael flickered out like a candle in the rain. The arena floor uncurled itself, smoothing the damage.
Kael crumpled instantly, unconscious. The sword of lightning vanished with him.
Benedict Arkwright let out a sigh so heavy it seemed to age him ten years. "Dominic is alive. Good. His legs can be reattached. His pride, however, is gone. There is no magic for that."
Judges nodded in agreement. Pride was famously unhealable.
Looking back at the girl held in Lyra's embrace, he declared, "Temari Vale has survived one minute and is hereby declared the victor."
Thunderous applause followed. Temari, still wrapped in Lyra's arms, managed a tiny victorious fist in the air.
"Matches shall continue," Benedict added.
Rowan Strath approached Ethan, who was already dragging Kael out of the arena like a sack of potatoes. Rowan frowned at the unconscious child.
"This boy is unusual." His voice was low. "His ability is already advanced enough to get him in the Academy, no need to go through the duel. I will pretend what he did was… youthful outburst."
Ethan forced a smile, though his eyes were glued to Kael. "Yes sir. Very youthful. Very talented. Totally normal."
"Next time," Temari muttered. "I will kick harder."
Lyra coughed, "Maybe not the butt next time. Aim at the front, more impact"
Temari's eyes sparkled with new enlightenment.
Ethan set Kael down in the VIP stand and stared at him.
Electricity still crackled faintly under his skin.
He whispered urgently, "Aimi, what the heck was that? Is his brain okay? He looked like a whole different person. That has to be… possession, right?"
Aimi processed for a moment, then replied:
"There are several high-probability explanations.
One: Dissociative identity emergence due to extreme trauma.
Two: Bipolar-type mana disorder affecting emotional and elemental control.
Three: A foreign soul signature partially cohabiting his consciousness."
Ethan rubbed his temples. "So… split personality, lightning edition?"
"That is one way to phrase it," Aimi admitted. "Also consider possibility of neurological overstimulation. Excessive electricity may be frying his brain cells at a slow but alarming rate."
Ethan gawked. "Do not say 'frying his brain' like you are reading oven instructions!"
Aimi nodded digitally. "Correction: His brain may be gently sautéing."
"That's worse!"
Temari leaned in, overhearing only the last line. "Is Kael going to be okay?"
Ethan choked on panic and bravado at the same time. "Of course! Probably! Hopefully! I think his brain is only slightly sautéed!"
Kael twitched in his sleep, mumbling like someone arguing in an entirely different war.
Ethan shivered. The thought crawled into his head like a cold spider.
"…What if it really is the reincarnated-war-general-with-ghost-mentor trope?"
Aimi answered instantly:
"Ninety percent likelihood.
Ten percent remains:
Grandpa in the underwear."
Ethan shoved his face into his hands. "We never… ever… speak of that ten percent again."
Aimi gave a respectful beep of agreement.
Temari eyed Kael nervously. "I am stronger than any ghost in his head. Right?"
Kael, barely conscious, mumbled, "In your dreams…" before passing out again.
Temari pouted. Ethan patted her head. "You totally won. Trickster style. Everyone rooted for the minion number two."
Down in the arena, Ruth Dravencourt stepped into battle. Her opponent scoffed, "What's with this all black outfit?."
Ruth lifted two fingers.
His shadow stretched up, curled around his arms, and tied him into a neat pretzel.
He tapped the ground repeatedly. "I forfeit."
Spectators murmured with fear and fascination. "Dravencourt heir is terrifying." "Never lie around her. She will know." "I think my own shadow flinched."
The next match featured a chubby boy in overly sparkling golden armor: Ryan Vauntir. The student across from him cracked knuckles, smirking.
"You. Are you from House Vauntir?"
Ryan smiled proudly. "Indeed. Recognizing greatness is a good habit."
The student raised his spear dramatically. "My honor cannot be bought. I fight for justice, valor, and the…"
Ryan quietly held up a sparkling gold credit plaque. "One million."
The warrior froze. "My honor is not flexible."
He winked at the chubby kid and proceeded to put on the most embarrassingly theatrical fake fight ever recorded.
