Chapter 101
Professor Finch Larenthanil observed the growing change with a stern gaze. He stood at the edge of the training stadium, arms crossed, brows slightly furrowed, his mind troubled by what he saw. Though he couldn't deny the calm and focus radiating from the once-rowdy far corner of the grounds, he didn't consider this development entirely good. To him, the sight of Daniel and Melgil at the top of the hill both figuratively and literally looked like the rise of a new center of influence.
One that did not go through the traditional channels of authority or rank. The students below, split into smaller groups and positioned almost in layers beneath the two, made the image feel like a new unspoken hierarchy was forming. And Finch, a man who valued order and structure, found this unsettling.
However, most of the other instructors disagreed. What they saw was not a threat but a sign of progress. For the first time in years, students who were once silent during lectures were raising their hands, offering opinions, asking questions, and even challenging theories in respectful debates. The timid were finding their voice. Many attributed this sudden burst of confidence to the quiet presence of Daniel and Melgil, who had unknowingly become examples of what determination and self-worth could achieve, regardless of background.
Meanwhile, the academy elite remained stubbornly unchanged. They continued their old habits—harassing, mocking, and trying to dominate the so-called "lesser" students. But this time, their actions didn't go unnoticed. Not by the teachers, not by their peers, and certainly not by Daniel and Melgil.
When one of the elite upperclassmen, a tall, arrogant boy from a prestigious bloodline, tried to confront Daniel during open sparring, the result was swift and humiliating. With a calm expression and measured breath, Daniel dodged the initial blow with a slight step to the side. His gauntleted hand flicked out, not with aggression, but with precision.
He caught the student's arm, twisted it just enough to redirect momentum, and sent the young man sprawling to the ground with a single, effortless motion. The watching students gasped. Not just because of the display of skill, but because of how calm Daniel remained through it all—no anger, no showboating, just quiet control.
Melgil was no different. One group of elite girls had long tried to tarnish her reputation, whispering rumors, staging public humiliation attempts, and trying to isolate her socially. But Melgil, ever composed, dismantled their efforts with grace and wit. When one of them tried to challenge her to a public duel, assuming Melgil would back down, the result was disastrous for the challenger.
Melgil, wielding a floor mop with the grace of a master, disarmed her opponent within seconds and pinned her flat on her back. She helped her up afterward with a small bow, but the message was clear: she would not be an easy target. Daniel would give her a gentle brush on the head and compliment her on controlling her anger after hearing the commotion. Melgil simply smiled and blushed.
Another time, two arrogant seniors tried to intimidate Daniel during break hours. They approached him as he meditated, circling like vultures, throwing insults about his background and calling him unworthy of even being in the academy. Without even rising to his feet, Daniel raised one hand and, in a blur of movement, snatched a dagger one of them had thrown at the ground to scare him. He stood then, not in anger, but in a quiet readiness that made both boys instantly back away. He didn't even need to speak. His calm defiance, paired with that unshakable gaze, spoke louder than any retort.
Melgil, too, became a silent protector to many of the quiet, anxious students. When an elite group tried to sabotage a group project by stealing research notes from the library, it was Melgil who exposed them by catching their magical signature in a trap ward she had quietly left behind. The culprits were humiliated and punished, and Melgil simply returned to her seat beside Daniel, as if it had never happened.
Despite all this, Daniel and Melgil never claimed any sort of leadership. They didn't declare themselves as protectors or start any rebellion. They simply were present, focused, skilled, and unbothered by the pressures of the academy's hierarchy. And in being that way, they changed the academy more than any loud revolutionary ever could.
Even the elite, while still clinging to their pride, could feel it—the shift. It crept in slowly, like the tide, but it was undeniable. Their jeers no longer carried the same weight. Their bloodline no longer guaranteed respect. The days when they ruled through fear, privilege, and unspoken threats were crumbling, and a new atmosphere was taking hold.
