The froststorm parted—
and Arlen stood, one hand braced on the hilt, the other pressed against the wound seeping light instead of blood.
The gravity pressed harder, cracking the field beneath his feet.
His knees trembled—
but he didn't kneel.
He raised his blade.
The petals stilled mid-air, hanging like constellations awaiting their star.
A single breath escaped his lips, white and steady.
> "Hyōka… Frost Monarch."
The world bloomed white.
Every petal converged, drawn inward by the pulse of his heart.
One after another, they folded, layered, condensed—until a sphere of blinding brilliance engulfed him.
When it shattered, Arlen stepped forth—
Clad in a cloak of radiant frost,
wings of mirrored ice unfurled behind him, each feather a blade.
In his hands, a single white sword, its edge humming with quiet divinity.
Where he moved, frost-lotus petals opened in his wake.
Even the crushing gravity bent, light refracting around his form.
Rin's eyes narrowed. "So you found it. Your Way."
Arlen leveled his sword.
"No… I became it."
The air froze solid between them—
then split.
Steel met steel.
No words. No breath.
Only the singing of blades.
Rin moved first—Winter's Touch arcing in a silver flash.
Arlen met it, blade glowing white, the impact sending shards of light scattering like meteors.
They broke apart—only to reappear in the same instant, swords clashing faster than echoes could follow.
Each strike was a verse.
Each parry, an answer.
Rin's movements were precise, honed, inevitable—
Every step carved from centuries of discipline, each cut a law written in frost.
Arlen's were wild yet refined, instinct shaped by revelation—
Each swing guided by feeling, each shift flowing like water over stone.
Their auras flared—
Blue and white, intertwining in crescents of power that split the earth and sky alike.
Gravity warped; the ground cratered with every impact, air twisting under pressure.
Rin deflected a downward cleave, pivoted, and spun his blade—
Arlen slipped aside, cloak blooming into a cyclone of petals that slashed at Rin's flank.
Rin twisted his wrist, severing the petals midair, and countered with a thrust that carved across Arlen's chest—
But the Frost Monarch's cloak absorbed the blow, flaring in a burst of light.
They separated—frostlight streaming from their steps, eyes locked.
Rin exhaled, mist curling past his lips.
"Not bad."
Arlen smiled faintly. "I'm still standing."
"Then come again."
Their blades blurred—
One heartbeat, ten strikes.
Two heartbeats, a hundred.
They no longer fought across ground, but across moments.
Arlen leapt, wings sweeping wide—
Petals spiraled outward, forming a storm of blades that converged with his swing.
Rin stepped through the maelstrom, his sword dragging a trail of starlit frost,
cleaving through every edge until their swords met at the center—
sparks cascading like stars, their reflections mirrored a thousandfold in suspended shards.
Arlen gritted his teeth, pouring everything into one final surge—
The cloak brightened, petals collapsing back into his blade.
> "Hyouka – Sword Bloom"
All Petals condense into rows of transparent blades, 1million each layer orbiting in concentric rings.
Arlen compressed all the blades together into a ginormous blade, with the last mana he had, and hurled it at rin.
A single, pure strike—
white light erupting from the core, an attack meant to cleave heaven from earth.
Rin's eyes glinted.
"...One-Point Severance."
Winter's Touch lifted.
The world hushed.
Both blades swung.
For a moment, silence.
Then light burst outward, devouring horizon, sound, and gravity itself.
When it faded—
they stood back-to-back, swords lowered, frost drifting between them.
A hairline crack ran down Arlen's blade.
His cloak flickered, wings dissolving into petals.
He smiled.
"...So this is the gap."
The sword shattered—
Rin stood in the center of a field of ruin, his blade faintly glowing in the half-light.
Arlen Vael faced him — blood freezing against pale skin, petals orbiting like dying stars.
Still standing. Still defiant.
Even now, his eyes held fire. Not fear — only resolve.
