Chapter Nine: The First Entry
The number of people that enrolled scaled higher than 300 people, all teens looking to grow stronger and potentially be killed by disasters.
All for the development of the story and the protagonist. There were a lot of promising students this year round.
Drakelle, however, was paired with a small fry and a cocky attitude.
Ava Le Devine.
She was a common noble. Common nobles are nobles who are one level above ordinary commoners. Common nobles just have that little money to be put one level above commoners.
But when it came to strength it was all determined by the talent and luck of a person.
Ava Le Devine was atleast beautiful enough to be looked at, if it weren't for her looks she would have been Boo'ed and embarrassed.
The stage was set, it was Drakelle Primordia vs Ava Le Devine, the first match of the day.
The ones that would win their matches today get selected to go further.
The announcer stood in the middle of the arena and said, "The first match of the day is between a peak and a common. The result may be determined but is that all there is, let's find out and I wish you good luck to both examinees."
A horn was blown to signify the beginning.
"Don't blame me for being humiliated here, Primordia!!"
Ava exclaimed while unsheathing her sword.
Drakelle wasted no time. The moment the signal was given, she lunged forward like a panther unchained. Her sword gleamed under the mana lights of the arena, her movement precise and sharp—every step calculated. Ava Le Devine barely had time to raise her blade before the clash rang out.
The sound of steel echoed, a harsh clang that reverberated across the coliseum. Drakelle pressed forward with no hesitation, her strikes clean, simple, and devastating.
She wasn't performing the legendary Destruction Sword Art of the Primordia family. No—she was using nothing more than basic swordsmanship. Yet the crowd could see it as clearly as blood on snow. Ava was being driven back step by step, each swing of Drakelle's blade forcing her defense lower, her balance shakier.
From the stands, laughter started bubbling.
"She's already losing!"
"Isn't that Ava girl a noble?"
"Pfft, a common noble. Look at her—pathetic."
Booing followed, cruel and merciless. The spectators smelled weakness and they savored it.
Ava's face twisted, her arrogance faltering under the weight of humiliation. She had always strutted around, flaunting her family name, convinced she would shine in this exam. Now here she was—reduced to a cornered animal by a girl her own age.
The truth was crueler still. Ava Le Devine wasn't even a character in the story Drake knew. She was an extra, a nobody, written only for the sake of a chapter and discarded like trash. Her name wasn't even worth mentioning in the novel.
Drake, watching from the stands, recognized this. His crimson eyes glimmered, a cold smile tugging at his lips. She's nothing but filler.
But Ava wasn't ready to accept her fate. Desperation twisted her pride into madness.
"You think I'll fall here?! You think I'm some joke?!" she screamed, her voice cutting through the jeers.
Drakelle didn't reply. Her eyes were steady, her breathing even, her blade poised like the calm before a storm.
Ava's hands shook as she made her choice.
Blood dripped from her palm.
The audience thought she had merely cut herself in her panic. But Drake's eyes narrowed sharply, his perception honed by two lives and a mind sharper than most. He saw it—the flow of mana in her veins, the change in the very texture of her aura.
Shura Blood.
His breath caught in his throat, then steadied with a dark grin. A forbidden technique. One whispered about only in the most dangerous corners of demonkind. A technique said to burn your very lifeblood into a weapon, twisting it into blades of crimson hate.
Even the announcer, booming voice and all, hadn't noticed. The crowd thought it was nothing more than a desperate bluff. But Drake knew better.
Ava screamed again, and her blood answered.
It spilled from her veins, yet instead of falling uselessly, it gathered and hardened. A shimmering crimson blade formed, pulsing with demonic energy. She clutched it tight, and with her other hand, she slammed her sword full of enchantments, fusing the two into one abomination.
Her lips stretched into a manic grin. "Now you'll see! Now you'll all see!"
The blood-slicked sword pulsed like a living thing. The enchantments glowed faintly red, their magic straining against the unnatural fusion.
She vanished.
One heartbeat she was in front of Drakelle, the next she appeared behind her, her new blade raised for a killing blow. Gasps erupted through the stands. Even a few transcendent family heirs flinched at the speed.
Ava laughed, her voice cracking with hysteria. "It seems the so-called Peak Family is nothing but peak at making up mythical nonsense!"
The crowd murmured. Could she actually land the strike? Could this nameless noble defeat a Primordia?
But Drakelle didn't move. Her posture remained relaxed, her aura steady. No panic, no fear—only calm.
Her voice was soft, cutting through the noise like a blade of glass.
"I'm sorry," she said, her crimson eyes glinting. "But it ends here."
Mana surged.
Destruction Sword Art: First Form—Collapsing Blue Moon.
The ground cracked beneath her feet, fractures racing outward like a spiderweb of violence. The sheer gravitational pull made the arena floor groan. Dust trembled into the air.
The tip of Drakelle's sword turned pitch black, a ball of compressed energy forming like a miniature black star. The audience leaned forward in horror and awe. The energy warped the air, bent the light, crushed the silence.
In a blur faster than thought, Drakelle moved.
A single swing.
The blackened tip of her sword carved through Ava's fused weapon, slicing both blood and steel in half as though they were brittle twigs. Sparks and droplets of crimson scattered in the air.
Before Ava could even gasp, Drakelle's blade plunged forward, stabbing cleanly through her chest, piercing her heart with merciless precision.
Ava's arrogant smile shattered. Her eyes widened, mouth opening in a choked gasp. Blood spilled from her lips as her body trembled.
Drakelle leaned close, her smirk cold and sharp.
"That," she whispered, "was fucking weak. Sorry."
She ripped her sword free, and Ava collapsed to the arena floor, her blood pooling like a broken oath.
For a heartbeat, the entire arena went silent. The shock, the sheer finality of the strike, froze the crowd in collective disbelief.
Then the explosion came.
The coliseum erupted in screams, cheers, and roars of joy. The spectators stomped their feet, waved their arms, their bloodlust ignited by the kill.
"A Primordia!"
"Magnificent!"
"Collapsing Blue Moon! She used it!"
The air was thick with excitement, the noise shaking the very walls of the arena.
And among the thousands, Drake laughed.
At first, it was soft. A chuckle under his breath, lips curling upward. Then it grew, louder, darker, manic. His shoulders shook as he threw his head back, gripping his own face with one hand as though to keep himself from splitting apart.
His crimson eyes glowed with unrestrained glee.
"It seems," he muttered through his laughter, "that the first to join my organisation is you… my dear sister."
He laughed harder, the sound echoing like a demon unchained. The nobles near him shrank back instinctively, sensing the madness in his joy. He didn't care. He didn't give a single damn about their stares.
Holding his face in twisted delight, Drake rose and left the arena, his footsteps light, his grin wide, his mind already spinning with plans. The crowd's cheers still thundered, but he no longer heard them. All he heard was the symphony of his own ambition.
Above, unnoticed by almost everyone, a single figure watched.
Precious Damatias.
The headmaster of the Divine World Academy. The 11th-rank swordswoman whose name was feared across kingdoms. She stood on a balcony hidden in shadows, her long hair whipping gently in the wind, her eyes sharp as blades.
She had seen everything.
The calm precision of Drakelle. The forbidden madness of Ava. The execution of Collapsing Blue Moon. And the manic reaction of Drake.
Her lips curved upward, the faintest smile breaking her cold expression.
"It seems," she whispered to herself, her voice laced with intrigue, "that this year… a bunch of scary talent will appear."
Her crimson gaze lingered on the arena, on the blood still glistening under the lights.
"This is going to be fun."
And with that, she vanished into the shadows, unseen, unheard, but always watching.