The Mirror Dimension rippled to life—
a realm woven from infinite glass and refracted skies,
where every motion echoed through a thousand mirrored worlds.
At its center, light bent and shimmered as the leader of the fifty survivors materialized beside a solitary figure:
Rank 1 — Arlen Vael.
The gap between them was a single breath—
and a universe.
Arlen didn't turn. His eyes—cold, blue, sharp as fractured crystal—shifted just enough to catch the newcomer in the edge of a reflection.
"You're all that's left?" he murmured, voice laced with boredom.
It seems like you and your gang stood no chance against Rin Sylvanyr
The leader straightened, bristling.
"Don't underestimate me. I made it here for a reason."
Arlen's lips curled into a thin, amused line.
"Who decided that?"
The world shook.
Pressure—pure, unfiltered mana—erupted outward, collapsing mirrors in concentric rings. The air screamed as Arlen's presence slammed down, pinning the challenger to his knees.
Before the man could draw breath, a streak of light carved through the silence.
Shing!
The blade's arc was invisible—only the sound remained.
The leader froze mid-motion, then fractured—
splitting apart like a reflection losing cohesion,
vanishing into glittering shards.
Arlen exhaled slowly, eyes half-lidded. A faint smirk ghosted his lips.
And then—
The dimension trembled.
A pulse—deep, resonant—rolled through the mirrored plains. Reflections wavered, light distorted, sound bent into static. Arlen's expression faltered.
"What… is that?"
---
A few seconds earlier…
Elsewhere within the Mirror Dimension—
Rin stepped through the veil, eyes narrowing at the maze of reflections stretching into infinity.
"Codex," he said calmly, "analysis."
"No," the voice replied flatly. "Too much interference. This realm is built on illusion and real mirrors. You'll have to use your own eyes."
Rin's brow furrowed.
"…So be it."
For the first time since the tournament began, he reached behind him—
grasping the hilt of his blade.
Winter's Touch sang as it left its sheath, light rippling along the edge—an echo of eternal frost.
He knelt, pressing the tip against the mirrored ground.
Mana surged.
"Ice edge."
Two words—soft, absolute.
Cracks lanced outward like lightning. The mirrors screamed, fracturing into a million splinters.
Frost poured through each fault line, consuming light, devouring reflection.
Within seconds, half the dimension crystallized into stillness.
The air howled; the world turned white.
From afar, it looked like a storm inverted—ice spiraling upward, devouring color, devouring form.
Only the laws that bound the realm endured, coalescing into luminous chains hanging across the frozen sky—
a world half-erased, half-bound by cosmic order.
---
Back to Arlen Vael…
The shockwave reached him before he saw it—
a gale of frost that shattered the floor beneath his boots.
The ground gave way.
Arlen fell—
tumbling through collapsing reflections—
until he slammed into solid ice.
He rose instantly, boots crunching against frozen glass, cloak flaring in the storm.
All around him, the mirror world was gone—replaced by a void of swirling frost and glowing chains.
"…What kind of monster—"
A flicker cut him off.
Rin.
A dark silhouette walking through the snow from kilometers away, each step leaving trails of light.
Arlen blinked—once.
In the next instant, Rin stood before him.
A flash.
A single kick—precise, merciless.
Impact thundered through the dimension.
Arlen's body launched backward, breaking sound and space,
tearing through frozen chains until he crashed into a new landscape entirely.
He gasped, coughing frost.
When his eyes opened, the sky above was still cracking apart—
and Rin was already descending after him.
Rin's right arm twisted, frost spiraling in tight rotations as plates of ice locked into place—
a revolving blade roaring to life along his forearm.
He swung.
The motion carved through the storm, a gleaming arc of frost ripping across the air.
Arlen moved to evade—
but the strike bent mid-flight,
crashing into him with a deafening roar,
a surge of force and shards that swallowed his silhouette in blinding white.
Arlen rose, coughing blood and frost, boots sinking into the crystallized floor.
The air still rippled from that single kick—pressure waves spiraling out in silent rings.
Across the frozen expanse, Rin approached—each step steady, deliberate, echoing like a countdown.
No blade drawn. Just eyes that reflected nothing.
Arlen gritted his teeth, drawing his saber. Ice mana coiled up his arm like a serpent, hissing with restrained fury.
"You think you can end me without even using that blade?"
Rin didn't answer.
He tilted his head, as if considering the question—
then vanished.
Boom.
The world blinked.
Arlen's guard shot up—too late.
A knee slammed into his ribs, folding his stance.
Before the pain could travel, an elbow crashed down on his shoulder, spinning him sideways.
Rin's heel followed through, a crescent arc that cracked his jaw and sent him skipping across the frost like a thrown pebble.
Arlen tumbled through three mirrored ridges before catching himself, slamming a palm down to brake.
Steam rose from the friction burn his mana couldn't mend fast enough.
> "Tch…" He spat frost, rising, aura flaring. "You think I'm just going to—"
Rin appeared behind him.
A hand gripped the back of his neck—cold, calm, merciless.
Rin slammed him downward.
CRASH.
The ground cratered, ice fracturing in spiderweb veins that glowed pale blue.
Arlen flared mana, twisting free, spinning midair to fire a volley of spears—
twenty lances of condensed frost screaming toward Rin.
Rin stepped once—just once—
and the air inverted.
Each spear froze mid-flight, suspended in perfect symmetry.
With a flick of his wrist, they turned.
Arlen's eyes widened.
"Wait—"
The spears reversed course—
bang! bang! bang!—
driving into the ground around him, carving a perfect circle before detonating in white blossoms of force.
A blizzard rose—
and Rin walked through it.
Arlen barely had time to bring up his sword.
Their clash rang like a bell struck by godhood—
Rin's palm meeting Arlen's edge, frost sparks scattering.