He tightened his grip on the hilt. "If I fall… it'll be with my sword drawn."
Rin's gaze softened for the briefest heartbeat.
"Then fall proud."
Their blades met—one final time.
A blinding arc of light, the ring of steel, frost bursting skyward—
And then a crack of thunder.
A flash.
A streak of blue-white light ripped through the haze.
The bullet struck Arlen square in the forehead.
His body jerked—eyes widening in disbelief.
Blood froze before it fell.
The petals dissolved, fluttering away like fading snow.
Arlen's broken sword slipped from his hand, embedding softly in the frost.
He collapsed, expression calm, almost serene—
and then his form glowed silver, shattering into motes of light.
Ejection confirmed.
The frostfield went still.
Rin straightened, eyes lifting toward the spire where the shot had come from.
Through the haze, he saw him —
a cloaked figure perched high above, rifle gleaming with residual mana.
Rank 3 — Kalt the Frost Reaper, the Silent Shot.
Rin's eyes narrowed.
The pressure in the air turned glacial.
> "...You interrupted my duel."
Dozens of presences stirred from the outskirts—
warriors, mages, predators who had waited like scavengers for the king to stumble.
They closed in, blades drawn, spells humming.
Seven hundred hearts beating in unison — trembling before one.
Rin inhaled once.
The frost sang.
> "Chrono-Frost Severance."
---
The World Froze.
Sound vanished.
Motion died.
The storm suspended mid-turn.
Every snowflake, every breath, every heartbeat—locked in place.
Only Rin moved.
Each step was a ripple through eternity.
He reached the first soldier.
One-Point Severance — the weakest link.
A single tap to the throat, a clean cut — a sculpture awaiting collapse.
Next—
Against the Grain — his blade sliced through where the enemy must strike, carving outcomes before they could exist.
Judgment of Silence —
the hum of mana ceased; the world fell into stillness so pure even thought seemed sacrilege.
Then—
Cause Severance —
with each swing, he didn't just strike bodies — he cut possibility itself.
Every spell mid-cast, every strike half-formed — undone at the root.
He flowed through the ranks like inevitability incarnate.
Not a slaughter — a purging.
Frozen warriors shattered in his wake,
entire platoons cleaved into stillness, limbs fractured mid-motion, expressions trapped between courage and terror.
By the time he stopped, seven hundred stood before him—
silent.
Whole.
Unmoving.
Rin sheathed his blade.
> Click.
And the world resumed.
A single sound — like a glacier breaking.
Every warrior split, shattered, or fell apart at once —
a wave of crystal dust bursting skyward,
a frozen requiem spiraling into the storm.
Not one remained.
---
High above, Kalt's breath caught in his throat.
From his vantage, the battlefield was gone — only a plain of corpses and snow.
Only one name burned across the leaderboard.
Rank 1 — Sylvanyr Rin.
His hands shook as he raised his pistol —
a sleek, crystalline weapon charged with condensed mana.
Rin's reflection rippled in a fractured shard of ice near the ground —
turning his head slightly, eyes locking onto Kalt's position.
> "No…"
Kalt fired.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Three shots—each bullet screaming through compressed gravity—
each one striking Rin square in the chest—
each one stopped, crumpled, falling harmlessly to the ground like broken hail.
Rin didn't rush. He walked.
Each step echoed across the field like a verdict.
Panic surged in Kalt's veins.
He emptied the magazine, firing wildly, frost-light flashes strobing against the darkness—
but Rin never slowed.
Not one bullet pierced the sovereign's defense.
They shattered midair, caught in layers of ice so dense they hummed like glass.
> "Stay back!" Kalt shouted, voice cracking.
He overcharged his pistol, spun the core, and slammed a palm to the ground.
A blast.
Ice erupted — a blinding explosion of shards.
He leapt from the collapsing spire, cloak snapping, body twisting midair.
For a breath, he thought he'd escaped.
His boots hit ground —
> Tap.
