For a brief moment, Ashan said nothing.
Behind the mask, his Sharingan rotated slowly, almost lazily, its faint crimson glow reflecting in Einar's slit pupils as if it were observing rather than reacting.
Despite the suffocating draconic pressure pressing down across the battlefield like an invisible mountain, Ashan made no effort to brace himself, nor did he shift his stance in the slightest. Instead, he tilted his head just a fraction, as though the entire situation had failed to meet even the minimum threshold of interest.
"…Halfling," he said at last, his voice calm and unhurried, carrying a quiet mockery that was far more cutting than open hostility.
"You arrived uninvited, forced your way into this situation, and now you're questioning me as if you hold any authority here."
There was a brief pause, but not the kind that suggested hesitation; rather, it felt deliberate, as though he was allowing the weight of his words to settle before continuing.
"Don't you think that's a little too prideful?" he added, his gaze sharpening slightly behind the mask. "Know your place. If there are questions to be asked… I'll be the one asking them."
The words were neither loud nor aggressive, yet they carried a level of control that made them strike far harder than any raised voice could have.
Around them, the atmosphere tightened subtly, and several A-rankers reacted instinctively, their bodies stiffening before their minds could fully process what had just been said. It wasn't killing intent that unsettled them, nor was it outright hostility, it was something far more unnerving.
It was indifference.
Ashan wasn't treating Einar as an opponent.
He wasn't even treating him as a threat.
Einar's brow twitched slightly, the faintest crack forming in his composed expression as a low, amused sound escaped him, though the edge beneath it was unmistakable.
"Oh?" he said, his tone calm but sharpened like a blade. "You've got some nerve. Most people can't even stand properly when they're in my presence."
Ashan stepped forward.
It was only a single step, but the intent behind it was clear, his movements unhurried and completely unconcerned.
"I don't care who you are," he replied flatly, his voice devoid of tension or hesitation. "Do I look afraid to you?"
That was enough.
The balance shifted instantly as Einar's aura surged outward, no longer restrained. The ground beneath him fractured under the sudden release of draconic pressure, cracks spreading rapidly as something ancient and predatory bled into the present. The air itself seemed to warp under its weight, and several lower-ranked individuals staggered backward, their breathing becoming uneven as instinct forced their bodies to retreat from something they couldn't endure.
This wasn't merely presence.
It was domination in its purest form.
Einar's wings flared outward, spreading wide as his aura expanded, pressing against everything in its path with overwhelming force.
Behind him, Celestia's expression shifted immediately, the calm composure she had maintained until now breaking into visible alarm.
"Oh no…" she whispered, her voice tight as panic began to seep through. Her hands trembled slightly at her sides as she stared at him. "Uncle… he's actually angry."
Her chest rose unevenly as she struggled to steady her breathing.
"No one speaks to him like that… no one," she murmured, her voice barely holding together. "But this… this isn't normal. I've never felt him like this before."
A wave of unease spread through the formation as whispers began to ripple among the students and even some of the higher-ranked fighters.
"He's provoking Einar Briarwood…?"
"This is bad… this is going too far…"
Ashan, however, remained unmoved.
He lifted his gaze slightly, studying Einar with the same detached calm as before, as if the overwhelming pressure pressing against him was nothing more than a passing breeze.
"As expected from a half-dragon," he said, his tone measured, almost analytical. "A top-tier S-ranker. That pressure is impressive… predatory, even."
There was the faintest hint of a smile beneath his mask.
"But this kind of treatment," he continued, his voice lowering just slightly, "is unacceptable."
His gaze locked onto Einar fully now, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to still.
Then Ashan stopped holding back.
Unlike Einar's explosive release, his power didn't burst outward,
it descended.
Cursed energy surfaced first, thick and suffocating, carrying a depth that felt endless, like a void pressing down from above. Chakra followed, vast and bright, flowing with a weight that felt older than the battlefield itself, while mana surged last, refined and controlled, its density overwhelming in a way that defied conventional understanding.
These forces did not clash.
They aligned.
Perfectly.
Ashan opened the Fifth Gate.
The shift was immediate and absolute, as killing intent flooded the battlefield; not wild or chaotic, but sharpened into something deliberate, something focused. It wasn't simply pressure.