Rin twisted his wrist, redirecting the saber's momentum,
kneeing Arlen in the gut,
then uppercutting him with a palm strike so sharp it left a line of rime across his chin.
The crowd—watching from the grand arena—held their breath.
Arlen Vael, Rank 1, was being taught.
He tried to recover distance, leaping back, mana flooding his limbs—
Rin followed through, closing the gap mid-flight, spinning with a roundhouse that cracked the air itself.
Arlen blocked—barely.
The impact launched him backward, crashing through three mirrored walls that exploded into fractal shards,
each reflection showing his defeat from a thousand angles.
Rin landed, calm as falling snow.
"You're too noisy," he murmured.
Arlen growled, blood steaming from a split lip—already healing.
His aura surged higher—doubling, tripling.
Wounds sealed; the air warped under the weight of his rising power.
Rin's gaze flickered—not surprise, just acknowledgment.
"So you stand back up."
Arlen wiped his mouth, grinning now—wild, defiant.
"And I'll keep standing."
Every strike makes me stronger, he thought, fire burning behind his frostbitten eyes.
Frostlight blazed across his veins, mana flaring in towering columns.
His blade gleamed—heavier, sharper, alive.
"Let's see how long you can keep looking down on me, Sovereign."
Rin's eyes narrowed.
His aura coiled, dense and predatory—
like a dragon stirring beneath the ice.
He lowered his stance, one hand behind his back, the other raised in open guard.
"Very well," he said quietly. "Let's test your theory."
Crack—BOOM.
They vanished, colliding mid-field in a storm of blows—
ice and mana clashing faster than echoes could form.
The battlefield trembled with every clash.
Arlen's sword howled, tracing arcs of ice through the mirrored haze—each swing faster, heavier, sharper than the last.
Every strike carved shockwaves across the frostfield, every parry born from instinct honed to perfection.
He was growing stronger.
Faster.
More dangerous with every exchange.
And yet—
Rin hadn't moved an inch from his centerline.
Every thrust met empty air. Every overhead slash hit nothing but afterimage.
The sovereign's gaze tracked him lazily—eyes cold, calculating—
as though Arlen were less a rival and more a puzzle slowly solving itself.
Arlen gritted his teeth, mana surging again.
"Why won't you fight seriously!?"
Rin tilted his head, sidestepping another desperate strike.
His foot shifted once—just once—
and his heel met Arlen's chest like a falling star.
Boom!
The impact cratered the ice beneath them, launching Arlen through a wall of fractured glass.
Shards rained down like silver petals as he crashed, rolled, and skidded to a stop amid a storm of frozen dust.
He gasped, coughing frost, body trembling as cracks of light stitched across his wounds.
Regeneration—instant, seamless, absolute.
Strength refilled his limbs, pain vanishing in the wake of glowing veins.
Arlen rose again. His aura surged, fiercer now—purer, denser.
"It's pointless! Every blow you land only fuels me further!"
Rin didn't answer. He simply adjusted his collar, gaze indifferent.
Arlen grinned, brandishing his blade.
"You don't understand, do you? Every Sylvanyr royal born of the World Tree is granted two fruits—two blessings! From them, we awaken our gifts! Most receive one battle ability, the prodigies recieve one combat ability and a utilty ability like farming … but we, the chosen —Rose, the Queen, I, etc —bear two! Two powers! Two destinies!"
His mana flared, coalescing into mirrored sigils across the ice.
Every wound I take, every strike I endure—it all makes me stronger.
He leveled his blade toward Rin, defiance burning behind frostbitten eyes.
"You can't win. Every time you touch me, you're only crafting your own defeat!"
The arena fell silent. Even the air hesitated.
Then Rin's lips curved faintly—neither amused nor impressed.
"I suppose…" he began softly, voice carrying through the frozen haze,
"…your two abilities are regeneration—and growth through pain and suffering. To be precise, you grow stronger the more I strike you. Attacks your body can't endure are compensated by regeneration—unless your entire existence is erased."
Arlen froze. His heartbeat stuttered.
"How—how do you—"
Rin stepped forward, eyes glinting like winter stars.
"You thought I didn't know?"
Each word hit harder than any strike.
"I've been watching your rhythm since the first blow. Every wound you healed. Every shift in your stance. I let you grow, Arlen Vael."
He raised his hand, palm open, frost curling from his fingertips like breath.
"I let you feed on hope."
Rin's gaze sharpened—tone turning to quiet finality.
"Because killing you before you reached your peak…"
"…would've been mercy."
He drew in a slow breath. Mana condensed, dense enough to warp the air. The ground beneath him split, glowing cracks spreading like veins under his boots.
"I needed you stronger—so that when my blade finally falls, it won't erase you in an instant."
Arlen's pupils shrank. His aura faltered.
For the first time since the duel began—he understood.
The calm before the storm broke.
Frost swirled around Rin's feet, mirrors quaking under the pressure of what was coming next.
Rin's voice lowered—a whisper carved from inevitability.
"Now then…"
"…let's begin."
Codex Record — The Mirror Dimension
A realm not born of nature, but of reflection.
The Mirror Dimension is a sealed construct woven from countless mirrored planes—each shard a separate echo of reality.
It was created by Sylvanyr(the world tree of Sylvanyr)
Its laws differ from the mortal world:
▪ Illusion and matter are one.
▪ Every reflection is truth until shattered.
▪ Perception dictates presence.
Those who fight within it must contend with infinite angles—each strike mirrored, each flaw magnified.
Yet should a will powerful enough freeze reflection itself, the realm bends, not breaks.
Half its existence becomes void, half eternal glass.
Caution: In this realm, ignorance and no sense of awareness is fatal—
For every action witnessed is carved into a thousand mirrors,
and the realm remembers all who bleed within it.