After the strange confrontation between Leo and Lionel came to an end, the arena remained steeped in a strange mixture of astonishment and confusion.
To some of the spectators, what had just happened was nothing more than a ridiculous stroke of luck that had allowed Leo to advance without exchanging even a single blow.
To others, Lionel's surrender was a stain upon his reputation—one that would not easily be forgotten.
As for Leo...
He saw only one thing in the entire affair.
A waste of time.
He had no interest in how the others chose to interpret what had happened, nor did he care about the endless whispers spreading throughout the stands.
While the murmurs were still echoing through the arena, the family representative once again stepped toward the center of the platform, reclaiming the attention of the gathered spectators.
He raised one hand.
Then, in a clear and authoritative voice, announced:
"Now... we shall proceed to the individual matches of the Sub-Bloodline."
The atmosphere of the arena gradually shifted.
The previous commotion began to settle, and the next series of battles commenced.
Yet...
This stage lacked the same momentum that had characterized the Direct-Bloodline trials.
Most of the participants were still only at the First Circle, with a handful having reached the Second Circle.
There was, however, one notable exception.
Aren.
The young man who had just demonstrated that he was capable of reaching beyond his apparent limits and casting a Third Circle spell.
Even so, most of the matches required very little time.
The differences in strength were simply too obvious.
One battle ended.
Then another.
And another.
The victors advanced while the defeated were eliminated, until the number of competitors gradually dwindled.
As for Aren...
His advancement proved to be far easier than some had anticipated.
The moment his match began, his opponent immediately realized the enormous gap between them.
Rather than engaging in a battle in which he possessed virtually no chance of victory...
He surrendered.
And just like that, the five representatives of the Sub-Bloodline who would advance to the final stage were decided.
Several minutes passed.
Then, once again, the family representative returned to the center of the platform.
This time, however, there was a noticeably greater energy in his voice—as though the words he was about to speak carried the weight of the entire event.
He raised his hand.
"Now..."
He paused.
His gaze swept across the stands, taking in the countless faces watching him.
"We have finally reached the climax of this event."
The voices gradually died down.
One by one, every gaze turned toward him.
"From this moment onward, this will no longer be an ordinary series of trials."
His voice grew firmer.
"The remaining competitors will fight to prove themselves and claim their right to enter the Imperial Academy."
A tense anticipation settled over the arena.
But before he continued, the representative cleared his throat.
"Ahem... There is one more matter that must be announced."
His tone changed slightly.
"By a decision issued by the Elders of the family, with the approval of the Patriarch, two members of the Sub-Bloodline have been disqualified from the final stage."
He paused briefly.
Then announced:
"Dithbeth Dainhart... and Vlad Dainhart."
The expressions of the two men changed immediately.
Dithbeth froze for a moment before taking a step forward, as though he intended to protest.
"This is not fair!"
But his words found no willing ears.
There was no room for an objection.
When a decision had been reached by the Elders and approved by the Patriarch...
It was final.
There would be no argument.
No appeal.
And certainly no second chance.
Vlad clenched his fist so tightly that the veins beneath his skin became visible.
Fury burned within his eyes, yet even he understood that protesting would accomplish nothing.
He turned sharply and left the area with heavy footsteps, every movement betraying the anger boiling within him.
Among the spectators, however, opinions were divided.
Some believed that expelling the two competitors was unfair.
Others considered the decision perfectly reasonable.
Both of them were only at the First Circle.
And now...
They would be facing opponents far beyond their level.
Some of the remaining competitors had reached the Second Circle.
One had even demonstrated the ability to wield Third Circle magic.
Against such opponents...
It was not difficult to predict what would happen to them.
Once the commotion had settled, the family representative continued.
"Now, allow me to explain how the final stage will be conducted."
He raised his hand and began outlining the rules.
"Eight competitors will participate in this stage."
"The matchups will be determined at random, with each competitor facing a single opponent in an individual battle."
He raised one finger.
"In the first round, only four competitors will remain."
Then he raised a second finger.
"Those four will then face one another in another series of individual matches during the second round."
"The battles will continue until only two competitors remain."
He paused.
For the first time, his voice carried a noticeably heavier tone.
