The entire coliseum fell into a hushed, almost sacred silence as Shae's body crashed to the ground, blood unfurling beneath him like a crimson stain of finality.
A cold dread swept through the crowd—silent but tangible, crawling under their skins like a second, colder wind. Eyes widened. Mouths parted, soundless. Disbelief collided with horror, and neither blinked first.
It was more prominent among the students, but even the mundane spectators—those untrained in battle—felt it. A collective shiver rippled across the audience, born not from empathy, but something far more primal.
Even Northern's battles—domineering and ferocious as they were—had never unsettled the crowd like this. This… this was different. Twisted. It felt less like a duel and more like an execution.
The girl... she might actually kill the vice president.
Northern's expression was carved from iron, a deep scowl etched across his face. His gaze snapped toward the lone figure standing just beyond the arena's edge—grinning. Pleased.
This is it?
This is what he wanted?
Was it about the student council president?
Or was it about the dread—this oppressive emotion now suffocating the students?
If it was about Shae, then maybe it ended here. But if it was about the dread itself... the show was only beginning.
Northern's eyes drifted to the council president.
Nyssira. Born of the Northern Continent. Wielder of the hammer he himself had forged. Before he was curious about her upcoming battle but now, he was beginning to worry.
She was strong. No doubt she'd defeat the girl.
But that man—the one smiling like a puppeteer after cutting the final string—she wouldn't be able to defeat him.
Not because of strength. But because he hadn't lifted a single finger. He'd been fighting through the bodies of his teammates this entire time.
Possession. That was the only explanation Northern could grasp. Some facet of his talent must allow him to inhabit others... maybe even amplify them. Strengthen them in ways no one saw coming.
Because in a place like Mihguard Academy, a student strong enough to challenge the council vice president would never be unknown.
And yet, here she was—a girl who didn't look the part. Didn't look like someone capable of dismantling the vice president.
But when she grinned...
That grin. It mirrored his—the dark-haired man at the edge. There was something in it. A familiarity. A shared madness.
And that was all Northern needed. The conclusion became inevitable.
This wasn't her battle.
It was his. He had been fighting all along.
As the medics carried away the vice president, Nyssira was already climbing onto the arena platform.
The students were seething—anger boiling over into chants and shouts that rattled the coliseum walls.
"Avenge our Vice President!"
"Teach her a lesson!"
"Show her the peak strength of Mihguard Academy!"
And truly, by all measures, Nyssira was the peak strength of Mihguard Academy. If one wished to understand the Academy's upper limits—its finest edge—then they had to look no further than her.
Northern watched in silence. Curious, yes. But more than that—worried.
From their brief conversation that morning, he'd sensed something different about her. A strange comfort. He hadn't met many people who knew as much about plants and trees as he did—let alone someone who could speak of them with the same reverence.
If it were possible, he wanted to be her friend. To share notes. Talk about roots, chlorophyll, the secret music of saplings. Learn from her.
But for that to happen… she had to survive.
If that man had caused all this carnage using just a puppet, there was no telling what kind of chaos he could unleash when he acted directly. His goal was clear now—to seed dread deep into every spectator's heart.
'Should I just hijack the fight?'
Northern clenched his jaw. The urge gnawed at him. But he knew better. He couldn't afford to be reckless. Everyone around him still believed that man was just another student. Jumping in would disrupt a lot of balance and the students, the whole event could be thrown into chaos.
He could just settle all of this by defeating the guy during their duel.
But more troubling was the creeping realization: the minds of those around him were being influenced. Subtly. Perceptibly. En masse.
Northern? He had always been unusually resistant to hexes. But even he felt the pressure.
He scratched his head in frustration, fingers dragging through his hair before he dropped his hand and let out a sharp breath.
Ellis noticed and spoke quietly.
"You're really worried. Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?"
Northern's gaze slid back to Nyssira, now standing at the heart of the arena.
He exhaled.
"Considering this will play out in a few minutes… there's probably no point."
Then, as if chasing distraction, he turned slightly toward Ellis.
"But hey—how've you been? What've you been up to lately?"
Ellis blinked. His expression twisted like he'd bitten into something sour.
He glanced around—once left, once right—then looked back at him, confused.
"Isn't this literally the worst time to ask that?"
He gestured toward the arena, where the next clash was moments from beginning.
Northern offered a crooked, sheepish grin from the corner of his mouth.
"Yeah. Right…"
His eyes returned to the battlefield.
Nyssira was already unstrapping the hammer from her back, her expression unreadable—serene, detached. To most, she might have seemed distant, even distracted.
But Northern followed her gaze. It lingered on the bloodstains darkening the arena floor.
She moved her eyes across the battleground, calm and deliberate, lifting the hammer with a grace that betrayed its true weight. To the crowd, it looked effortless.
But Northern knew better.
'She's strong... no doubt about that.'
His first successful forge had found its match—a wielder worthy of the weapon.
And as the air thickened with tension, that quiet pride in him began to rise.
"Oii oiii. President. Enough look around okay. Time to fight."
The girl swirled her spear with a frightening speed and shot forward.
In that moment… something jawbreaking
…happened.