Though Professor Finch Larenthanil remained skeptical, suspicious even, there were others—both students and teachers who now looked toward the small hill with quiet admiration. It was not the seat of rebellion. It was not even the seat of power. It was something more dangerous to the old system: inspiration.
Among those who noticed the change was Instructor Matheo Roclus.
A former Knight-Captain of the Order of the Silver Crest, Matheo was a seasoned fighter whose body bore the scars of both war and politics. Unlike many teachers, he didn't care for nobility or titles. What he respected was discipline, grit, and the will to improve. For years, he had kept to himself, overseeing physical training with a stoic professionalism. But now, something had stirred in him.
He remembered the days when the Royal Academy hosted the famed Combat Trials, grueling one-on-one matches held in front of the whole student body. These trials were once meant to test bravery, technique, and composure under pressure. But over time, they had been twisted. Elites and sons of nobles began using them to humiliate weaker students, especially commoners. One-sided beatings became common. Challengers were "invited" under the guise of honor, only to be crushed in public with no repercussions for the winners.
Eventually, after a near-fatal incident involving a poor scholarship student, the Combat Trials were suspended indefinitely. The academy deemed them "unproductive" and "unsafe," though everyone knew the real reason: fear of public backlash and the preservation of noble reputations.
But things were different now.
Students were training harder. Sparring more. Asking questions. No longer afraid to voice ideas or challenge the old social balance. And at the heart of this were Daniel Rothchester and Melgil noble and a old forgotten clan who had not only defied the academy's social norms but also inspired others to do the same.
Matheo saw it clearly.
One afternoon, after overseeing a particularly intense sparring session, he requested a private audience with the Academy Council.
"I believe the time is right," he said firmly, standing before the robed elders. "Reinstate the Combat Trials."
A murmur passed through the council chamber.
One of the older magi frowned. "Captain Roclus… surely you remember why we ended them. The risks, the violence"
"I do. But I also remember what the Trials used to be before we let the wrong people use them for their own pride," Roclus replied. "We have students now capable, determined, and brave. And they deserve the chance to show their growth not through status, but through action."
The debate was long, but ever since the two new student came in and showed interest in the academic teachings of the professors in different fields , instructors those days became their most fruitful time, after ten days they felt a small hope of change. the meeting continued and lasted for five more days, as the academy council wanted actual proof , professors saw a large increase in students participating and these were not just commoners and lesser nobles , the ratio of the students who are ignoring their teachings were now 55 percent.
The young Rothchester and the young lady of the remaining Gehinnom were seen using most of the unused facilities on a daily basic, from the library, potion and forging facility ,the combat simulation hall, the gym , and even inside heir private dorm. they interacted with those who showed interest but too scared to get targeted by the upper and elite noble and aristocrats.
but in the end nearly seventeen long exhausting days since the two became students ,the academy council agreed on one condition: a volunteer would need to set the tone. Someone the academy respected. Someone who would not abuse the rules.
Someone who could silence any doubts about returning to the old, dangerous ways. That evening, the announcement of the Combat Trial's revival spread through the academy like wildfire. Whispers filled the halls. Some were thrilled. Others were terrified. But all eyes eventually turned to the one person who could decide its future:
When the invitation was brought to him personally by Instructor Roclus, Daniel was seated under the familiar tree on the hill, meditating. Melgil stood nearby, sparring gently with a younger student, correcting their footwork.
Roclus didn't mince words. "If you enter the first trial, Daniel, it will show everyone students and nobles alike that your strength comes not from your family name, but from the effort you put in."
Daniel opened his eyes slowly, calm as always.
"I thought the trials were banned because they were used to crush others," he said.
"They were," Roclus admitted. "But that's why we need you. If someone like you enters—not to dominate, but to inspire it changes everything."
For a long moment, Daniel said nothing. Then he glanced at the group of students below, the ones who once feared being noticed, now training, reading, and laughing freely. His gaze hardened not with pride, but with purpose.
"I'll do it," he said at last. "Not to prove myself… but to make sure it's not the same as before."
