[18th June]
By the time Rey reached the stands—
The match had already begun.
The arena had fallen into a strange kind of silence.
Not the quiet of calm.
But the quiet of tension.
Below, both fighters stood in place.
Fenlor.
Raviel.
And just like in Raviel's previous matches—
Nothing moved.
Fenlor stood fixed, sword in hand, shoulders tight. His breathing was controlled, but his stance gave him away.
He was waiting.
Watching.
Measuring.
Across from him, Raviel stood with the same cold, unmoving gaze—like a blade left unsheathed, not striking, but already dangerous.
Then—
He spoke.
"What?"
His voice carried easily across the arena.
"Aren't you going to defeat me?"
A faint pause.
Then—
"Come."
His tone didn't rise.
"I'll give you a head start."
Murmurs spread through the crowd.
"Three minutes," Raviel continued. "I won't attack."
His eyes locked onto Fenlor.
"But if you can't land even a single hit…"
A slight tilt of his head.
"Don't expect a clean defeat."
This wouldn't be mercy.
It would be humiliating.
—
Fenlor's grip tightened around his sword.
The hesitation in his eyes didn't vanish—
But it shifted.
'Fine.'
His breathing steadied.
'If you want to stand there… then don't blame me.'
He moved.
A sharp burst forward—
His sword cut through the air in a clean, direct strike aimed at Raviel's neck.
Fast.
Precise.
Deadly.
—
Raviel stepped aside.
Effortlessly.
The blade missed by inches.
Fenlor didn't stop.
He turned mid-motion, slashing again—then again—then again.
His movements sharpened with each strike, speed increasing, angles changing, pressure building.
Steel cut through the air again and again—
But never flesh.
Raviel moved just enough.
A shift of weight.
A step back.
A slight tilt of his body.
That was all it took.
He didn't counter.
Didn't draw his weapon.
Didn't even look strained.
Within seconds, Fenlor had launched over a dozen attacks.
None landed.
—
He stepped back.
Breathing heavier now.
Not exhausted—
But frustrated.
"What happened?" Raviel's voice came again, calm as ever. "Was that all?"
Fenlor's eyes flicked to the timer.
One minute gone.
"…Tch."
He's doing this on purpose.
That cold, distant genius everyone talked about—
Right now, he felt like something else.
Something worse.
A man toying with him.
—
Fenlor inhaled sharply.
Then—
His aura shifted.
Energy surged through his body, tightening his muscles, sharpening his senses. A faint glow flickered along his blade as spiritual energy wrapped around it.
His stance changed.
Lower.
Sharper.
Focused.
Then—
He moved again.
This time—
Faster.
His strikes cut deeper, his speed pushed beyond before. The blade carried weight now—each swing capable of real damage.
Raviel's expression changed.
Slightly.
A faint crease between his brows.
He moved more this time.
Actually stepping back.
Dodging with clearer intent.
The crowd reacted instantly.
Hope.
For the first time—
It appeared.
—
Then—
For a fraction of a second—
Raviel's gaze shifted.
Upward.
To the highest stand.
Where a single figure watched.
The Duke.
His father.
—
That moment—
Was enough.
Fenlor saw it.
And struck.
A clean, direct slash.
Raviel twisted to avoid it—
But not fully.
The blade grazed his chest.
Fabric tore.
A thin line of red followed.
—
Silence.
Then—
A surge of noise.
Fenlor stepped back, eyes wide.
'I hit him…'
His grip tightened.
'I can do this.'
Rey's words echoed faintly in his mind.
'He's not untouchable.'
Confidence surged.
Real.
Solid.
He stepped forward again—
Ready to press the advantage—
—
And stopped.
His sword didn't move.
Because it couldn't.
Raviel's hand had caught it.
Barehanded.
Fingers wrapped around the blade as if it were nothing more than wood.
Fenlor's eyes widened.
"Your time is over."
Raviel's voice was flat.
Then—
His fist moved.
A single punch.
Straight into Fenlor's abdomen.
—
Impact.
Air vanished from Fenlor's lungs instantly.
His body lifted—
Then crashed across the arena floor.
He skidded, coughing violently, blood rising to his lips as he struggled to breathe.
The entire stadium fell silent.
—
"…Heh."
Fenlor forced a smirk as he pushed himself up.
"That's all?"
It was weak.
But it was there.
Raviel didn't respond.
His hand moved to his back.
Two swords slid free.
His stance shifted.
And for the first time—
He looked like he was about to fight.
