As the mist cleared, the tension that had gripped the crowd dissolved into a stunned silence. Ripples spread across the lake’s once-calm surface, the aftermath of Lyon’s devastating attack still lingering in the air. The eerie quiet was quickly interrupted by a series of violent explosions. One by one, the replicas of the six young masters disintegrated, bursting apart with elental force—fire erupting like a volcano, water cascading into the sky, lightning crackling, and earth shattering the ground beneath them.
The audience gasped, watching in awe as the six young masters, who had been fiercely battling their own replicas, were suddenly launched from the lake, their bodies hurtling through the air as if flung by so unseen hand. The power behind Lyon’s final attack had eclipsed everything else, propelling them away like re debris caught in the wind. They tumbled onto the solid ground beyond the lake’s edge, gasping for breath and groaning as they tried to regain their footing.
Mavis, his clothes caked with mud and water, blinked in disbelief. "Did that just happen?" he muttered, wiping his face with his sleeve, still trying to comprehend the sheer force that had knocked them all out of the arena. He glanced over at Esralda, who was frowning, her gaze sharp as she tried to process what had transpired.
"It wasn’t even a direct hit," Esralda said, shaking her head in a mixture of frustration and admiration. "We weren’t even his target."
Yuri clenched his fists, staring daggers at Lyon, his pride clearly bruised. "That damn fool...," he growled under his breath, rage simring in his chest. He had entered the competition with the full intent of proving his strength, but now, here he was, outside the lake, cast aside by a re side effect of Lyon’s battle with his own replica. The indignation burned in his veins.
Ning’s lips curled into a frown as she stood up, dusting off her robe, the glow of her once-proud fire flickering out. "It can’t end like this...," she muttered, but even she knew that the rules were clear.
The spectators erupted into a cacophony of whispers and gasps, unable to contain their excitent and disbelief. Many were in awe, while others were still trying to process how the tide had turned so suddenly. The Gathering of the Six had beco the Gathering of One in an instant.
"Impossible..." one of the elders muttered, shaking his head. "How did a single blow cause that?"
"Did he even an to do that?" questioned another, eyes wide as they focused on Lyon, who stood amidst the chaos he had caused with a relaxed grin.
From the stands, the patriarchs and matriarchs exchanged glances, so impressed, others baffled. Aelius, the Sky Clan patriarch, furrowed his brow, his earlier doubts about Lyon now shifting into sothing else—cautious respect.
"So, he wasn’t just bluffing," Aelius murmured, eyes narrowing as he assessed Lyon. "The boy’s power is real."
Atrum, the Ouroboros patriarch, chuckled softly. "I knew there was sothing about him. But this... this is on another level."
As the realization dawned that Lyon had unintentionally won the round, the crowd’s murmurs turned into a roar of applause, mixed with disbelief and admiration. Lyon stood in the center of the lake, still within the boundaries, his body relaxed and his smirk playful, as if none of this had been a challenge at all. His casual posture only highlighted the stark contrast between him and the young masters, who were sprawled out on the ground.
Lyon’s group on the sidelines couldn’t contain their pride. Kesya was doubled over, laughing so hard tears stread down her face. "That’s our boss!" she cackled, slapping Ian on the back. "He didn’t even have to try!"
Ian shook his head, grinning like a madman. "What did I tell you?" he said, looking at the others with pride. "The boss is always ahead, even when it looks like he’s just ssing around."
Graham remained composed, but even he couldn’t suppress a small smile of approval. Assid, still standing near the broken statue, continued to clean, though his proud gaze flickered over to Lyon from ti to ti.
The six young masters, on the other hand, were caught between anger and disbelief. Esralda clenched her fists, her competitive spirit refusing to accept the outco, even though she couldn’t deny what had just happened. Mavis stared at Lyon with a mixture of confusion and admiration, still trying to figure out how Lyon had turned the entire fight in his favor so effortlessly. Yuri, still simring with rage, had to grit his teeth, feeling the sting of humiliation.