He swung three feet wide.
Ryan ducked in slow motion.
Someone booed.
Someone yelled, "Return the money if you will not act!"
The warrior cried out dramatically, "Such power! I must concede!" and collapsed like a soggy croissant.
Benedict rubbed his temples. "I need a vacation inside a volcano…"
Seraphina casually sipped tea. "Why fight when you can buy the outcome? Efficient."
Marine quietly scribbled something.
Ethan did not even know where to look anymore. "Aimi, is this place run by insane people or am I the insane one?"
Aimi answered, "Fifty-fifty probability."
The next few duels passed with varying levels of competence, comedy and some broken bones. The audience energy kept shifting between entertained and horrified. The nobles gossiped incessantly.
At last, Rowan Strath called out numbers again.
"Participant number 132. Please enter Arena One." The last match of the third trial.
Ethan froze.
Temari grabbed his gauntlet. "Do not get screwed. I would have to drag you home."
Kael was still asleep, murmuring battle cries from sleeper mode.
Lyra gave Ethan a supportive thumbs-up.
Ruth watched silently, very interested in what the strange Vale boy was going to do next.
Aimi whispered in Ethan's mind, "Host, previous battle analysis suggests your opponent is highly skilled. But with your new upgrades have increased your ability as well. So we have a chance."
Ethan nodded with a deep, dramatic inhale.
"I was born for this."
He took one step forward.
CLUNK.
His second step.
CLONK.
Half the arena turned to stare.
Someone whispered, "Is he… wearing metal houses on his feet?"
A noble boy laughed, "What is he going to do? Scare his opponent by tripping?"
Ethan clenched his metal fists and marched onward.
"Laugh now," he muttered. "But soon… probably still laugh. But I will win too."
"Yes. Aim for victory and minimal embarrassment."
The arena floor glimmered with runes as Ethan stomped up the steps, each step announcing his arrival like a blacksmith hammering shame into metal.
CLUNK.
CLONK.
His opponent was already waiting.
A boy with short black hair, calm eyes like deep lakes, posture razor-straight. His muscles were not large, but well balanced. The quiet threat of a drawn bow. His academy uniform was immaculate, sleeves rolled, hands bare.
He bowed once.
Ethan bowed back, almost tipping forward because of the weight of his boots.
The referee's voice cut through the tension:
"Begin!"
Ethan activated his boots.
WHOOMP.
He launched forward like a cannonball aimed badly.
The student shifted a single foot-step and Ethan shot past him completely.
Ethan windmilled his arms.
"Brakes! BRAKES!"
Ethan face-smashed into the arena floor.
BONK.
He struggled to rise up, dignity leaking away.
"Fifty-five seconds remaining,Host"
The opponent didn't laugh. Didn't taunt.
He simply turned… ready for the next attack.
Ethan inhaled. "Okay… round two."
He charged again, trying a right hook with the hydraulic gauntlet.
The boy stepped just slightly inside the punch's arc.
Two fingers tapped Ethan's elbow.
Force redirection.
WHAM
Ethan roundhouse-punched himself in the helmet.
Stars exploded behind his eyes.
"Opponent uses minimal motion to maximize leverage. Impressive."
Ethan groaned.
"Forty-eight seconds left."
The student swept Ethan's leg.
Ethan toppled toward the ring edge, half his body already dangling over the boundary.
Crowd gasped.
Wind rushed below.
"Host! Use rebound torque!"
Ethan fired the right gauntlet's piston straight into the floor.
BANG!
The jolt rocketed him backward in a messy back-roll that looked like someone tossed a trash bag to the dumpster.
He landed on his feet.
Mostly.
"See? Totally planned," he wheezed.
The opponent narrowed his eyes.
Ethan smirked like an idiot.
He launched again.
The student bent like flowing water, his palm pushing Ethan's punch aside.
Sidestepping, he chopped Ethan's knee joint.
Metal screamed.
Ethan wobbled, tilting out of the ring once more.
"Thirty-six seconds. Almost half way there, hold on Host"