[17th June]
The stadium had turned restless.
What should have been the peak of excitement had twisted into chaos, with voices rising from every corner, pressing down on the management like an unrelenting wave. Accusations, anger, demands… all of it clashed in the air, refusing to settle.
At the center of it stood the Host, his expression tightening with every passing second.
The referee, still on the field, was faring no better.
Both of them were being dragged into a storm they hadn't created.
And it was only getting worse.
The noise didn't just grow louder. It grew sharper.
More confident.
More aggressive.
As if the crowd had already decided the truth, and now only wanted it announced.
For a moment, the Host simply stood there, eyes unfocused, as though weighing something far heavier than the situation in front of him.
Then—
His phone rang.
A small sound.
But in that moment, it cut through everything.
He picked it up immediately.
"Hello… yes, sir."
His tone changed at once, straightening into something respectful, restrained.
The call wasn't ordinary.
It was from the one man whose words mattered more than the entire stadium combined—the owner.
Even though he wasn't physically present, nothing escaped his notice.
Every detail.
Every shift.
Every disruption.
Reported.
Understood.
And now… decided.
As the Host listened, his expression slowly shifted.
Surprise flickered first.
Then the realisation.
And finally—
Cold certainty.
The call ended.
He lowered the phone, exhaled once, and when he looked back at the crowd…
There was no hesitation left.
A pressure surged out from him.
Not explosive.
Not wild.
But controlled, heavy, and absolute.
The entire stadium felt it.
Voices choked.
Bodies stiffened.
Silence returned, not by request—but by force.
The Host stepped forward, gaze sweeping across the stands.
"We have reached a final decision."
His voice carried clearly, cutting through the air.
"As per the rules of the stadium, a declared result cannot be reversed without valid grounds."
A pause.
"Which means… Contestant Marin will not be declared the winner."
The words landed heavily.
The silence cracked.
"But then disqualify him!"
The shout came from within the crowd, louder than the rest.
"If you won't change the result, then punish the cheater!"
The Host's eyes snapped toward the source.
Sharp.
Precise.
"Tell me," he said calmly, though the weight behind his voice made it anything but gentle, "what exactly did he do to cheat?"
The man hesitated for a fraction of a second—but pushed through.
"He used a hidden weapon! That dagger! It's the same as before—like that poison incident! He attacked her unfairly!"
Murmurs spread instantly.
Agreement followed.
The narrative was tempting.
Easy.
Convenient.
The Host didn't react immediately.
Instead, he turned slightly.
"Replay the match."
The command was simple.
The large screens flickered to life.
The footage began.
From the moment Rey broke through the mist… to every strike, every movement, every exchange.
Nothing skipped.
Nothing hidden.
The dagger.
The arrows.
The clash.
The collapse.
Everything unfolded again, clearer this time, slower… undeniable.
No one spoke.
Not a single voice dared interrupt.
When the footage stopped, the silence felt different.
Heavier.
Uncomfortable.
The Host turned back to the crowd.
"Now," he said, "point out the moment where he used a 'hidden weapon' to strike unfairly."
No answer came.
"Switching weapons during battle is not prohibited," he continued, voice steady. "It is a tactical choice. Many contestants have done the same."
His eyes hardened slightly.
"And if we begin calling every weapon switch cheating… then perhaps half this tournament should be disqualified."
A few people shifted in their seats.
The confidence from before had begun to crumble.
"And as for the comparison with poison…" his tone dropped, colder now, "that incident involved external tampering."
"This one does not."
The distinction was clear.
Sharp.
Final.
"If anyone still has objections," he added, stepping forward slightly, "you are free to come down and present them properly."
No one moved.
Not a single person stood up.
The fire that had burned so loudly moments ago… died just as quickly.
Seeing that, the Host let out a quiet breath.
"Then the decision stands."
He turned toward the field.
"Referee. Call the medics. Move both contestants immediately. The round will continue."
—
On the ground, Rey barely registered the shift in the stadium.
His world had shrunk.
To pain.
To cold.
To survival.
His fingers were still clutching his chest, nails digging into fabric soaked with faint traces of blood.
Breathing was uneven.
Heavy.
Each inhale felt like pulling shards of ice into his lungs.
Inside him, chaos raged.
Marin's icy energy hadn't faded.
It lingered.
Spreading through his meridians like a slow poison, freezing, disrupting, tearing apart his internal flow.
But something else was happening too.
Something… unexpected.
Deep within him—
His core stirred.
At first, it was subtle.
Almost unnoticeable.
But then, as he forced his mana to circulate again, he felt it clearly.
The invading icy energy…
Was being absorbed.
Not completely.
Not instantly.
But steadily.
Drawn inward, like water sinking into dry earth.
His core, which had always felt like nothing more than a passive reservoir… was reacting.
Working.
Fighting back.
