Not wasting any time, Arnold clasped his right wrist with his left and thrust his palm toward Nico. Across from him, Nico angled his wand downward and murmured his chant, voice a low hum against the restless silence of the arena.
A hush rippled through the crowd.
Arnold's incantation peaked first—flames flared into existence, coiling around his hand like serpents. They swelled, weaving tighter and tighter until a blazing sphere swirled before him. It grew, fat and violent, swelling to the size of his torso before collapsing inward on itself, compressing, condensing. Orange faded to white-blue, the fire now so hot it distorted the air around it.
Beads of sweat gathered on his brow, trickling down his cheek as he forced the fireball smaller, denser.
Nico's eyes narrowed at the change. His chant stuttered, then shifted mid-verse. Stone burst upward from the ring, a wall rising between them with startling speed. Unlike the clean cut of normal earth magic, this wall oozed as it formed—glossy, slick, reinforced with some viscous element that shimmered like wet clay.
It rose tall enough to sever their sightlines—
And Arnold let the sphere fly.
The compressed fireball streaked forward, hissing like a comet.
Boom—
It collided with the wall, the impact swallowing sound for a heartbeat before exploding outward. The wall burst in a shower of smoking debris, slimy concrete fragments hurtling toward the stands. Gasps rose—but the arena's invisible dome shimmered, snapping the shards harmlessly against its unseen barrier.
Smoke bled across the ring, cloaking everything in a hot white haze.
Then a figure burst through—Arnold, leaping the half-demolished wall like a predator springing from cover. His fists glowed red, so fierce it bordered on blinding, searing afterimages into the crowd's vision.
"Go on, Arnold!" someone shouted from the stands.
But Nico stood unshaken. A smile tugged his lips as the smoke curled harmlessly against a translucent shield that had already unfolded around him. Arcane geometry bloomed into existence: radiant lines etched themselves in midair, converging into countless interlocking triangles. They bowed outward, snapping into place with crystalline finality, forming a dome that shimmered like cut diamond.
Arnold's eyes widened—but before he could act, Nico's chant finished.
A pulse exploded outward.
It was soundless, but Noah felt it in his chest—a vibration like pressure before a thunderclap. A wave of invisible force rippled in every direction, making the arena floor tremble. Nico's own shield quaked under its release before stabilizing again.
"Impulse," Elira murmured under her breath, her tone unreadable.
The wave reached Arnold midair—
—and his body flared. A crackling veil of raw Aether snapped around him, sparkling like embers caught in a storm. The wave passed through him harmlessly, as if phasing through water.
Noah's eyes widened. 'He saw it coming.'
Arnold dropped, arms swinging downward. Both fists crashed into Nico's dome with a sound like a bell shattering. Even muffled by the arena's wards, the impact roared through the stands.
The shield fractured—splintering, splintering—then shattered completely.
Nico's eyes went wide as the force carried through. The air itself seemed to quake before slamming into his chest, hurling him back across the ring. He hit the cracked wall with a grunt, sliding down to one knee.
The smoke thinned in the wake of the shockwave. Arnold stood tall at the center, hands still glowing faintly, his chest rising and falling hard.
The spectators broke into a rumble of voices, half in disbelief, half in exhilaration. Some mages leaned forward, muttering about technique; others simply applauded.
Nico dragged himself upright, his face dust-smeared but not broken, only a few shallow cuts marking him. He gave a crooked grin despite it all.
Arnold strode forward, tugging off one glove and brushing back his sweat-damp hair. He extended his bare hand.
Nico clasped it firmly, pulling himself up with a laugh. "You rat! How did you even pull that off? I thought I had you with Impulse."
Arnold's smirk tilted sharper. "Let's just say I had it planned all along."
The instructor's voice rang clear: "Winner—Arnold of House Kehr!"
The crowd erupted, applause echoing through the amphitheater as the two stepped out of the ring, shoulder to shoulder.
The arena buzzed with noise. Most of the mages had already broken into animated groups, reenacting the duel with broad gestures, arguing about timing, angles, and spell choices. Hands carved diagrams in the air, sparks of harmless practice aether flaring as they debated what should have been done.
Noah tuned it out. Half of what they said went over his head anyway.
Beside him, Elira's lips curled in a faint smile. Her voice carried a note of intrigue. "Interesting."
Noah tilted his head. "What was interesting in that?"
Her gaze didn't leave Arnold, still standing in the ring with Nico. "Right before he struck, instead of conjuring a geodesic shield—the most stable formation—he shaped a thin barrier out of the ambient Aether. It wasn't built to last, but it formed faster, just strong enough to keep him steady midair. Without it, the shock would have thrown him back before his strike landed."
Her posture straightened as she spoke, her eyes glimmering with genuine delight. "It's theoretically possible, yes, but to attempt it in real combat… that requires both guts and composure. I knew this year's juniors were talented, but I didn't realize there were rough diamonds among them."
Noah's lips twitched. The way her tone brightened, the way she lost herself in the technicals—it made him think wryly, 'Right. She's a nerd too.'