The announcement shook the academy. Daniel Rothchester would stand as the first participant in the revived Combat Trial. Some scoffed, claiming he only accepted because of his noble blood, confident no one would challenge him seriously. Others held their breath, knowing full well that Daniel had never relied on status, not once.
And so, the trial was set. One match. No titles. No politics. And the winner could request anything within the academy's power to give within reason.
(No killing. No permanent injury. No cruel punishment. But beyond that… almost anything was fair game.)
It was a prize designed to tempt the ambitious, the arrogant, and the desperate alike.
By the next morning, the bleachers were filled. The arena hadn't seen such life in years. Teachers and instructors, students from every year, and even visitors from noble houses had come to see what the return of the Trial would mean. Some came for blood. Some for justice. Some simply to witness history being rewritten.
Daniel arrived with no retinue, no guards, and no show of wealth. Just his practice uniform simple, dark, and lightly reinforced and the familiar gauntlets he always trained with. Melgil walked beside him silently, her expression calm but alert. She wouldn't be fighting, but she would be watching. Like many others, she knew this match would send a message far louder than words ever could.
Instructor Matheo Roclus stood at the center of the arena, back straight, his voice booming as he spoke:
"Today marks the return of the Combat Trial. Not as it was but as it should be. A place to test oneself, not to crush others. A place to prove that skill is earned, not inherited."
He paused, then looked directly at Daniel.
"Our first challenger has already stepped forward: Daniel Rothchester. Is there one among you willing to meet him in combat?"
A moment of silence passed. Tense. Heavy.
Then, a figure stepped forward from the elite section, six foot two, a towering presence, with shoulders broad enough to look like they were carved from stone. His heavy ceremonial dueling leathers clanked as he walked, designed less for mobility and more for intimidation. He dragged a massive sword behind him, its wide blade nicking the ground with every step, leaving scratches in the enchanted stone of the arena floor. Velric Draan.
The son of a powerful high merchant lord, Velric wasn't noble by blood, but he carried himself like royalty. His family's wealth was said to rival lesser dukes, and with coin came influence—his tuition, equipment, and even his private tutors had all been bought at the highest price. Thick-necked and louder than he was clever, Velric was a brute in every sense of the word. His preferred fighting style was straightforward: overwhelm, smash, and dominate.
He believed in power through presence. He didn't speak much he barked, grunted, and sneered. He didn't strategize; he charged. His solution to most problems was to hit them harder.
But what made him dangerous wasn't just his size or strength; it was his confidence.
He had never truly lost, because no one had dared to push him beyond what he could muscle his way through. And now, seeing Daniel at the center of attention, unbothered by titles or rank, made Velric seethe. He didn't like people who didn't bow to power, especially when it wasn't his.
Behind him waddled a second figure, shorter by nearly a foot and a half. Five foot four and noticeably round around the middle, he wore dark velvet robes that strained against his belly and thick-rimmed enchanted glasses that blinked with detection sigils.
Cassien Eladar.
He was the son of a guildmaster, descended from a long line of magical engineers and merchants. Unlike Velric, Cassien wasn't physically imposing. He was soft-bodied and skittish, but what he lacked in strength, he made up for in cunning, or at least, his own version of it.
Cassien wasn't respected for his magical prowess; his spellwork was messy, slow, and usually unreliable, but his knowledge of enchantments and arcane tools was vast. He was known for building little gadgets that disrupted others' spells, conjuring illusions, or manipulating terrain to his advantage. He rarely fought fair and never fought alone. He was a whisperer, a cowardly planner, always clinging to stronger allies to feel brave. And in Velric, he found his muscle.
The two made an odd pair, brawn and brain, though neither truly excelled in their roles. They shared one common goal: to humiliate Daniel Rothchester. Velric, out of sheer ego and need to dominate. Cassien, out of envy. Daniel's quiet dignity made Cassien feel small. Insignificant. Forgettable.
