A collective gasp rippled through the observation chamber as the magical feed crackled back to life. The crystal screens shimmered with static for a moment before stabilizing, and what they revealed left the room in stunned silence.
The once-vibrant grassland within the hunting grounds was now unrecognizable. A frozen wasteland stretched outward from a single figure at its heart, the ground fractured into jagged sheets of ice, twisted corpses of beasts embedded like grotesque sculptures within. Frigid mist still coiled low across the battlefield, carried by the harsh, rasping wind. And there, at the epicenter, stood Arthur—calm, collected, as if the destruction around him was nothing more than a casual inconvenience.
But why were everyone shocked. Everyone in the academy already knew of Arthur's strength; whispers of his ability circulated constantly, building his reputation long before this. What sent the observers reeling was something else entirely.