Rey's brows tightened slightly.
'…What is this?'
He didn't have time to think.
Only enough to endure.
He pushed his mana again.
Slowly.
Carefully.
The pressure eased—just a little.
Enough to keep him conscious.
Enough to survive.
Then—
Voices.
Closer now.
The Host.
Medics.
Movement around him.
Rey forced his eyes open.
The sky above blurred slightly before stabilising.
A few drops of blood slid across his chest.
He glanced at his hand.
Red.
'Great…'
A faint, tired thought crossed his mind.
'Even my own body is trying to kill me now.'
Footsteps approached.
Medics.
They moved quickly, preparing to lift him.
Rey shifted slightly, voice low but clear despite the strain.
"Take her first…"
The medics paused.
"Her condition are worse," he continued, eyes barely turning toward where Marin lay. "I'll manage."
The two exchanged a glance.
Respect flickered across their faces.
"Yes, sir. Another team is already on the way for her."
One of them added,
"We were instructed to bring you separately. Sir Hosric requested it."
Rey blinked.
A strange expression crossed his face.
'Since when…?'
But he didn't question further.
They lifted him carefully onto the stretcher.
As he was carried away, his gaze drifted once more.
Another stretcher had reached Marin.
Good.
That was enough.
The stadium ceiling passed above him as they moved quickly through the corridors.
The noise of the crowd faded.
Replaced by quieter tension.
He caught glimpses of other contestants waiting near the gates—faces tight, eyes uncertain.
Waiting in silence.
Preparing for their turn in a battlefield that had just shown them how brutal it could truly become.
Then—
A separate room.
Different from the medical bay.
Quieter.
Closed.
They carried him inside.
And there—
Someone was already waiting.
Restless.
Impatient.
The moment Rey entered, the man stood up instantly.
Hosric.
"Hurry!" he snapped. "Put him on the bed—now!"
The medics didn't waste a second.
Rey was placed down carefully.
Before he could even settle, Hosric was already beside him, eyes scanning him with sharp intensity.
For a brief moment, relief flashed across his face.
Then—
Annoyance.
"Kid… you really don't know how to make things easy, do you?"
His tone carried both irritation and something deeper.
Concern.
"There isn't a single Noble house right now that wouldn't want you," he continued, shaking his head lightly.
"Defeating two recognized geniuses back-to-back… do you even understand what you've done?"
Rey didn't answer.
He was too busy breathing.
Hosric sighed, rubbing his forehead.
"And yet every time…" he muttered, "you come back looking like this."
His gaze softened slightly.
"Your mother called again."
A pause.
"She's worried. More than you can imagine."
Rey's expression shifted faintly at that—but he said nothing.
Hosric leaned closer, expression turning serious again.
"Enough talking."
His hand hovered slightly above Rey's chest, sensing.
"That last attack… it wasn't normal. Her energy was unstable."
His eyes narrowed.
"If that chaos is still inside you, it could damage your meridians permanently."
The air in the room stilled.
"Let me check properly."
And for the first time since the battle ended—
The real problem…
Was just beginning to surface.
"Sorry, uncle… it just—"
Rey barely got the words out before the pressure in the room shifted.
"Enough."
A single word.
Flat.
Firm.
And absolute.
Hosric didn't even look at him as he cut him off, already moving closer, his focus entirely on Rey's condition.
He wasn't someone who entertained explanations in moments like this—not when the body in front of him was barely holding itself together.
Rey shut his mouth instantly.
Even Fenlor, with all his noise, got silenced the same way.
He wasn't about to test that patience.
Hosric placed his palm over Rey's chest—the exact spot where Marin's strike had landed. His eyes closed slowly, expression sharpening as his senses turned inward.
This was the real reason he had brought him here.
Not to talk.
Not to lecture.
But to check him personally.
The medic teams… they weren't enough.
Not for this.
Not for him.
Especially now.
Rey's performance had already spread like wildfire through the stadium. Every major house had their eyes on him, weighing, calculating, waiting.
If not for his identity—
They would have already made their move.
But that name…
That bloodline…
Was enough to keep even the boldest of them in check.
The Duke's shadow was not something anyone dared step into lightly.
The Dragonstorm Family might have fallen from its former peak, but its legacy still lingered like a blade at everyone's throat.
Hosric knew that better than most.
And the Valemont Family…
They stood in a strange place.
Bound.
Restricted.
Yet… not completely powerless.
A narrow path existed.
A loophole.
And he intended to use it.
His energy slipped into Rey's body.
Carefully.
Measured.
He didn't rush toward the chest this time.
He remembered.
Last time… his energy had simply vanished.
Devoured.
Without resistance.
Without explanation.
So, he started elsewhere.
The limbs.
Stable.
The lower body.
Normal.
The dantian…
Hosric's brows furrowed slightly.