Now, standing in the arena, both smirking and full of themselves, they made their challenge.
"Two against one," Velric rumbled, pointing his heavy blade toward Daniel, "so you don't think we're picking on you."
Cassien laughed behind him. "We just want to make it... fair, after all. Wouldn't want the young lord to claim he was ambushed."
The arena buzzed with tension.
But Daniel simply stepped forward, unphased. He cracked his knuckles and adjusted his gauntlets. His eyes are calm. Focused.
Instructor Roclus frowned.
"This was meant to be a one-on-one trial," he warned.
Daniel looked to him and answered with quiet conviction, "Let them come together. That way, no one says it wasn't enough."
The Combat Trial Arena shimmered with magical tension. Blue runes glowed beneath the arena floor, humming with ancient power. All eyes were locked on the three figures standing inside the enchanted ring—Velric Draan, a walking siege weapon in ceremonial leathers; Cassien Eladar, hunched behind him, already whispering incantations into a magical charm; and Daniel Rothchester, alone, unarmored save for his black gauntlets and steady calm.
Instructor Roclus raised his arm.
"BEGIN."
The arena boomed with silence. Then Velric charged.
The moment was sudden and brutal. A wall of muscle and steel bearing down like a charging ox. His greatsword came down in a heavy arc, enough to split a man in half.
Daniel moved. One pivot. One breath. One perfect sidestep.
The sword slammed into the stone, a thunderclap of force and dust. Before Velric could lift it again, Daniel twisted his hips and slammed his gauntlet-covered fist into Velric's exposed ribs. A shockwave burst from his palm, a fused strike of kinetic force and lightning, barely visible but felt by every observer in the first row.
Velric grunted, staggering back, his breath knocked out.
Cassien acted immediately—fingers jittering over his arcane ring.
"Grivalt Veem"
The air shimmered as a net of spectral chainsleapt from the ring toward Daniel.
But Daniel didn't flinch. His right hand moved in a strange, fluid patternfaster than most spellcasters could read tracing glowing symbols in the air that didn't match any known magical script.
A low crack sounded as the net hit him.
And disintegrated before touching his skin.
"Spell Language Fusion," whispered a student from the stands. "He's crafting counter-casts mid-motion."
Cassien paled.
Velric recovered with a roar, swinging his sword in wide, brutal sweeps. Daniel ducked under the first, blocked the second with both arms raised, sparks dancing from his gauntlets. The metal screeched against the magical alloy, and then Daniel spun inward, stepping into Velric's blind spot and slamming his knee into the big man's stomach, channeling fire through the contact point.
Velric's eyes bulged as flames burst from his back, his leather armor briefly igniting before the protective enchantment doused it. He roared in pain, swinging wildly. Daniel let the blow barely miss his face, then delivered a triple palm strike into Velric's chest, each hit pulsing with a mix of
fire and lightning.
Velric flew back, crashing into the arena wall with a deep crack.
Cassien screamed in panic and released a cloud of illusion mist, trying to disappear in the chaos.
Daniel stepped forward. Calm. Focused.
He took a deep breath and began chanting not loudly, not traditionally but in the same strange tongue as before. The spell-letters glowed around his body, forming spirals of red and gold, orbiting him like runes with a will of their own.
Then he raised his left hand, fingers splayed.
"Ignis Vex."
The mist caught fire instantly, the flames curling but not spreading, dancing in controlled patterns as if obeying him.
Cassien stumbled out, coughing and shrieking, tossing down a rune stone for defense. Daniel snapped forward with a blinding dash, his boots kicking off a streak of electricity. His elbow crashed into Cassien's shoulder, sending him spinning to the floor.
The crowd gasped. It wasn't just strength it was precision.
Cassien scrambled backward. "Wait! WAIT!"
Daniel halted a foot away, letting lightning crackle around his fist like a warning.
He looked down, eyes not cruel, just unmoved.
"You tried to blind me, paralyze me, and set traps to humiliate me,"
Daniel said softly.