A shadow in front of him.
Rin was already there.
No words. No mercy.
A strike to the gut—
the sound of ribs snapping under the weight of ice-laced fists.
Another—elbow to jaw, spinning backhand across cheek—
each blow deliberate, unhurried.
Rin wasn't fighting—he was teaching.
Kalt reeled, gasping—drew his pistol again.
Rin's blade flashed once.
The weapon split.
So did his hand.
Kalt screamed.
Rin kicked him to his knees, frost radiating outward in a perfect circle.
> "You not only assasinated the previous 3rd to 5th position holders in a cowardly way you ruined a duel between kings."
He thrust Winter's Touch into the earth—
ice erupted, swallowing the sniper whole, freezing him in place —
a monument of failure and fear, encased in shimmering crystal.
Rin exhaled slowly, shoulders easing,
then turned toward the leaderboard, glowing faintly overhead.
Seo Rin — Rank 1.
Untouched. Unmatched.
He sheathed his blade with a quiet finality.
> "Let the next fools come."
---
Elsewhere…
In the watching chamber, light gathered —
Arlen's form rematerialized amidst a shimmer of mana.
His teacher stood waiting, eyes stern yet proud.
Arlen steadied his breath, one hand rising to his forehead where the bullet had struck, but of course there was no injury.
He turned toward the great screen hovering in the sky —
where Rin stood alone amidst the ruin, frost dancing in his wake.
A faint smile curved Arlen's lips.
No resentment. Only reverence.
> "...I'll catch up to you," he whispered.
"One day, I'll stand beside you — not behind."
His teacher said nothing.
The silence was its own blessing.
The screen flickered—
and the chapter closed on Rin's solitary figure beneath a frozen sky.
Codex Record — Frost Petals (Arlen Vael's Way)
> "Even the softest snowflake can cut—when it remembers what it was born for."
---
Designation
Name: Frost Petals
Classification: Personal Way of Ice (Sylvanyr Royal Lineage)
Wielder: Arlen Vael
Stage: Frost Monarch Form (Awakened)
---
Essence
Not forged, but bloomed — the Frost Petals are a manifestation of the wielder's will, where ice ceases to freeze and learns to move.
Each petal is a blade — each blade, a reflection of intent.
They form not from cold, but from clarity — the stillness of a heart that no longer fears death.
When the mind aligns with frost's memory, the air itself responds — dividing into millions of crystalline fragments, orbiting like obedient stars awaiting command.
---
Abilities
Omnidirectional Control — Every petal obeys the wielder's thought, striking, guarding, or reforming at will.
Mirror Bloom — Petals align into constructs — swords, shields, domes — shifting forms mid-battle without delay.
Harmonic Flow — Petals weave through each other's paths, amplifying speed and cutting power with synchronized rhythm.
Ice Reflection — By layering fragments in mirrored orbits, the user can distort light and conceal movements within glacial afterimages.
It can be used in more ways but that is for the future.
---
Advanced Manifestation — Frost Monarch
When will transcends fear, the petals converge — folding into a singular white blade and cloak, their countless edges returning to one purpose.
In this state, gravity bends, mana condenses, and the user's body becomes the heart of the froststorm.
Every step leaves behind frost-lotus blooms.
Every swing carries the weight of a thousand mirrors.
Mass Destruction Form – "Frost Implosion"
Petals encircle target in a spherical storm, collapsing inward from all directions.
Creates a crushing implosion of frost — inescapable once sealed.
---
Final Art — Sword Bloom
> "To gather all petals into one sword is to accept that beauty and death are the same act."
All fragments condense into layers of transparent blades, orbiting in concentric rings before uniting into one colossal weapon — a strike that seeks not victory, but acknowledgment.
Even shattered, the Way endures — for the frost remembers.
---
✒️ Codex Annotation
> "Frost Petals — the ice that moves.
Not all flowers bloom in spring.
Some blossom only when crushed beneath the weight of the world."