[17th June]
The second round did not slow down after the first match.
If anything—
It accelerated.
The clash between Carl and Ben had ignited something in the crowd, leaving behind a lingering excitement that refused to settle.
Conversations overlapped, predictions grew louder, and every pair of eyes in the stadium now carried a sharper hunger.
They had seen what this stage demanded.
Now they wanted more.
And the arena delivered.
Match after match unfolded with increasing intensity, each one pushing the standard higher than the last.
Contestants no longer held back as much, forced into revealing more of their strength just to keep up with the rising level.
The idea of "testing the waters" had already disappeared.
This was a climb now—
and only those willing to bear everything could keep ascending.
Above the arena, the Noble Gallery had become just as active.
Subtle gestures.
Quiet exchanges.
Hidden negotiations.
Every promising contestant was being watched, evaluated, and quietly marked.
Some were already being fought over—not with weapons, but with offers.
Resources.
Protection.
Future backing.
And in one of the more secluded galleries—
Two old men continued their own battle.
"You old fool… that's another win for me."
The first old man spoke calmly, though the faint satisfaction in his voice was impossible to hide.
"Maybe your instincts are finally dulling with age."
The second old man scoffed, clearly annoyed.
"Don't get ahead of yourself. The score is still five to four."
He leaned back, folding his arms.
"I'm still leading."
"No," the first man immediately countered, leaning forward as his eyes narrowed slightly.
"We agreed the first match wouldn't count."
His finger pressed against the other man's cheek in irritation.
"That makes it equal."
The second old man slapped his hand away with a sharp motion.
"Oh, now you remember the rules?"
A dry laugh escaped him.
"Convenient."
Before the argument could escalate further—
The door behind them opened.
A presence entered quietly.
The second old man's expression darkened instantly.
"…Didn't I say not to disturb me unless it was important?"
"Yes, Father."
The voice was respectful.
Controlled.
Hosric.
The same man who commanded authority elsewhere now stood with a completely different demeanour, his posture straight, his tone measured.
"It's about Rey."
A slight pause.
"Do you have a moment?"
The atmosphere shifted.
The second old man—
The Head of the Valemont family, father of Hosric Valemont.
Edvarin Valemont—
slowly placed his cup down, the earlier irritation fading into something far more focused.
"…Speak."
The first old man, seated beside him—
His old friend.
Gareth—
did not interrupt, though his attention had clearly sharpened.
Hosric hesitated briefly, glancing at Gareth.
Only after receiving a silent nod did he continue.
"I met him earlier. He's stable… and he intends to continue fighting."
His voice remained steady, but there was weight behind each word.
"He wants to push for a higher rank."
Edvarin's expression did not change.
"Go on."
"I informed him about our support plan," Hosric continued, choosing his words carefully. "He didn't reject it."
A small pause followed.
"…And after reviewing his next opponent…"
His tone lowered slightly.
"…I believe we should proceed."
Gareth's eyes narrowed faintly.
"His opponent is the Ice-attribute innate root user—Marin," Hosric said. "She's already under observation by the Duke's faction."
"With her level of control, it's almost certain they'll move to recruit her."
The implication hung in the air.
"If Rey gets entangled in that… it may complicate things."
Edvarin leaned back slightly, his gaze turning distant for a brief moment before settling again.
"…A melee fighter against an innate elementalist."
He exhaled slowly.
"The disadvantage is obvious."
Silence.
"Proceed with the preparations," he said at last.
"Once the match ends, we make our stance clear."
His fingers tightened slightly against the armrest.
"…At the very least…"
A flicker of something deeper crossed his eyes.
"…I won't fail my daughter again."
The wood beneath his grip creaked faintly.
For a moment—
The past weighed heavily in the room.
Hosric lowered his head.
"…Understood."
Then, after a brief hesitation, he added—
"…And, Uncle Gareth… if I may…"
Both old men glanced at him.
"…Please lower your voices."
A strained smile appeared on his face.
"Others are already listening."
A beat of silence.
"…If this continues, whatever we're trying to keep quiet won't remain hidden for long."
And before a response could come—
Hosric turned and left.
Quickly.
Just in time—
"THAT BRAT—!"
Edvarin's voice burst out from inside the room.
Gareth sighed, already pouring another cup of tea.
"Calm down."
Edvarin exhaled sharply, forcing himself back into control.
"…He's not wrong," Gareth continued calmly. "People at this level don't need walls to hear conversations."
A pause.
Then his gaze shifted.
Sharper.
Colder.
"This kid…"
"…Is he the one I've been hearing about recently?"