"I don't care about your family name, Cassien, but I won't let you hide behind it anymore."
"you are too arrogant and proud of your talent in spell casting, and i have seen you casually cast those spells to hurt many of your own classmates,"
"and now, with all that arrogance you can only cast two spells ,its different when you are in a situation were your target can actually fightback,"
Then, before Cassien could react, Daniel drove his fist into the ground beside him electricity exploded outward in a tight ring, not lethal but overwhelming, stunning Cassien unconscious in one instant flash.
Silence.
Then, a guttural yell from behind.
Velric, bleeding and staggering, had risen again.
"I'M NOT DONE!" he bellowed.
He charged once more, no technique, just fury. Swinging wildly. Daniel met him head-on, ducking under a horizontal slash, slamming his forearm into Velric's gut, and leaping upward with a spinning knee to the chin, fire blasting from his leg mid-air.
The crowd winced as Velric was lifted from the ground. Mid-air, Daniel reached up with his left palm, electrical energy dancing between his fingers, and drove it down into Velric's chest like a bolt from the heavens.
A thundering explosion,
Velric slammed into the stone with a thud, the impact echoing like thunder. His great sword skidded away, sparking.
He groaned but did not rise. Daniel stood over him. Breathe calmly. Heart steady. No gloating. No smile. Just silence. Then he raised his head toward Instructor Roclus.
"It's over."
The protective dome flickered and vanished. The audience didn't cheer—not yet. They were too stunned. Mouths hung open. Eyes wide. Some stood slowly, unsure if what they saw was real.
Then someone clapped. And another.
Then a wave of applause and cheers from those who respected and admired him swept across the coliseum like a crashing tide, but those who despised him just remained silent.. Daniel Rothchester had not just won. He had changed the meaning of the Combat Trial through strength, restraint, and mastery. He didn't win because of nobility, wealth, or connections.
He won because he had earned it. And no one, not even the elites, could say otherwise.
Silence fell.
Daniel stood over Velric's unconscious form, chest rising and falling in a calm rhythm. Around him, the crowd roared applause, cheers, and awe. But amidst the thunder of admiration, one pair of eyes burned with venom: Cassien Eladar.
Bruised, humiliated, and lying half-curled near the arena wall, he watched Daniel with a twisted sneer of loathing. He had lost, yes—but not in his mind. He refused to believe it. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He was the one who spent hours reading the arcane. He was the one with enchanted tomes older than the empire itself. His mind, not brute force, should've elevated him to greatness.
But what hurt most… was that Melgil .Melgil Veara Gehinnom was watching someone else.
The pale-haired beauty. Serene, elegant, and deadly. Her long white hair cascading like starlight over a black and crimson uniform. She had always been kind to him in passing, polite. Never cruel. Never mocking. It was enough for him to mistake cordiality for interest. Enough to let admiration fester into obsession.
And now… Daniel Rothchester had stolen that attention.
No. He wouldn't allow it.
Cassien's trembling hand reached into his coat pocket and drew forth a small ceremonial dagger. A wicked, ancient thing bone-handled, its silver blade etched with forgotten infernal glyphs. His eyes were glassy and wild, his lips whispering in the ancient tongue of Erosk Veyth, the forbidden chant of binding blood to will.
"She should be mine..." he hissed, low and broken. "My mind… my knowledge… makes me worthy."
He stabbed the blade into his palm.
Blood poured.
The arena runes flared and then shattered. Protective enchantments burst into fragments of light as Cassien's blood hit the stone, soaking into ancient cracks. A deep rumble echoed underfoot. The Trial Ring groaned as ancient seals, once meant to bind magical danger, began to collapse
A circle of shadow formed around Cassien's body, expanding outward like spreading ink.
Then the ground split open. From beneath the coliseum floor, a jagged rupture tore through the earth, and from its gaping mouth poured horrors.
