Riven Veylor and Darius Stonewell stood facing each other in the middle of the battlefield.
The wind swept across the coliseum, carrying the dust stirred up by their previous exchange. Darius's breathing was steady, but his eyes burned with resentment. Across from him, Riven stood with a composed expression, his golden-amber eyes fixed on his opponent.
Neither moved.
From the elevated seats overlooking the battlefield, the Great Elder watched them in silence.
Beside him sat Lord Ackman, Lady Narissa, and Lord Kelvin, while Bruno stood at his right hand.
After observing the contestants for several seconds, Bruno spoke.
"Great Elder, do you intend to intervene if this clash escalates?"
Neil turned his head slightly toward him.
Bruno continued calmly. "Stonewell initially fought to prove himself worthy of entering the academy. However, his intentions seem to have changed. He's fighting for revenge now. What do you think we should do?"
Neil rested one hand against his chin.
"Nothing," he replied. "I believe we should do nothing for now."
The other Lords turned toward him.
"What do you mean, Great Elder?" Kelvin asked, his eyebrows rising.
Narissa leaned forward slightly. "Surely you don't intend to let them continue if the situation gets out of hand?"
Neil lowered his hand.
"If we stop them now, what do you think they'll learn?"
Neither answered immediately.
"The Legion Academy isn't a place where scouts can expect to have their lives protected from every danger," Neil continued. "Its purpose is to prepare them to face the dangers that threaten humanity. Demons exist in this world whose abilities are beyond ordinary human comprehension. Some of those creatures possess enough power to wipe out entire groups of scouts."
His gaze returned to the battlefield.
"If we allow these children to believe that someone will always intervene when their lives are in danger, they'll enter the academy with the wrong expectations."
He paused.
"I don't want this generation to become a group of scouts who crumble the moment they encounter a genuine threat. I want them to understand what they're signing up for. Even if this battle costs them an arm or a leg, I want them to understand that their decisions have consequences."
Kelvin stared at the Great Elder.
He had known Neil for years. The man had always been calm, measured, and careful with his words. Yet something about his current attitude felt different.
Perhaps it was Chad's death.
The loss had affected them, including Kelvin himself.
Narissa folded her arms.
"I can't say I agree with your approach, Great Elder," she admitted. "But I respect your decision."
Ackman finally spoke.
"He's right."
Everyone looked at him.
"If we stop this battle, the contestants may believe that the academy is simply a place where they'll learn to control their abilities without facing any serious consequences." His eyes remained on the battlefield. "Being a prince doesn't exempt someone from the dangers of this world. Riven chose to enter the academy to prove his strength, and he should be judged by the same standards as everyone else."
He paused.
"Let us see what these scouts are truly capable of."
Neil said nothing more.
His attention remained fixed on the contestants below.
BOOM!
Darius suddenly launched himself toward Riven.
His sword swung violently from side to side, each strike carrying enough force to send dust scattering across the battlefield.
Riven evaded the first slash.
Then the second.
And the third.
He moved with effortless precision, shifting his body just enough to let the attacks pass him.
Darius's expression darkened.
"Stop running!"
He swung his sword again.
This time, the weapon transformed.
Rock Magic spread across its surface, expanding the blade until it became a gigantic stone axe.
Darius twisted his body and brought the weapon crashing toward Riven's head.
Riven tilted his head aside.
The axe narrowly missed him, but its edge caught his cheek, leaving a thin cut.
A small trickle of blood ran down his face.
For the first time, Riven touched the wound.
He glanced at the blood on his fingertips.
Then he looked back at Darius.
"So you can land a hit."
Before Darius could respond, Riven thrust his hand forward.
Darius dodged, but Riven immediately followed with another strike aimed at his chest.
He twisted away at the last moment.
Nevertheless, Riven's fingers grazed his chest, leaving several thin marks across his skin.
Darius retaliated with another swing of his axe.
Riven evaded it and retreated several steps, creating some distance between them.
His expression changed.
It was time to attack.
Riven surged forward.
His hands moved rapidly, delivering a relentless series of precise strikes toward Darius's upper body. Darius raised his stone axe to block, but the prince changed the direction of his attacks before the weapon could meet them.