She lingered in that spark of excitement for a moment longer, speaking softly to herself, before reining it in. Her expression returned to its usual composed grace, as though she had never slipped.
Rising, she brushed dust from her trousers and turned to leave. Noah watched her for a moment, undecided, then chose silence.
Halfway up the steps, she glanced back. "This is sudden, but be prepared. Our House will summon you soon."
Then she was gone, her cloak vanishing into the churning crowd before Noah could even piece the words together.
By the time understanding hit, it was too late.
He clenched his fist, anger and unease tightening his chest. 'Shouldn't she have led with that? And what does she mean 'be prepared'? She makes it sound like that Leon guy's going to kill me.'
His frustration simmered so hot that he didn't even notice Arnold until the his shadow fell across him.
Looking down with a crooked grin, Arnold asked, "Did you get beaten again today?"
Noah forced a smile, his eye twitch betraying him. "I wish that was the case."
*****
The Imperial Palace pulsed with its usual chaos. Couriers hurried across the marbled halls with scrolls clutched to their chests, clerks vanished into offices with stacks of parchment, and the echo of boots on polished stone never seemed to fade.
Inside the emperor's private chamber, the grandeur of the Empire sat oddly against the sight on one of the sofas. A breathtaking woman lounged carelessly, dark circles shadowing her eyes, her lab coat half-slipped from her shoulder.
Drosamir, seated behind a desk piled high with reports, watched her with thinly veiled disapproval. "That posture hardly suits the Archmage of the Empire."
Acantha cracked one eye open at him, then shut it again without answering.
Drosamir's brow twitched. Centuries of wisdom, he thought, yet this is what it looks like in practice.
Pushing back his chair, he left his desk and crossed the chamber, lowering himself onto the opposite sofa. His tone was lighter, though it carried its usual edge. "I'll assume you succeeded."
"'Succeeded'?" She gave a humorless laugh without lifting her head. "Sealing Arts are already enough of a headache to apply. Doing it in a week? Try it yourself sometime."
His lips pressed thin. "So, you failed?"
Acantha grabbed the nearest book on the table and flung it at him. He caught it with a sigh.
"It worked," she muttered. "Barely. That brat has grown so much these last years I thought it'd be impossible. The first step—sealing his Will—took days. After that, the rest was child's play."
At last she sat up, bracing an elbow on the sofa's arm. Her gaze turned distant, almost grim. "What I did was no different than leashing a beast. A carnivore. Breaking free will only be a matter of time. Still… it'll hold, for now."
Drosamir allowed a small smile. "Then all that remains is finding the elusive mage."
Acantha wrinkled her nose. "Ugh. You really do sound like your old man when you're scheming."
He chuckled, careless. "Who else would I resemble?"
She shook her head, brushing strands of hair from her face. "Speaking of scheming—care to finally tell me about this little 'plan'? You've gathered quite the group."
"Wouldn't be fair to keep you in the dark." Rising, he fetched a file from his desk and handed it over. "Leon's image has rotted over the years. Once a shining blade of the Empire, now he's just a mad dog in most eyes, a swordsman who spat on the Knight's Code."
He leaned back into his seat, fingers tracing the carved seams of the sofa. "And now that Iriel can't be hidden anymore, our only move is to control the story. If Leon goes undercover to save his sister, how do you think people will view it?"
Flipping through the pages, Acantha murmured, "That there's still some humanity left in him."
"Not quite my phrasing," Drosamir said, lips curling, "but yes. His weakness becomes his weapon. The public sees devotion, not disgrace. And for us—that's exactly what we need."
Her eyes narrowed as she reached a page stamped with another name: Noah.
"And the commoner? You plan to make him Leon's disciple. Why? Leon would reject him outright, and what's the benefit?"
Drosamir's pleased expression deepened. "Since the succession war, the Valcrest name has been treated as nothing but the Emperor's hound. But if Leon takes in a commoner as his disciple, suddenly the factions can't cry bias. Even the Revolutionary Front would have someone to treat with. Someone unclaimed."
She clicked her tongue, tossing the file onto the table. "So he's a scarecrow. Then why send him along on this trip now? You could wait until Iriel is brought back."
Drosamir's smile turned vicious.
"I'm sure this mission will be a good time for them to bond."
Drosamir's words slithered out with a smile that never touched his eyes. His gaze lingered, cold and calculating, until Acantha let out a weary groan and pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Poor kid," she muttered. "But you still haven't answered me. How are you going to make Leon take him in?"
Drosamir leaned back, almost amused. "Oh, that? You don't have to worry. Leon has already decided what to do."
Her head tilted, eyes narrowing with intrigue. "Really?"
He gave no answer, only let his gaze drop deliberately to the file in her hands.
Acantha flipped another page. Her posture, careless moments before, stiffened. The name, the details—it was all too sharp, too dangerous to be coincidence.
Her brow furrowed. "You… how did you find him?"
The chamber fell quiet for a beat, the bustle of the palace muffled by thick walls.
Drosamir only smiled.