Twisted, bone-armored hounds. Insectoid beasts with serrated legs. Slithering eyeless worms covered in slime and runes. A dozen. Then two dozen. Then more.
They howled, screeched, and hissed, racing toward the crowd.
Panic erupted. Screams tore through the stadium.
Students scrambled out of the stands. Teachers began casting barrier spells to hold back the swarm, but the monsters were already scaling walls and crawling through gaps.
"CASSIEN!" roared Instructor Roclus, but the boy was already deep in trance—his eyes glowing with blood magic, pupils gone. Laughing. Muttering. Daniel turned sharply, his stance shifting in an instant. He prepared a counter-spell, but before he could move, Melgil moved first.
A burst of crimson light pulsed from the edge of the arena as she jumped into the fray, her twin daggers drawn. They weren't ordinary weapons; each blade shimmered with silver and violet energy, inscribed with her personal crest: the sigil of Gehinnom, a once-feared bloodline of elite battle-magi.
She landed between a group of panicking first-year students and the advancing monsters.
"Get behind me!" she ordered, her voice calm but cutting like a sword.
The nearest hound lunged. Melgil spun into motion.
One blade slashed low, slicing across the hound's legs. The other charged with arcane energy stabbed forward and erupted in a wave of disintegration magic, dissolving the creature in a flash of red light.
Two more came from behind—she twisted, somersaulted over their backs, and with a burst of flame from her heel, vaulted mid-air, flipping into a graceful landing beside Daniel.
"You took your time," she said breathlessly, back-to-back with him.
"I thought you wanted to finish it yourself," Daniel replied, sparks crawling down his arms as electricity surged from his gauntlets again.
"Chivalrous," she smirked. "But we've got a problem."
More monsters were swarming through the cracked floor.. Some were climbing into the stands. Others raced for the inner halls.
Daniel raised his voice.
"Get the wounded out! Instructors, protect the gates!"
He didn't wait for approval.
He launched forward a bolt of lightning in human form slamming shoulder-first into one of the larger insectoid beasts, cracking its carapace with raw force. He followed with a flaming uppercut that sent it flying into another monster.
Melgil weaved between strikes, her daggers dancing arcs of violet and red. She cast no words, just instinctive, practiced motion. Her style was elegance wrapped in violence, a dance of precision that left bodies falling behind her in neat piles of magical ash.
Then the worst of them rose.
A massive centipede-beast, three stories high, tore its way out of the arena floor—eyes glowing, mandibles dripping with corruption.
Daniel inhaled sharply. "Melgil…"
She nodded. "Together."
She ran left, Daniel right. He surged forward, leaping up the stands, fire coiling around his legs. Melgil used a wall-run maneuver, then launched herself midair, daggers ready.
Daniel's hands danced again in that strange, new spell language—the air around him thick with magical tension. Sparks and flames coiled together.
"Voltraxis Ignis: Arc Surge Flamebind!"
A storm of fire and lightning burst from his gauntlets, latching onto the centipede's armored plates, melting through, and binding it in chains of living energy.
Melgil landed with surgical precision. Her blades stabbed between exposed joints, injecting disintegration spells at key nerve points.
The creature shrieked and exploded in a shower of sparks and flame.
Cassien collapsed. Blood pouring from his nose and eyes, his connection to the blood ritual severed. His body twitched and then stilled.
Instructor Roclus grabbed him moments later, binding him in a suppression ward.
The monsters evaporated into black mist, their bodies unbound from this world.
The chaos had barely settled when a surge of magic erupted above the coliseum, signaling the arrival of reinforcements.
A series of teleportation runes shimmered in midair; the Royal Academy Guard, clad in silver-etched armor, emerged from glowing portals with precision and purpose. Their arrival was swift and decisive. Flanking them was Professor Finch Larenthanil, his robes billowing in the wind, his face a cold mask of fury and concern.