One strike grazed Darius's shoulder.
Another caught his side.
A third left a mark across his forearm.
Small droplets of blood scattered across the ground.
Darius gritted his teeth and swung his axe, forcing Riven to withdraw.
From the stands, Mason watched the exchange with widened eyes.
I acknowledge his strength.
A smile slowly appeared on his face.
What incredible control.
He glanced down at his own hand and clenched it into a fist.
I'll become stronger. Strong enough to stand alongside the royals. I know I can do it.
A few seats away, a girl noticed his expression.
She exchanged an amused glance with her companion before laughing.
"Look at that peasant," she whispered mockingly. "He actually thinks he can stand alongside royalty."
Her companion snickered.
"How foolish."
Mason heard them, but he didn't turn around.
His attention remained on the battlefield.
Riven continued pressing Darius with precise attacks.
However, as he observed his opponent's movements, a thought crossed his mind.
His Rock Magic reinforces his body, allowing him to endure attacks that would incapacitate an ordinary opponent.
He narrowly avoided another axe swing.
That doesn't mean my attacks are useless. It simply means I have to keep applying pressure until his body can no longer withstand my magic.
His eyes narrowed.
If I intensify my Viper Magic, I might be able to force his body to collapse. But how far should I take this?
For a brief moment, his thoughts drifted toward something else.
What exactly did I do to make him hate me this much? Did my father do something to him?
He watched Darius charge toward him again.
Why should I care? His reasons don't change the outcome.
Darius suddenly changed his angle of attack.
The stone axe swept toward Riven's side.
Riven blocked the strike, but the impact forced him backward. Before he could regain his footing, Darius followed with a slash that caught his arm.
Blood spilled from the wound.
Riven's expression hardened.
Darius grinned.
"What's wrong, Prince? Running out of tricks?"
He swung again.
Riven evaded the axe and stepped inside Darius's reach.
Then his fingers struck Darius's exposed hand.
A sharp jolt passed through the older boy's arm.
Riven withdrew immediately and retreated several steps.
Darius looked down.
Blood dripped from his hand.
Then something strange happened.
The color of his fingers began to change. The alteration spread gradually across his hand, and his grip weakened.
"What…?"
He tried to tighten his fingers around the axe.
Nothing happened.
His heart began to beat more slowly, each thud strangely heavy within his chest.
Darius dropped to one knee.
A cough escaped his mouth, followed by blood.
The spectators began murmuring.
"What's happening to him?"
"Did the prince do something?"
Riven stood a short distance away, watching without expression.
"Viper Magic," he murmured.
Darius attempted to stand, but his body refused to cooperate.
Riven's eyes narrowed.
"Time to end this."
He launched forward.
For an instant, the world seemed to fall silent.
The screen turned black.
Then a single phrase appeared.
DANCE OF THE SERPENT.
The darkness vanished.
Riven stood beyond Darius, his hand extended, thin trails of smoke curling from his fingertips.
Across Darius's body, delicate markings appeared where Riven's fingers had struck him.
His eyes rolled upward.
White foam gathered at the corners of his mouth before his body finally collapsed onto the battlefield.
Silence swallowed the coliseum.
Riven straightened.
"It's over, Darius."
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then the announcer's voice thundered through the arena.
"THE WINNER IS PRINCE RIVEN VEYLOR OF VALTHERIS!"
The crowd erupted.
"THAT'S THE PRINCE!"
"WHAT INCREDIBLE MAGIC!"
"HE DEFEATED STONEWELL!"
Cheers rolled through the coliseum as Riven turned and walked toward his designated seat.
Above, Neil watched him with a thoughtful expression. After a moment, he gave a small nod of approval.
Narissa turned toward him.
"Great Elder, will Prince Riven be accepted into the academy?"
Neil looked at her before returning his gaze to the battlefield.
"Yes," he replied. "I believe so."
Mason watched Riven return to his seat.
His magic doesn't need to be destructive to be dangerous.
He couldn't hide his admiration.
It's precise. Controlled. Every attack serves a purpose.
Mason smiled.
"Incredible…"
Nearby, Caleb Veyr Draven clicked his tongue.
"Damn it."
He crossed his arms, his messy white hair shifting in the breeze.
