The fate of the battle had been sealed from the very beginning. And it was only now, at this very moment, that Lenn finally realized it.
’...H—How?’
Beneath the helm that obscured his face, his eyes trembled. He was strong. He was powerful. He had trained relentlessly, evolving into a warrior whose battle instincts soared beyond the reach of even his most gifted peers.
He was a genius!
And yet—
—Did it really mean that effort did not matter at all?
Had their terrifying experiences in the crucible of the Dark Continent truly carved them into something other, something insurmountable? Did it make them exist on a plane where dominance was an inevitability?
’...No.’
That wasn’t the case. Lenn had fought several arrogant students from the Dark Continent before.
They were different, yes—battle monsters in their own right—but he had always won.
But this battle…
This battle was different.
This was him at his strongest.
And still—he hadn’t even gotten a single chance to land a hit and use his talent abilities.
Not even one.
The battle had felt long, but it had ended quickly—within two minutes, unfolding in rapid, brutal seconds.
His opponent—the strange non-combative student—had clearly possessed the power to end it the moment it started.
And yet… he had toyed with him. Played with him like a child, as if to send a message.
Not just to Lenn.
But to every single soul in the coliseum.
The floor had frozen before anyone could even comprehend what was happening. Lances of ice—thousands of them—had materialized in the air, piercing the very sky before Lenn could even take a breath.
The sheer magnitude of it was terrifying.
The spears of ice weren’t necessary. Not even close.
They were excessive.
A display of raw, uncontested power.
A demonstration.
A warning.
The ice alone could have buried the entire coliseum in irredeemable ruin.
Lenn felt the strength leave his body. His breath turned shallow. His fingers numbed.
Or maybe… it was just the bitter chill finally sinking into his bones.
His sword slipped from his grasp, clattering onto the frozen floor with a sharp, hollow ring—an eerie sound that traveled across the desolate silence of the coliseum.
And then, nothing.
No gasps. No cheers. No shouts of disbelief.
Only silence.
A silence so profound, so absolute, it drowned the entire arena in its crushing weight.
The realization of such overwhelming strength hit them all like a tidal wave, washing away every voice, every ounce of defiance, burying them beneath an ocean of unspoken terror.
The air was frigid.
The winds howled, carrying the whispers of shattered pride and frozen hope.
And in that moment, they all understood.
They were in the presence of something beyond them. Something untouchable. Unfathomable.
Something they had no chance of ever defeating.
Northern stood still in the silence, towering over the frozen battlefield like an unshakable monument of absolute authority.
A lone figure in a vast and desolate plain.
His gaze lowered to Lenn, his breath soft—almost pleasant. Then, the corner of his lips curled ever so slightly into a smirk.
"So, what’s it going to be, pretty boy?"
Lenn collapsed to his knees. His hands trembled.
A ravaging, ruthless despair consumed him, clawing at his chest, coiling around his lungs like chains.
Everything felt... useless.
His will. His resolve. His determination.
All of it—empty.
Like a shattered glass vessel, his soul lay in fragments, reflecting a sky he could never reach.
He had struggled, bled, fought—and yet, standing before him was someone so inconceivably powerful, so distant in strength, that the mere idea of ever closing the gap felt like an illusion.
It made him feel like a walking bag of vanity.
Like nothing he did would ever be enough.
A shaky sigh escaped his lips. He lingered in that moment, his head lowering, his body slackening as the weight of reality settled in.
And then, his voice—frail yet resolute—crawled out.
"I yield."
The words did not sting as much as he expected.
In fact, they felt... peaceful. Comforting.
Like stepping into the quiet embrace of surrender after an unwinnable war. Experience more on .Côm
The entire coliseum was silent.
Whether out of sheer shock at witnessing a non-combative student’s victory, or bitter reluctance to acknowledge it, no one reacted immediately.
But a few seconds later—
—A portion of the west side erupted in a storm of cheers.
As though reality had just set in.
And then, all at once, the coliseum drowned in an earth-shaking cacophony.
Roars of triumph thundered through the air, voices colliding in a victorious resonance so mighty, so absolute, it threatened to tear the coliseum apart.
The non-combative students screamed with unrestrained fervor, their shouts reverberating like war cries.
As though their lives depended on it.
Then, slowly—hesitantly—others followed.
Invited nobles.
Citadel scouts.
And students.
They clapped. They cheered.
For the non-combative student.
It was no secret that the disparity between the two schools had always been insurmountable.
No one had supported Northern from the beginning.
But now…
That terrifying display of power had shifted the tides.
Now, they weren’t just watching.
They were anticipating the second battle.
And the next opponent—already stepping into the arena.
His face was cold.
His breathing—steady.
And though fear gnawed at his throat like a hungry beast, he crushed it beneath a smoldering, unyielding radiance that burned in his eyes.
The student council and the instructors sat rigid, their faces drawn tight with tension, their skin pale under the weight of realization.
The instructors were merely confirming what they had already suspected.
Unlike the others, they knew Northern’s rank.
They knew he was a Sage.
But what shook them wasn’t just his rank.
It was the fact that he had displayed power befitting of one.
A flawless, absolute manipulation of ice.
An almost unnatural speed of reaction.
And that instant teleportation—as if he had bypassed space itself.
The weight of shock and disbelief haunted them, pressing like a heavy fog against their composure.
The student council was no different.
They were grim.
They knew what the sudden emergence of such power meant.
The tides within the academy were about to shift.
Dramatically.
But among them, one person—someone surprisingly unexpected given her position—wore an expression starkly different from the rest.
A white-haired girl sat with her hands clenched into excited fists, her resolve burning bright in her ocean eyes.
She had looked immensely satisfied when Northern had won.
And now—
Now, she was watching with undisguised enthusiasm, her lips moving in a rhythmic chant, anticipation thrumming in her veins.
"Abs. Abs. Abs."