It was judgment.
The ground shattered beneath that invisible force, stone collapsing into dust as the weight of his presence pressed downward in a wide radius.
Several A-rankers dropped to their knees instantly, blood spilling from their mouths as their bodies failed to withstand it, while even the S-rankers found themselves staggering, their footing no longer steady.
Einar's eyes widened.
For the first time since his arrival, his body reacted instinctively as his wings snapped inward slightly, his feet grinding against the fractured ground as he was forced half a step back.
"What…?"
His draconic fear didn't lose.
It vanished.
Not suppressed.
Overwritten.
Behind him, Celestia collapsed to one knee, her breathing breaking as she struggled against the overwhelming weight pressing down on her.
"I… can't breathe…" she gasped, her voice strained.
Maren raised her arm instinctively, forming a defensive barrier, but cracks spread across its surface almost immediately, the structure unable to withstand the pressure for long.
Lia's pupils shrank as realization set in.
"This… isn't human," she whispered.
Einar gritted his teeth, every instinct in his body screaming; not in dominance, but in warning, as something far beyond his expectations stood before him.
"…What are you?" he asked, a grin forming despite everything, something feral slipping into his expression.
Ashan stepped forward again, and the pressure sharpened further, tightening as though the world itself had narrowed around them.
"You crossed the line," he said quietly, his voice calm but absolute. "Trying to impose your draconic fear on me… and that annoyed me."
His Sharingan spun faster.
"So now," he continued, his gaze unwavering, "what exactly are you planning to do?"
The pressure expanded in controlled waves, pressing outward with precision rather than chaos.
"Mine erased yours. Surpassed it completely," he said, his tone carrying quiet certainty. "So go on… what kind of threat are you going to rely on now?"
Across the battlefield, even the strongest could feel the shift.
Zevi exhaled slowly, his arms tense with something closer to disbelief than fear.
"This is… unreal," he muttered.
Lunara's gaze hardened as she observed Ashan more closely, her thoughts sharpening.
'A walking disaster… no, something worse.'
'This isn't S-rank anymore.'
Einar, however, did not retreat.
If anything, his expression darkened further as pride took hold, amplified by the draconic nature within him. Backing down was not an option; not here, not after being challenged like this.
A slow breath left his mouth, but it came out as mist, heat rising beneath it as something within him awakened.
His body began to change.
His teeth lengthened into sharp fangs, his pupils shifting as gold bled into red, and the cracks along his skin deepened as if something beneath them was pushing outward. His muscles expanded, bones shifting audibly, while his wings spread wide, no longer concealing his form but revealing it fully.
When he spoke again, his voice carried a low, inhuman growl.
"You asked what I'm going to do?" he said. "I'm going to rip your limbs off… one by one."
Ashan watched him for a moment, his expression unreadable beneath the mask.
"Einar Briarwood," he said calmly. "The so-called walking weapon."
There was a brief pause before he continued, his tone almost dismissive.
"Do we really need to go that far? Mind your own business and leave. You're becoming irritating."
Einar let out a short laugh, though there was no humor in it.
"So you do know me," he said. "And you still speak like this."
His expression hardened.
"You humiliated me first. I'll take two of your limbs. After that, we'll consider things even."
Ashan crossed his arms slowly, his posture relaxed despite the tension surrounding them.
"Let me make this clear," he said, his voice steady. "If you even try, you won't be the one walking away intact."
His gaze shifted briefly upward toward the floating drones capturing the entire scene.
"You see those?" he added. "This entire fight is being broadcast to the academy."
A faint smirk formed beneath his mask.
"Imagine how embarrassing it'll be… when you lose in front of everyone."
Einar froze for a fraction of a second before bursting into loud laughter, the sound echoing across the battlefield.
"You really are insane," he said. "You think you can tear my limbs off?"
Ashan let out a quiet sigh, shaking his head slightly as if the conversation itself had grown tiresome.
Then, without urgency, he lowered his presence just enough to relieve the immediate strain on the others and glanced toward Maren.
"You," he said calmly. "I'll give you one chance."
There was no threat in his tone.
Only certainty.
"Stop him."
A brief pause followed before he turned his gaze back to Einar.
"Otherwise…" he added quietly, "he's losing limbs today."