"You haven't seen anything yet," he said quietly.
Then—
He disappeared.
—
Fenlor barely reacted.
A blur.
That was all he saw—
Before the strike came.
He raised his sword instinctively—
Clang.
The force exploded through his arms.
His grip nearly broke.
Pain shot up from his wrists as the impact forced him backwards, feet dragging across the ground.
He rolled to absorb it, barely stabilising himself before standing again.
His arms trembled.
His breathing was uneven.
But he raised his sword again.
—
The crowd shifted.
Whispers spread.
Not about Raviel—
But Fenlor.
Still standing.
Admiring his courage and strength.
—
Five minutes passed.
Then more.
Fenlor blocked.
Dodged.
Got hit.
Stood again.
Each exchange pushed him further.
Each strike chipped away at him.
But he didn't fall.
—
Raviel glanced at the timer.
Five minutes.
His expression darkened slightly.
This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
He exhaled once.
Then—
"I've wasted enough time."
His voice carried clearly.
"I'll end this now."
—
He lowered his swords.
The movement confused everyone.
For a moment—
Nothing happened.
Then—
The air shifted.
—
Behind him—
The daggers moved.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
They rose.
Not in his hands.
But in the air.
Hovering.
Still.
Controlled.
—
The stadium froze.
Even the nobles stood.
"What…?"
—
High above—
Edvarin's voice broke the silence.
"Hosric… what am I looking at?"
Hosric didn't look away.
"…It's real."
A pause.
"Raviel Ashcroft… is a Spirit Master."
The words spread like shockwaves.
A rare existence.
One in hundreds of thousands.
A being who didn't just use energy—
But controlled it.
Bent it.
Commanded it.
—
Below—
Raviel stood still.
Calm.
Untouched.
The daggers circled him slowly, like satellites around a silent star.
His eyes opened fully.
And whatever remained of Fenlor's momentum—
Collapsed.
—
In the stands—
Rey's gaze hardened.
'Aiden…
Is that—'
"No," Aiden replied immediately. "Not what you're thinking."
His tone carried interest now.
"That's spirit control. Mental force. A different path."
A pause.
"…And that kid's not normal."
—
Below—
The daggers moved.
At once.
They shot forward.
—
Fenlor reacted instantly, forcing his body to move, swinging his blade to intercept—
Clang.
One deflected.
Another—
Clang.
But the third—
Pierced.
A sharp stab tore through his side.
He gasped—
The fourth followed.
Cutting across his shoulder.
He staggered.
But didn't fall.
They came again.
Relentless.
Controlled.
Precise.
Every time he blocked one—
Another struck.
Cutting.
Piercing.
Breaking him down piece by piece.
Blood spread across his body.
His movements slowed.
His stance broke.
But he remained standing.
Trapped.
Cornered.
With no way forward.
Only one thing was crossing his mind repeatedly.
'Not yet...'
—
And Raviel—
Didn't move.
He stood where he was.
Watching.
Like the outcome had already been decided.
The moment came quietly.
Too quietly.
Fenlor's knees hit the ground.
A dull sound.
His sword barely held him upright anymore, its tip digging into the arena floor as his weight leaned against it.
His entire body trembled, soaked in blood—cuts layered over cuts, some shallow, some deep enough to make even seasoned fighters look away.
The crowd had gone silent.
Not out of anticipation.
But discomfort.
Some couldn't even keep watching.
"I can still..." he muttered as his vision grew blurry over time.
—
The daggers stopped.
Then, one by one, they returned.
Floating back toward Raviel as if called by an unseen force.
Three slipped behind him, vanishing into their sheaths.
One remained.
Hovering.
Still.
Then—
It began to spin over his fingertip.
Slowly at first.
Then faster.
Sharper.
Like a drill forming in the air.
—
A ripple of unease spread through the stadium.
Even those in the noble stands leaned forward.
Something about this—
Was wrong.
Without a word—
Raviel moved his hand.
The dagger shot forward.
It didn't fly like a weapon.
It tore through the air like a bullet.
—
Fenlor reacted on instinct.
His body screamed in pain, but he still moved, dragging his sword up to block—
__
Impact.
The spinning blade shattered the sword on contact.
Metal cracked.
Fragments exploded outward.
And the dagger didn't stop.
—
It pierced through.
Straight through his lower abdomen.
Out the other side.
And into the ground beneath him.
For a second—
Everything froze.
Then—
Blood spilt from Fenlor's mouth.
His body slackened.
And he fell.
The arena erupted into chaos.