It was… there.
Functioning.
But—
Empty.
Not weak.
Not damaged.
Just… devoid of spiritual qi.
Which made no sense.
Not for someone like this.
Rey's physical condition alone was beyond what most could achieve without proper cultivation.
His meridians were refined, tempered almost unnaturally, like they had been forged through repeated stress and recovery.
And yet—
No cultivation.
No qi.
It was like looking at a sword of perfect craftsmanship… with no edge.
'Impossible…'
Hosric shifted his sensing slightly higher.
And that's when it happened again.
The moment his energy drifted closer to the chest—
It began to disappear.
Not leak.
Not scatter.
Disappear.
Like it had fallen into something bottomless.
His expression tightened.
He immediately pulled his energy back, retreating to safer regions.
A faint chill ran through him.
'…So it's still there.'
Whatever it was—
It wasn't normal.
'I shouldn't expect anything less…'
His thoughts turned heavy.
'The Dragonstorm Family… even in decline, they were never ordinary. The secrets they held… even the Dukes respected them once.'
He exhaled slowly.
Then made a decision.
A gamble.
Hosric placed his palm firmly against Rey's chest again.
This time—
He didn't hold back.
A surge of energy pushed forward, forcefully entering, trying to probe deeper before it could be swallowed completely.
For a brief moment—
He saw it.
The condition inside.
Rey's organs…
Were fine.
Too fine.
Aside from minor fractures along the ribs, there was nothing that matched the level of damage he should have taken.
No internal collapse.
No severe disruption.
Nothing that justified the state he had been in moments ago.
And then—
His energy vanished again.
Completely.
Consumed.
Hosric pulled back instantly, eyes opening.
A flicker of shock passed through them.
'…He should've been worse.'
Far worse.
But what he saw…
Was recovery.
Slow.
Subtle.
Almost… controlled.
He didn't voice it.
Didn't question it out loud.
Some things were better left untouched.
He stepped back, moving toward the sofa, letting out a quiet breath as he sat down.
"Rest."
That was all he said.
Rey didn't argue.
For the next half hour, the room fell into silence.
Only the faint sounds from Hosric's phone broke it occasionally—clips of ongoing matches, distant cheers, the tournament moving forward without pause.
Time didn't stop for anyone.
Not even for monsters.
Eventually, Rey shifted.
Slowly sitting up.
The weight in his chest had lessened, though not completely gone. His limbs still felt heavy, his breath slightly uneven—but it was manageable now.
He glanced at the time.
Evening was creeping in.
"Uncle… I think I should head home," he said, voice steadier than before. "I'll rest better there."
Hosric didn't look up immediately, eyes still on his phone.
"Hmm."
A second later, he nodded.
"Call me when you reach."
Then, almost as an afterthought—
"And don't train."
His tone sharpened slightly.
"One day won't kill your progress."
Rey gave a faint nod.
He wasn't planning to.
Not today.
Two matches like that… were more than enough.
He stood, adjusting himself before walking out.
The hallway outside felt quieter now.
Distant.
Detached.
He reached into his inventory and pulled out his coat, intending to wear it and blend in like usual.
But the moment he unfolded it—
He paused.
Cuts.
Frozen tears.
Dried blood.
The fabric looked like it had gone through a battlefield.
Rey stared at it for a second.
Then let out a dry breath.
"…Yeah. That's not helping."
If anything, it would attract more attention than his face ever could.
For a moment, he considered throwing it away.
His hand even moved toward a nearby bin—
But stopped.
He looked at the coat again.
Something unreadable passed through his eyes.
Then, silently, he stored it back.
And walked on.
Outside, the air felt cooler.
Quieter.
The chaos of the stadium muffled behind thick walls.
He stepped toward the main gate, scanning for a ride.
A taxi pulled over within seconds.
Perfect timing.
Rey reached for the handle—
And froze.
A chill ran down his spine.
Sharp.
Sudden.
Not from injury.
Not from cold.
Something else.
His eyes narrowed slightly as he turned back.
The street was mostly empty.
A few scattered people.
Nothing unusual.
No one staring.
No one approaching.
No hostility.
Nothing.
He held that gaze for a moment longer.
Then exhaled lightly.
'…Just the after-effects.'
That's what he told himself.
And maybe—
That's what it was.
He got into the taxi.
The vehicle pulled away, merging into the dimming streets.
Rey leaned back slightly, eyes closing for a brief second as exhaustion crept in.
Behind him—
High above the stadium—
A figure stood on the rooftop edge.
Still.
Silent.
Watching.
Cold eyes locked onto the retreating taxi.
Teeth clenched.
"...Again."
A low voice slipped into the wind.
"It missed."
Frustration flickered—sharp, controlled, dangerous.
Then—
He turned.
And vanished into the shadows.
As if he had never been there at all.