Edvarin let out a short breath.
"…Yes."
"My daughter's son."
His tone hardened slightly.
"You've probably seen his matches."
"But that's not the issue."
A flicker of anger surfaced.
"After the poisoning incident… we can't rule out another attempt."
"And I won't sit back again."
His voice dropped.
Lower.
Heavier.
"Not when he's already been left without support for this long."
Gareth watched him quietly for a moment.
"…So the rumours were true."
Then, unexpectedly—
He smiled faintly.
"You're lucky."
Edvarin raised a brow.
"Two talents of that level in one family…"
Gareth shook his head slightly.
"…Even I can't ignore that."
A small sigh escaped him.
"My grandson didn't make it to the finals."
"But he's not lacking either."
A glance toward the arena.
"…Still, having both of them in the same institution…"
"…That's enough to make anyone jealous."
Edvarin laughed.
And just like that—
The tension eased.
Below—
The battles continued.
And they did not disappoint.
Each match pushed harder than the last, contestants forced to reveal more of their strength to survive.
The level had risen to a point where even holding back slightly could cost a victory.
Some stood out more than others.
Raviel Ashcroft—
remained composed.
He wasn't dominating effortlessly anymore, but he still controlled the flow of his fights with precision, moving when needed, blocking when required, never wasting motion.
Even now—
He had yet to be pushed to his limits.
Then there was—
Gravion.
Unlike Raviel, his presence was overwhelming in a different way.
He didn't move with elegance.
He didn't rely on finesse.
But every swing of his massive spear carried raw, crushing force, turning his fights into one-sided displays of power.
Opponents were not defeated—
They were overwhelmed.
After witnessing such standards—
Everything else felt different.
Average was no longer enough.
And then—
after nearly twenty matches—
Rey stood up.
The noise of the stadium faded slightly in his perception as he adjusted his sleeves, his gaze briefly sweeping across the arena one last time before turning away.
It was his turn.
He moved down through the corridors, footsteps steady, neither hurried nor slow. By the time he reached the preparation area, everything was already in place.
His bow rested firmly across his back.
The quiver sat secure.
The dagger—
hidden, but ready.
No wasted movement.
Inside—
Someone was already waiting.
Marin.
She stood there quietly, her presence as cold as ever, her expression unreadable as her eyes briefly passed over Rey before dismissing him entirely.
As if he wasn't worth attention.
Rey didn't react.
He took his position near the gate, leaning slightly as he waited, his mind already settling into focus.
Five minutes passed.
Then—
The gates opened.
A wave of sound crashed in.
Cheers.
Applause.
Energy.
Their IDs lit up across the massive screens above.
Marin stepped forward first.
Rey followed a few steps behind, maintaining distance without even thinking about it.
He had no intention—
of getting unnecessarily close to someone tied to Gravion.
Not now.
Not here.
They stepped into the arena.
The noise intensified.
'I'm hopeful I can perform well in this match, even though I don't have much confidence in myself...'
Under the gaze of thousands—
They approached the center.
Their ID cards were handed over.
Checked.
Verified.
The referee stepped back.
And for the first time—
The tension truly settled.
Rey vs Marin.
The air itself seemed to grow colder.
The two of them stepped back to their marks as the referee collected their ID cards, locking them away as silent stakes for the outcome of the match.
Only one of them would take theirs back.
"Both contestants, prepare yourselves. Check your equipment… and take your positions."
The referee's voice carried cleanly across the arena as he glanced between them one last time.
Then—
"Let the 22nd Match of the Second Round… begin!"
He vanished from the center almost instantly.
The crowd erupted.
On one side stood Marin—
The Ice Queen.
The Freezing Beauty.
A name that had already carved fear into the minds of many.
On the other—
stood Rey.
The bow user who had climbed his way up through sheer precision, calculated risk, and an unnerving ability to adapt mid-fight.
Two very different forces.
Two very different approaches.
And yet—
both dangerous.
The noise in the stadium rose even higher as people leaned forward, eager to see how this clash would unfold.
Even the nobles watched more closely now.
Some with interest.
Some with expectation.
And a few—
with certainty.
High above, Marcus stood with a faint smile, his eyes fixed on Rey.
In his mind, the outcome was already decided.
'A weed… doesn't survive in a storm like this.'
Down below—
Marin did not move.
She stood still.
Completely still.
That alone— was enough to make the atmosphere shift.
A quiet chill spread through the arena as her gaze settled on Rey, studying him carefully, almost as if weighing something unseen.
'So this is the one…'
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
'Gravion… what exactly did you see in him?'