"As for the third and final round..."
"The two remaining competitors will face each other in a decisive battle to determine the first and second positions."
Then he announced clearly:
"Both of them shall earn the right to enter the Imperial Academy."
A wave of murmurs spread through the audience.
From this moment onward...
There would be no room for mistakes.
Every battle could be the last.
Every decision could determine the course of someone's future.
And every victory would bring its bearer one step closer to the Imperial Academy.
Then...
The first match began.
"Alaric Dainhart... versus Brash Dainhart!"
The two competitors stepped into the arena.
This battle was different from everything that had come before.
For the first time in this stage, a member of the Direct-Bloodline would face someone from the Sub-Bloodline.
Naturally, the attention of the spectators intensified.
This was no longer merely a battle between two young mages.
It was, in a sense, an indirect test of the difference between the Direct-Bloodline and the Sub-Bloodline.
Alaric stood at one end of the arena.
He had reached the middle stage of the Second Circle relatively recently, but he was far from being in peak condition.
His previous battle had already taken a considerable toll on him.
Brash, on the other hand...
Was at the early Second Circle.
In terms of raw strength, the difference was obvious.
But Alaric could not fight at full capacity.
And because of that...
The outcome was not nearly as certain as some had expected.
The battle began.
Alaric moved first.
He raised his hand.
Mana gathered rapidly around his fingertips.
Then—
"Ice Arrows!"
Several razor-sharp arrows of ice materialized and tore through the air, shooting directly toward Brash.
But Brash did not attempt to block them.
He moved immediately.
One step to the side.
Then another.
The icy arrows passed by him, piercing through the empty space where he had stood only moments earlier.
His decision had been deliberate.
He knew that creating a defensive barrier against such a barrage would consume a considerable amount of mana.
And in a battle of attrition...
Every drop of mana could mean the difference between victory and defeat.
The moment he escaped the attack, Brash wasted no time.
He surged forward.
Mana gathered around him as he prepared his counterattack.
But Alaric was not the type to stand still and wait for his opponent's attack.
He retreated immediately, creating distance once again.
A spell was launched.
The opponent evaded.
A counterattack followed.
Then another retreat.
And so the battle continued.
It was not a contest of overwhelming destructive power.
Rather, it became a test of endurance, precision in mana control, and the ability to make decisions while under pressure.
Minutes passed.
The signs of exhaustion gradually became visible on both competitors.
Yet Brash...
Was slowly approaching victory.
Alaric had already been worn down by his previous battle.
Every spell he cast consumed a portion of the mana remaining within him.
Brash, despite his lower realm, had managed to maintain his mana consumption within reasonable limits.
For a brief moment...
It even seemed as though victory might slip from Alaric's grasp.
But then—
One factor finally decided everything.
Brash's mana ran out first.
His body froze for a brief moment.
The magical energy surrounding him almost completely vanished.
And in that instant, everyone understood.
The battle was over.
Alaric seized the opening.
He launched his final attack.
A few moments later...
The match was decided in his favor.
The family representative raised his voice.
"The winner of this round is... Alaric Dainhart!"
A wave of cheers rose from the stands.
But Alaric did not look particularly pleased with his victory.
Instead, he took a deep breath and wiped the sweat from his forehead.
Then he thought:
"If that had lasted even one more minute..."
He looked down at his hands.
"I would have been in serious trouble."
He knew just how close he had come to losing.
His victory had not been the result of overwhelming superiority.
It had been the result of enduring until the very last moment.
Once the battle ended, the family representative stepped forward once more.
The audience had begun to regain its excitement.
The representative spoke clearly:
"After that entertaining battle... we shall proceed directly to the next match."
He paused.
Then announced the first name.
"Dion Dainhart..."
A brief silence descended.
Then he continued.
"Against..."
This time, the representative paused slightly longer.
As though the next name alone was enough to ignite the curiosity of everyone present.
Then he finally spoke.
"Leo Dainhart."
The moment the name reached the ears of the audience...
The atmosphere of the arena changed.
Some of the murmurs abruptly ceased.
Countless gazes turned toward Leo's seat.
And Leo...
Slowly raised his eyes.
At last...
It was his turn.