"I have to admit it, though. That princess's magic is something else."
A faint smirk appeared on his face.
"It would be an honor to clash with him. I want to know how strong I really am."
Before anyone could respond, the announcer raised his voice again.
"And now, moving on to the next round!"
The crowd gradually quieted.
"We have Caleb Veyr Draven versus…"
He paused.
The contestants watched expectantly.
"MASON GRACE!"
For a moment, the coliseum fell silent.
Then—
"What?"
"Mason Grace?"
"Who the hell is that?"
"I've never heard of him!"
A wave of murmuring swept through the stands.
"Wait a minute. Grace? Isn't that Chad Grace's surname?"
"Chad Grace? You mean the Lord?"
"How could this peasant possibly be his son?"
"That's ridiculous! Chad was one of the strongest Lords!"
"Look at him. Does he look anything like Chad?"
"Perhaps he stole the name!"
The accusations spread rapidly.
Caleb stared toward the stands, visibly displeased.
He had expected a worthy opponent.
Instead, he had been paired with someone the crowd barely recognized.
His eyes settled on Mason.
"You idiot," he muttered.
Mason turned toward the battlefield.
"Get down here already!" Caleb shouted. "Let's get this over with!"
Without another word, Caleb stepped forward.
He jumped from the elevated platform, both hands tucked into his pockets.
BOOM!
His feet struck the battlefield.
Dust spiraled around him as a powerful aura spread outward, stirring the air and sending loose fragments of stone skittering across the ground.
Caleb remained motionless for a moment, his back facing the stands.
Then he turned.
His icy-blue eyes settled on Mason.
Meanwhile, Mason remained seated for another second.
He could hear the whispers.
The laughter.
The insults.
His fingers tightened slightly.
Then he exhaled.
"All right, then."
He rose to his feet.
"It's my turn to show them who I am."
Mason began walking toward the battlefield.
As he passed Janelle's seat, a gentle breeze swept through the coliseum, lifting the edges of his brown coat.
For a brief moment, Janelle's eyes met his.
That's Mason Grace…
She watched him continue walking.
I don't really know him yet. I've barely spoken to him.
Her gaze lingered on his face.
Then why do I feel so drawn to him?
She quickly looked away.
What am I thinking? I'm probably imagining things.
But even after Mason had passed, her eyes followed him.
A little farther away, Duke Mighty observed the scene with a faint smile.
So this is the boy everyone's talking about.
His eyes narrowed with interest.
I wonder what you're really capable of, Mason Grace.
As Mason approached the battlefield, the atmosphere began to change.
A low orchestral melody filled the coliseum. Deep percussion marked a steady rhythm beneath rising strings, while a distant brass note gave the moment a sense of anticipation.
The music wasn't triumphant.
It was tense.
Like the calm before a storm.
Mason stepped onto the battlefield.
Neil studied him from his seat.
For a moment, the Great Elder's expression softened.
"Mason Grace," he said quietly. "I wish you the best of luck in your battle."
Kelvin glanced at Mason.
"So that's Chad's son," he remarked. "He really doesn't look much like him."
He paused.
"But who am I to judge?"
Narissa watched Mason with interest.
"He's younger than me, but he's quite handsome for his age," she murmured.
Ackman remained silent.
So did Bruno.
The announcer raised his hand.
"And now! The battle between Caleb Veyr Draven and Mason Grace shall commence!"
Caleb's expression twisted into a mocking grin.
"Look at you."
He took one hand out of his pocket.
"You're really going to stand there and pretend you belong here?"
Mason said nothing.
Caleb continued.
"I don't know why they paired me with someone like you. But perhaps it's fate giving me the opportunity to eliminate you personally."
His eyes sharpened.
"Like I said before, you don't belong here, Mason."
He pointed toward him.
"You're impersonating the name of a Lord. Do you even understand what that means? It's an insult to the Grace family and a violation of the laws governing this kingdom."
The crowd resumed its jeering.
"That's right! Go back where you came from!"
"Stop disgracing Chad Grace's name!"
"You're not worthy of that name!"
"Who do you think you are, claiming to be his son?"
Mason stood still.
His brown hair fell across his face, partially concealing his blue eyes.
Then he raised his head.