His words echoed in her mind.
"Don't underestimate him."
"He'll make you feel like you've already lost—if you let him control the pace."
A faint irritation surfaced.
'Defeat me?'
Her fingers tightened slightly.
'That's not happening.'
Her stance lowered.
Energy gathered.
'I'll prove it… right here.'
"Show me what you can do," she said coldly, her voice cutting through the noise. "Or prepare to stand still like the rest."
The air above her trembled.
Dozens of icicles formed in an instant—
sharp, refined, deadly.
And the next second—
They fired.
Rey's eyes sharpened.
He moved.
A quick step to the side—
then another.
The icicles struck the ground where he had been standing, exploding into a burst of mist that spread outward rapidly.
The temperature dropped instantly.
Frost crept across the surface.
Even the air felt heavier.
Rey felt the chill bite into his coat as thin layers of ice began forming along the fabric. He brushed it off quickly, his movements sharp but controlled, never letting his footing falter.
'So this is her range…'
He didn't rush in.
Didn't retaliate immediately.
Instead—
he watched.
Marin continued her assault, sending wave after wave of ice projectiles, each one precise, each one capable of turning the battlefield into a frozen trap.
But Rey's focus remained steady.
He wasn't looking at the attacks.
He was looking at her.
And slowly—
he started noticing it.
The slight paling of her skin.
The faint frost forming along her arms.
The stiffness creeping into her fingers.
'…Backlash.'
A small detail.
But a critical one.
Her power wasn't free.
It was eating into her.
'That's my opening.'
Rey reached back and pulled multiple arrows at once, his fingers settling into a rapid rhythm as he began firing in quick succession.
The arrows cut through the air—
fast.
Precise.
Relentless.
But Marin didn't move.
Not even a step.
Her hand lifted slightly—
and the temperature dropped even further.
A thin veil of mist spread outward.
And in an instant—
every arrow froze mid-flight.
Encased.
Lifeless.
They fell.
One after another.
Like dead leaves.
Rey's eyes narrowed.
'…That easy?'
He didn't hesitate.
Another set of arrows.
Fired again—
this time faster.
More aggressive.
But the result—
was the same.
Frozen.
Neutralized.
Dropped.
For anyone watching—
it looked absolute.
A complete shutdown.
But Rey wasn't aiming to break through.
He was setting something up.
Hidden among the flurry—
one arrow came late.
Delayed.
Curved.
It slipped past the main line of fire—
a blind angle.
Marin's instincts flared.
She reacted instantly, shifting her focus to intercept—
but this time—
It was too late.
The arrow pierced through the edge of her defense—
grazing her arm.
A thin cut.
But enough.
A drop of blood fell.
Then another.
The arena fell silent.
For the first time—
Marin had been injured.
Her gaze lowered slightly to the cut.
Then—
slowly—
lifted back to Rey.
He was already preparing his next shot.
A faint smile rested on his face.
Not arrogant.
Not mocking.
But certain.
That small exchange—
had shifted something.
Marin's expression hardened.
"…I see."
The air around her dropped even further.
"Then let's stop playing."
Her hand rose—
and the next moment—
The battlefield changed.
A violent blizzard erupted outward, swallowing the arena in a storm of ice and wind.
Rey was forced back several steps as the sudden surge of force crashed into him, his footing nearly slipping as his grip tightened around his bow.
The wind howled.
Shards of ice spun wildly within the storm, cutting across his body again and again, leaving shallow wounds that burned with cold instead of heat.
Breathing became harder.
Vision—
worse.
Outside the storm—
Marin stood untouched.
Her control absolute.
Her eyes closed briefly—
then opened again.
Focused.
Precise.
Above her—
something began to form.
A single icicle.
Larger than the rest.
Denser.
Sharper.
Condensed power gathering into one point.
Inside the storm—
Rey's silhouette flickered.
Unclear.
Unstable.
But she could feel him.
Every movement.
Every shift.
The entire storm—
was her domain.
The crowd held their breath.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
Because they all felt it.
This wasn't just pressure anymore.
This was—
ending.
The massive icicle above her head locked into place.
Aligned.
Ready.
One strike.
That was all it would take.
Marin raised her hand slightly—
her eyes locking onto the exact point within the storm.
"Disappear."
And the icicle—
dropped.
At that exact moment—
Inside the blizzard—
Rey moved.
Not back.
Not away.
Forward.
Straight into the heart of the storm.
And then—
something changed.
The wind—
stuttered.
The ice—
hesitated.
For just a fraction of a second—
Marin's expression shifted.
"…What?"