The arena hadn't cooled.
If anything, the tension had deepened—like heat trapped beneath ice.
Quarterfinal Three – Reks Valorin vs. Olivia Lux
Reks rolled his shoulders as he stepped onto the field. His stance was heavier than usual—calm, but storm-touched.
Across from him stood Olivia Lux, a sharp-featured Arkanite with luminous crimson eyes and a crescent-shaped emblem on her glove. Her mana shimmered oddly—twisting between fire and crystal, unstable but alluring.
She was beautiful.
And deadly.
Rumors whispered she was heir to House Lux—famous for their crystalline fire-forging arts. They called her The Blooming Flame.
But Reks didn't flinch. His eyes locked onto her without a flicker of hesitation.
DING.
Olivia struck first—crystal daggers igniting mid-air, spiraling toward him like fireflies turned predators. They hummed with volatile mana.
Reks responded instantly. Earth spiked upward in jagged towers, intercepting the incoming barrage. Shards of fire-crystal exploded across the field, casting flickers of red and gold light over his armor.
He didn't stop to observe. He launched forward, his footfalls cracking the stone beneath him like thunder.
"Too slow," Olivia murmured.
A hidden glyph flared beneath his boots—one of her mines.
BOOM.
Mana detonated upward. Reks twisted mid-air, barely catching himself on a shield of stone that he formed behind his back. He landed in a crouch—only for a fire-forged whip to crack toward his exposed flank.
CRACK!
The whip coiled around him, burning through his outer armor. The sting of it sent pain lancing up his spine.
Olivia flicked her wrist—flames flared around her like petals of molten glass.
But Reks growled—deep and visceral—and pulled.
He yanked the whip toward him, dragging her balance forward. Before she could blink, he surged forward like a battering ram, one gauntlet glowing molten-orange with compressed earth mana.
He slammed it into her defensive shell—shattering the crystal with a thunderous impact.
Steam hissed between them as pressure and heat collided.
Olivia recoiled, but only for a heartbeat. She retaliated with a concentrated blast—crystallized fire bursting like shrapnel from her palm.
Reks threw up an earthen dome—half of it shattered under the force, but it bought him the second he needed.
He burst through the broken barrier—shoulder-tackled her mid-air, and twisted to slam her into the ground.
THOOM.
The field quaked.
The crowd gasped.
Olivia coughed, but her lips twisted into a cold, amused smile. Her aura spiked sharply—no longer fluid, but jagged and furious.
The crystalline edges on her gauntlets extended. Her entire body seemed to pulse with refracted heat.
"Let's break each other then," she said.
And so they did.
What followed was brutal. No elegance. No distance. Just raw, primal violence.
Flames clashed against stone. Sparks lit the air as gauntlets met daggers. Olivia moved with graceful savagery, her strikes dancing like wildfire. Reks countered with grounded brutality—each blow a landslide.
She sliced across his shoulder. He broke her knee-guard. She screamed as he slammed her into the floor again. He grunted as a shard embedded into his thigh.
The audience was on its feet.
They weren't watching a duel anymore.
They were watching a war.
DING.
At last, the dust cleared.
Only one was standing.
"Winner: Reks Valorin."
Reks staggered to a knee, bleeding from his temple, a shallow gash above his brow trailing down his cheek.
He refused the stretcher.
"I walk off or I don't walk," he muttered, forcing himself upright.
High above, Kael watched silently. His knuckles were white against the railing.
He could see it clearly now.
The strain in Reks's movements.
The fatigue in Laziel's smile.
The cracks forming beneath the surface.
They were all pushing too hard.
And the cost of winning was beginning to show.
Quarterfinal Four – Aurielle Vael vs. Ralph Lumen
This match wasn't expected to be even.
Aurielle Vael was a high-ranking Arkanite—elegant, silver-haired, and soft-voiced, with eyes like stormglass. Her name carried weight. Her lineage, prestige. She descended like moonlight, the wind subtly bending toward her with reverence.
Ralph Lumen was... ordinary.
An Arkanite. Low-ranked. No famous house. His presence didn't inspire awe—only whispers of pity.
"He shouldn't be here.""How'd he even qualify?"
The DING rang out.
No one expected Ralph to survive thirty seconds.
Aurielle's first attack came with precision—cyclone-laced spears of wind mana, threaded with slicing currents.
Ralph didn't dodge.
He stepped into the strike.
The spear connected—
And shattered.
A flash of refracted light rippled outward. A shield—mirror-like, crystalline in its refraction—had flared at the point of contact.
The crowd fell silent.
Aurielle's eyes narrowed.
This wasn't wind.
This was light.
Ralph lifted a hand. From his fingertips, mana condensed—rays forming into a blade of shimmering, radiant energy. Almost insubstantial, yet undeniably sharp.
"I don't want to win," he said softly. "But I need to."
Kael sat up straighter.
Aurielle attacked again—faster this time, twin arcs of spiraling wind slashing toward him. Ralph moved—subtle, efficient. Not a flourish wasted.
He didn't fight like a noble.
He fought like someone who had to survive.
His movements weren't grand. They were necessary.
And when the opening came, he didn't hesitate.
A single thrust of his light-formed sword pierced through Aurielle's final barrier. The energy flared—clean, surgical.
She collapsed backward, unconscious.
Silence reigned.
DING.
"Winner: Ralph Lumen."
Back in the viewing room, whispers spread like wildfire.
"Did you see that?""Light mana? But he's… no one.""Is he a freak? Or just hiding?"
Someone laughed quietly. Then another.
Jealousy stirred.
He didn't deserve that victory, some whispered. He didn't have a name, a house, a rank.
What right did he have?
Kael didn't miss it.
He saw the way people looked at Ralph now.
The same way they looked at him.
Later, as the finalists were announced—Kael Ardyn, Laziel Quent, Reks Valorin, and Ralph Lumen—Kael stood at the center of the grand atrium beneath the light of the mana chandelier.
Four students. One path.
But behind the applause, the tension had changed.
It wasn't just competition anymore.
It was resentment.
Envy was blooming.