Inside the darkness, Zephyr watched with his golden eyes, which could pierce any gloom. He saw Julian moving like a ghost, his scythes aimed at Lina's blind spots.
"Lina, don't use your eyes," Zephyr thought.
Lina, trapped in the pitch black, felt the temperature drop. She could hear the rustle of Julian's robes, the whistle of the scythes.
She took a deep breath, her heart rate slowing. She channeled every drop of her Advanced-Mid mana into her blade.
"I don't need to see you," Lina whispered. "I just need to know where you aren't."
She drove her rapier into the ground at her feet.
"Ultimate Form: Glacial Pulse!"
A wave of absolute-zero mana exploded from her position. It wasn't a strike, it was an environmental takeover.
The sand turned to permafrost instantly. The Void Dome flickered as the moisture in the air froze into heavy crystals, weighing down the shadows.
Julian, caught in the flash-freeze, felt his boots lock to the floor. The cold was so intense it bypassed his mana-shield. He tried to swing his scythe, but his arm was sluggish, coated in a thin layer of frost.
"Fuck" he whispered.
Lina moved. She didn't use a skill; she used pure, raw speed. She appeared in front of Julian, her rapier humming against his neck.
The frost on her blade was so sharp it drew a thin line of blood just from the vein.
"The shadows are cold, Julian," Lina said,
her breath visible in the chilled air. "But my ice is way colder than your shadows."
The Void Dome shattered. The crowd saw Lina standing over the frozen Morgrave heir, her rapier perfectly still.
"Winner: Lina Silvaris!" the herald shouted.
Lina sheathed her blade with a sharp clack. She didn't look at the cheering crowd. She looked toward the Golden Box, making eye contact with her father.
Seres gave her a short, firm nod with smile. That was the only reward she wanted.
She walked back to the tunnel, passing Zephyr.
"Your turn, little brother," she said, her face pale from the mana exhaustion but her eyes bright with victory. "Don't let me be the only one who got glory."
Zephyr smiled, stepping past her. "This is just beginning, Lina."
As Zephyr walked toward the sand for his own match, the air in the arena felt different. Lina's victory wasn't just a win.
It was a statement. The "Exiled" family wasn't just talented—they were disciplined in a way the pampered city nobles couldn't comprehend.
In the Ragnar box, Thorin was no longer laughing. He was watching Zephyr with the eyes of a man who realized he might have walked into a trap. Beside him, Duke Boros leaned over to a subordinate.
"Find out exactly what kind of monsters Seres was hunting in the borderlands," the Duke whispered. "Because it looks like he brought two of them back with him."
Zephyr reached the center of the arena. Kael Silvaris was waiting for him, his broadsword trembling.
Zephyr ignored the noise of the crowd, his Will focusing the entire world down to the edge of his blade.
The tension in the arena was a physical weight.
After Lina's freezing display of dominance, the crowd expected another explosive mana show.
They saw Zephyr—a ten-year-old with golden eyes that seemed to reflect a seasoned warrior—and Kael, a boy fueled by the raw, desperate hunger of the branch families.
Kael Silvaris did not wait for the dust to settle from the previous match. He slammed his heavy broadsword into the sand arena, creating a shockwave that rippled toward Zephyr.
"Begin!" the herald's voice cracked.
Kael moved with the explosive power of a launched catapult. He didn't just run. "DIE!"
Kael roared, swinging his broadsword in a massive, horizontal arc aimed at Zephyr's waist. The blade whistled with enough force to cut a stone pillar in half.
Zephyr didn't draw his sword. He didn't even widen his stance. To the crowd, it looked like he was standing still, waiting to be cut sword.
he used "Earth-Tread," a branch family technique that used mana to harden the soles of the feet, allowing for instantaneous acceleration.
Flicker.
At the absolute last millisecond, Zephyr stepped forward—not back. He moved into the "dead zone" of the swing, where the blade's momentum was weakest. The broadsword passed mere millimeters behind his back, cutting only the air where he had stood a heartbeat before.
"Too slow," Zephyr whispered.
Kael's eyes went wide. He tried to pull the sword back, but the weight of the massive blade carried him off-balance. Zephyr reached out and placed a single finger on the flat of Kael's blade, giving it a tiny, mana-infused nudge.
Kael stumbled, his own momentum dragging him three steps forward. The crowd gasped. It looked like Zephyr was playing with a clumsy child.
"Stop dancing!" Kael screamed, his face turning a deep purple. He channeled his mana until his skin took on a dull, metallic grey sheen. "Iron Soul: Unbreakable Rampage!"
Kael began a whirlwind of strikes. The broadsword became a blur of steel, striking from every angle.
Each blow sent a shockwave into the sand, kicking up a golden mist that obscured the vision of the lower tiers.
Inside the mist, Zephyr's Battle Adaptation was working at 500% efficiency.
In Zephyr's vision, the world turned blue. Red lines appeared over Kael's body—lines of tension, lines of weakness. He saw the way Kael's left shoulder dipped before a high strike. He saw the way Kael's breathing stuttered every four seconds.
Swing. Duck. Lunge. Tilt head.
Zephyr moved through the "Unbreakable Rampage" as if he were walking through a gentle rain. He hadn't drawn his sword, yet he was controlling the entire flow of the fight.
"Why... can't... I... hit you?!" Kael panted, his mana reserves dropping rapidly.
"Because you're fighting the me, Kael,"
Zephyr said, his voice eerie in its calmness. "I'm fighting the a stupid brat ."
Kael lost his mind. He gathered every scrap of his remaining mana into his sword, the blade glowing with a jagged, unstable light.
He leaped into the air, bringing the sword down in a vertical strike that promised to split the very arena in two.
"THIS IS THE NORTHERN BRANCH'S PRIDE!"