Above the noise and the mana-strobe of the stadium, Markus found them. Their signatures were a familiar harmony in the void of his mind.
His face bloomed with a rare, radiant joy as he locked eyes with the two people who had shaped his world. Knowing they were in the royal box, watching over him from the Emperor's side, turned his nervous adrenaline into a grounded, unstoppable purpose.
Markus steeled his mind, his focus sharpening into a razor-thin edge. Within the expansion of his spatial domain, the fate of his opponents was already a closed book—sealed tight by the gravity of his resolve.
He would not allow a single shadow of doubt to cross the arena today. With his grandparents watching from the royal box, losing wasn't just an impossibility; it was a concept he had erased from existence.
Rosanne caught the subtle shift in Markus's aura—the sudden, razor-sharp clarity that replaced his initial tension.
Following his gaze toward the royal box, her heart leaped. There they were. Seeing Grand Uncle Sloane and Grand Aunt Isolde waving down at her with unbridled pride sent a surge of warmth through her body.
The sight grounded her instantly; the Blackwells had traded their border-warden masks for the faces of doting family, and Rosanne knew in that moment that failure was no longer an option for either of them.
**
"Time to aura farm," Markus murmured, his voice barely a whisper against the roar of the stadium.
Beside him, Rosanne and Jessica exchanged a look of sheer bewilderment. They were used to his eccentricities, but his habit of unearthing linguistic relics from the 2020s often left them stranded. To them, it sounded like some ancient, forbidden cultivation technique; to Markus, it was just the perfect description for the absolute dominance he was about to display for the cameras.
"THIS IS IT! THE FINAL ASCENSION! LOOK AT THE FACES OF THE ELITE, BECAUSE AFTER THE FIRST STRIKE, NOTHING WILL EVER BE THE SAME! TWO PATHS COLLIDE, BUT ONLY ONE TEAM WALKS AWAY AS CHAMPIONS! ARE! YOU! READY?!" The announcement was punctuated by a synchronized flare of elemental mana from the arena floor, bathing the finalists in a harsh, blinding light.
The Emperor's word was law, and today, that law was celebration. A national holiday had been proclaimed, turning the entire empire into a singular, roaring audience.
In every province, the common folk and the high-born alike stood shoulder-to-shoulder, their eyes glued to the broadcast.
The pressure on the sands was now absolute; Markus wasn't just performing for the royal box, but for an entire civilization hungry to see if their young seedlings were ready to shine for humanity.
As the flare climbed toward its apex, the stadium fell into a vacuum of silence. Markus and his Horsemen didn't move to strike; instead, they anchored. Positioned behind the looming, spectral silhouette of the castle gates, they waited. It was a cold, calculated defense that dared the twins to test their strength.
The air grew heavy with spatial friction as the Blackwell line settled, turning the arena floor into a fortress that only a fool would attempt to storm.
"BOOM"
The flare popped, painting the sands in blood-light. The twins were a blur—a predatory tandem of light and shadow closing the gap with terrifying speed.
"Defense!" Rosanne's command was low but understood. Donna threw out a roaring wind-barrier, while Mika's frost followed instantly, weaving into the gale to create a wall of reinforced, razor-sharp ice.
A sharp, systematic chime echoed in the minds of the defenders as the
[Ice-Wind Wall] activated.
[-1,000 Mana]
It was a massive draw—1,000 Mana total—violently siphoning 500 from both Donna and Mika in a single, breathless heartbeat.
The girls winced as the energy surged out of them, but the result was worth the strain. The castle gates were instantly transformed, reinforced by a howling, sub-zero gale that crystallized into a jagged, translucent bastion.
No longer just wood and stone, the threshold had become a fortified tomb of elemental power, braced for the impact of Jersey's most lethal duo.
"LET IT RIP, SIS!" Leon's roar was the catalyst.
[HOLY RADIANCE]
[-300 MANA]
Lisa detonated. A blinding, supernova burst of [Holy Radiance] erupted from her core, turning the arena into a world of pure white. But it was a trap—the brilliant light hit the castle gates, casting long, jagged silhouettes that stretched deep into the Blackwell backline.
[SHADOW SPIKE: TRIPLE CAST]
[-600 MANA]
Exploiting the darkness his sister created, Leon dived into the fray. Three massive, obsidian [Shadow Spikes] erupted directly from the floor behind the gates, bypassing the Ice-Wind Wall entirely. They emerged from the ground like vipers, aimed squarely at the fortified gate and the vulnerable awakeners standing behind it.
Markus watched the spikes emerge with a look of bored detachment. As they hissed toward Donna and Mika, he performed a lazy, sweeping motion with his hand.
[SKILL: SPATIAL SLASH x3]
[COST: -300 MANA]
Thanks to his deep attunement to the spatial laws, the mana cost was a mere pittance to his reserves.
Three ripples in reality—shimmering like heat haze—intercepted the shadow-lances. The spatial displacement was so clean that it sheared through the shadow-matter as if it were paper.
Leon's signature move was dismantled in a heartbeat, neutralized by the very first spell Markus had mastered as an initiate, now elevated by a 60% Law-bonus that made him the ultimate authority on the battlefield.
Markus has avoided using [Spatial Slash] on living targets throughout the tournament. He knew the grim reality of the spell: at his level of Law-comprehension, a direct hit wouldn't just wound an opponent—it would shear through bone, armor, and mana-shields as if they were mist, cleaving them in two before they could even feel the pain.
Using the void-blades to dismantle enemy magic was a calculated mercy; he was a Blackwell, not a butcher, and he had no intention of staining his victory with the unnecessary blood of his peers.
"Markus! The captain's moving!" Rosanne's warning was a whip-crack of urgency.
She caught the slight tensing of Odol's lead foot—the tell-tale sign of a high-speed dash. As the Captain of the team, she was the first to realize that the twins were done testing the gates.
They were coming for the heart of the Blackwell formation, and they were coming now.