Spells were immediately cast to stabilize the ground and seal the ruptures left by Cassien's forbidden summoning. Barrier mages erected shimmering walls of protection to isolate the infected sections of the arena. Healing units rushed to the injured, applying salves and casting restorative incantations, while Arcane Purifiers swept through the arena, erasing lingering traces of blood magic with precision.
Professor Larenthanil strode directly to the center of the battlefield, his boots cracking against scorched stone.
He surveyed the scene with a hardened gaze: ruined stands, shattered runes, and wounded students scattered across the arena floor.
His eyes landed on Daniel and Melgil, both exhausted but standing tall.
Then, with a curt nod, he said, "The two of you held the line. Without you… we would have been writing eulogies today."
Cassien Eladar was taken away by the guards, limp and unconscious, his mana core utterly drained from overcasting. The ritual he had used was a forbidden high-tier blood invocation, far beyond what any student should have attempted, especially one as unstable as Cassien had become.
The healers confirmed it: his mana core was shattered, burned out from overreach. He would never cast again, not without an artificial core, and even then, not at full strength. A price he paid for obsession.
Dozens were injured, some seriously, but by some miracle, no one died.
It was a miracle owed to fast action, collaboration, and the teachings the students had once taken for granted.
Daniel stood at the edge of the damaged arena, overlooking the cleanup efforts. His gauntlets hung loose from his wrists, the energy in them dimmed from overuse. He watched as even first-year students helped the guards carry stretchers, cast minor shielding spells, and assisted in clearing the debris.
He turned to the group gathered near him—professors, healers, and students alike.
"Thank you," he said earnestly, voice loud enough to reach them all. "Not just for fighting… but for remembering what the Academy actually taught us."
He looked directly at the younger students, many of whom still trembled from the experience.
"You remembered your spells. You didn't run. You helped one another. That's what it means to carry strength not to win battles… but to protect the people standing beside you."
There was a pause, then the sound of quiet clapping. First from Instructor Roclus. Then others joined. Soon, it swelled into a wave of respectful applause, not for a victory, but for survival, for unity.
Nearby, Melgil sat quietly on a broken pillar, her white hair slightly singed at the edges, the faint gleam of dried blood on her gloves. She was gazing at her daggers, still warm, still faintly glowing from the arcane energy she had poured into them.
Her expression wasn't proud or smug; it was peaceful.
For the first time in years, she had drawn blood in a real battle… and not once had she lost herself to rage. Not once had she felt the familiar thirst for more violence creeping in.
She exhaled slowly, brushing back a strand of her damp hair, her violet eyes lifting toward the sky.
The sunlight peeked through the dissipating storm clouds above, casting a warm glow on her face as she realized she had finally found inner peace on the battlefield. The weight of her past mistakes and regrets seemed to lift off her shoulders, replaced by a sense of clarity and purpose.
Daniel approached and sat beside her without a word, offering her a canteen of water. She took it silently and drank, then handed it back.
"I didn't lose control," she whispered, more to herself than to him.
Daniel gave a quiet smile. "No. You didn't."
She turned to him. "You saw it too?"
He nodded. "I felt it. You fought with purpose… not fury."
A long silence passed. Around them, the world slowly returned to order—guards directing students, instructors forming triage zones, and professors repairing spell infrastructure.
Then Melgil spoke again. "Do you think he really believed… hurting others would make someone love him?"
Daniel sighed. "Some people mistake power for affection and control for connection. That kind of desire… it rots the soul."
Melgil looked back toward the scorched remains of the summoning circle. "He was smart. But he let envy blind him."
Daniel didn't reply right away.
Then, quietly, he said, "That could've been any one of us, if we let pride take root."
As the sun began to set, casting golden light over the recovering coliseum, a new kind of atmosphere settled over the academy. One not born from fear or privilege but from respect, reflection, and a sense of shared survival.
And at the center of it all was Daniel and Melgil.
Not saviors. Not heroes.
Just students.
Who stood where others fled.
And proved, when it mattered most, that strength born from discipline, compassion, and courage… was stronger than power born from fear.