Gasps.
Shouts.
Disbelief.
Fragments of his broken blade lay scattered in his blood, turning the ground into something grotesque.
—
The referee stepped forward instinctively.
Ready to end it—
But stopped.
Because Raviel was looking at him.
Just looked.
His body leaned forward—ready to step in.
But it didn't follow through.
His fingers twitched at his side.
—
That was enough.
The referee froze in place.
An apprentice-ranked warrior—
Silenced.
—
No one moved.
Not the officials.
Not the nobles.
Not even the Valemont family.
Because above them all—
Sat the Duke.
And that presence alone crushed any thought of interference.
—
Raviel walked forward.
Slow.
Unhurried.
He stopped in front of Fenlor's broken body and looked down at him for a moment.
Then spoke.
"Surrender."
His tone was flat.
"There's still time."
A brief pause.
"You can't last much longer."
—
Fenlor's fingers twitched.
His body barely responded.
But he forced it.
Forced himself to speak.
"…I… surr—"
—
His voice died.
Cut off mid-word.
—
His eyes widened.
Something—
Covered his mouth.
No hand.
No visible force.
But it was there.
Holding him shut.
—
Raviel smiled.
Cold.
"You don't get to choose that."
His voice dropped, low enough that only a few could truly hear.
"This pain…"
A faint pause.
"…was meant for someone else."
His gaze shifted—
Toward the stands.
Toward Rey.
—
Rey felt it.
That look.
That message.
—
"And now," Raviel continued softly, "you'll carry it."
—
His leg lifted.
Then—
Crashed down.
—
A sickening crack echoed through the arena.
—
"AAAAHHHHHHHH—!"
The scream tore through the stadium.
Raw.
Unfiltered.
Agony.
—
Fenlor's hand bent unnaturally beneath the force, bones shattered under Raviel's heel.
—
The Valemont family couldn't watch anymore.
Some turned away.
Others closed their eyes.
But none could stop it.
—
Time ticked.
One minute.
Thirty seconds.
Each second stretched like torture.
Fenlor's body lay broken, blood pooling beneath him, his breathing ragged, fading.
—
In the stands—
Rey didn't move.
Not outwardly.
But his jaw was locked so tight it trembled.
His lip split under his own teeth, a thin line of blood running down his chin.
His hands—
Clenched so hard his knuckles had gone white.
His nails dug into his own skin.
—
If he could—
He would already be down there.
He would crush Raviel into the ground.
Break him.
Tear him apart.
—
But he couldn't move.
Couldn't act.
Couldn't do anything.
—
And that—
Was the worst part.
—
Even Aiden remained silent.
Watching.
Measuring.
But saying nothing.
—
Then—
A voice cut through everything.
"Referee! Stop the match immediately!"
The Host.
Sharp.
Absolute.
"The contestant has lost consciousness. The match is over. Winner decided. Cease all actions."
—
For a moment—
No one reacted.
Then—
Relief crashed over the stadium.
Like a wave.
—
The referee snapped back to himself.
"Match… over! Winner—Raviel Ashcroft!"
—
The medics rushed in instantly.
They didn't waste a second.
Fenlor was lifted carefully onto a stretcher, his body barely stable, blood still seeping through the makeshift dressings.
His condition—
Worse than Rey.
Worse than Marin.
—
He was taken away.
Fast.
Urgent.
Silent.
—
Raviel didn't look at him again.
He simply stood there.
Then glanced toward the Host.
The Host met his gaze—
And looked away.
Unaffected.
Unmoved.
—
Raviel turned.
And left the arena.
—
Rey was already moving.
The moment Fenlor was taken—
He left the stands.
The entire Valemont family followed.
No words.
No hesitation.
Only one destination.
The medic hall.
—
But not everyone reacted the same.
—
Gravion remained seated.
Watching.
Calm.
Unmoved.
To him—
This wasn't new.
Not even close.
—
'So it's still the same…'
His eyes followed Raviel's retreating figure.
"Raviel Ashcroft…"
A faint smile touched his lips.
"If that's everything you have right now…"
A pause.
"…you might actually be troublesome but not undefeatable."
—
His gaze shifted.
To the two behind him.
Davin.
Marin.
Both tense.
Both affected.
—
Then—
Back to the arena.
To the next matches.
—
'Let's see…'
His smile deepened slightly.
"Deathshot Archer…"
His eyes gleamed with interest.
"Show me something worth keeping."
—
Because next—
It wouldn't be one-sided anymore against Davin.