"Hey, you guys."
The sudden words caught the attention of those closest to the battlefield.
Even Caleb paused.
Mason looked toward the stands.
"Most of you have already decided who I am without knowing anything about me."
His voice was steady.
"You judge me as though I'm not even human. As though I'm some kind of monster standing among you."
He reached for his brown coat.
"Well, guess what?"
He pulled it off, allowing the wind to sweep through his brown hair.
"I am Mason Grace. The son of Chad Grace. Lord Chad."
The crowd erupted into fresh murmurs.
"He's actually saying it!"
"Does he expect us to believe that?"
"Impossible!"
Mason ignored them.
"And I will be the Great Elder of Sunstone Kingdom, no matter what stands in my way."
He clenched his fist.
"I'll prove that I'm worthy of that responsibility. I may be a peasant in your eyes. You may think I'm weak, worthless, or undeserving of the name I carry."
His expression hardened.
"But none of that changes what I'm going to achieve."
He reached into his left sleeve and drew out a blade.
The moment the weapon caught the light, several spectators gasped.
"Wait!"
"That weapon…!"
"Isn't that Chad Grace's katana?"
"How did he get it?"
"Did he steal it?"
"Perhaps he killed Chad himself!"
"No, that's impossible!"
The accusations grew louder.
Mason gripped the katana with both hands.
"This is my father's sword."
His voice softened slightly.
"My father gave it to me in his final moments. He told me to pursue my goals, achieve my dreams, and live a happy life when I finally settled down."
For a brief moment, the battlefield seemed to disappear from his thoughts.
He remembered Chad.
His father's voice.
The promise he had made.
Mason tightened his grip.
"I promised him I'd become strong enough to enter Legion Academy. I promised him I'd become great."
He raised his head.
"And I promised him I'd become greater than he ever was."
His blue eyes swept across the stands.
"You know what I don't care about?"
The crowd quieted in scattered pockets, though whispers continued.
"Your mockery."
His voice grew firmer.
"This isn't the first time I've been mocked. It won't be the second, the third, or the last. I know there will always be people who look down on me because of where I came from."
He spread his free hand.
"So bring it on!"
Several spectators stared at him.
"Bring on every insult you have! Laugh at me! Doubt me! Call me whatever you want!"
Mason's voice rang across the battlefield.
"Even if it's me against the entire world, I won't give up!"
He held his father's sword firmly.
"I'll achieve the dream I promised my father I'd achieve. And one day, I'll hold the title of the Great Elder of Sunstone Kingdom!"
Silence settled over the battlefield.
Not everyone was impressed.
Some spectators continued shaking their heads. Others whispered that Mason was delusional, while a few laughed at the audacity of his declaration.
But Mason didn't look away.
He had said what he came to say.
Janelle stared at him, astonishment filling her eyes.
He's serious.
She had seen confidence before. She had seen talented people boast about their abilities.
But Mason's determination felt different.
A faint blush touched her cheeks.
Why does he make me feel this way?
She quickly lowered her gaze, trying to collect her thoughts.
Nearby, Duke's expression had changed.
He was no longer simply observing Mason out of curiosity.
He was smiling.
Then he spoke.
"That dream of yours…"
His voice carried across the battlefield.
"You're going to have to abandon it."
The crowd turned toward him.
Mason looked up in surprise.
Duke continued, his smile never fading.
"Because I'm not going to stand here and watch you become the Great Elder."
He gave a quiet laugh.
"Dream on, Mason."
His eyes sharpened.
"I'm the one who's going to become the Great Elder of our generation."
A murmur spread through the stands.
Janelle stared at Duke in disbelief.
Ever since I met him, I've always thought he was someone who didn't care about anything. Someone without a goal, someone who simply went wherever life took him.
She watched his confident expression.
But this is the first time I've ever seen him speak like this.
Mason studied Duke for a moment.
Then he smiled.
"All right, Then."
He shifted his father's katana into a firm two-handed grip.
"I want to see you try."
He turned back toward Caleb, whose expression had grown increasingly impatient.
Mason exhaled.
The crowd continued whispering around them.
He wasn't going to change their minds with words alone.
That was fine.
He had a battle to fight.
And he had a promise to keep..