Ning, usually so composed, looked rattled, her pride wounded. "He wasn’t even serious...," she muttered under her breath, the realization only making the defeat harder to swallow.
Lyra, brushing off the water and debris, watched Lyon with a bemused expression, her earlier curiosity now turning into genuine respect.
Lyon, noticing their gazes, raised his hand in a mock apology, his grin wide and mischievous. "Well, that’s unfortunate," he teased, his voice carrying effortlessly across the now-still lake. "Looks like I’m the only one left."
The crowd roared in response, so cheering, others laughing in disbelief, and a few still too stunned to react. Lyon, with his carefree attitude and playful deanor, had stolen the show. He had not only bested his own replica, but his collateral damage had also inadvertently secured his victory over the others.
Luce, watching from the sidelines, smiled, clapping her hands lightly. "Well, that was... quite the display," she said, her voice carrying a hint of amusent. The victory, though unconventional, was clear.
Lyon stood at the center of it all, his sword resting casually over his shoulder, laughing at the remnants of the mist around the arch as it slowly faded. He had won—effortlessly, without even breaking a sweat—and all the while, he hadn’t taken any of it seriously.
Lyon let out a small chuckle, his smirk lingering as he turned his gaze toward Luce. "I think the winner is already settled, but maybe we should move on to the next round, don’t you think?" His voice was playful, yet the confidence was unmistakable, and the crowd felt the weight of his words.
Luce raised an eyebrow at him, her lips curving into a faint smile, though her eyes held an unreadable depth. "Is that so, Lyon?" she responded softly. "It seems you’re quite eager."
Her calm acknowledgnt seed to stoke the irritation among the onlookers. The patriarchs and matriarchs exchanged glances, so filled with mild outrage, others with cautious observation. Lyon’s arrogance rubbed them the wrong way, but they couldn’t deny that he had proven his strength. Yet, it was unnerving for many, especially seeing how casually he spoke to her—to Luce Veritas, the mother of all seers. To address her so informally? It was unheard of. The air buzzed with whispered conversations, speculation quickly taking root.
"Who is this brat to speak to Lady Luce like that?" one elder muttered under his breath.
"I’m not sure... but he backs up his words," replied another, begrudgingly impressed by Lyon’s sheer power.
The tension in the air thickened further when Yuri, still seething with frustration, stepped forward. His face was flushed with anger. "Lady Luce, this is unfair!" Yuri’s voice rang out with indignation. "He interfered with our battles—this should be grounds for imdiate disqualification! He should be disqualified for that reckless move!"
The crowd quieted, and all eyes turned to Luce, waiting for her judgnt. Yuri’s protest had struck a chord with so of the young masters, especially Ning and Azleid, who, though quiet, shared the sa sentint. They had been pushed out of the lake not by their own failures but by Lyon’s overwhelming, almost careless, display of power. But was that reason enough to disqualify him?
Luce, calm as ever, clasped her hands before her, her voice cutting through the tension like a gentle breeze. "Young master Yuri," she began, her tone neither harsh nor overly soft, "I understand your frustration. But let clarify sothing." She paused, making sure all eyes were on her. "I am rely a moderator in this gathering. My role is to observe and guide. However, the final judgnt does not lie with . The Seraphs themselves will determine who ascends."
Yuri’s face contorted with disbelief. "But—!"
"The Seraphs will decide," Luce continued, her gaze holding firm, silencing any further protest. "If they deem that young master Lyon is not worthy, then that is their decision, and it will be respected. But until then, we proceed as planned."
A heavy silence followed her words. Yuri looked as though he wanted to argue further, but he was stopped by the cold truth in her response. His protest had been effectively neutralized, and now he stood there, his sense of unfairness gnawing at him. But no matter how much he felt the injustice, there was nothing he could do.
Lyon, anwhile, couldn’t suppress his smirk. He leaned slightly forward, his eyes flashing with amusent as he watched Yuri’s frustration. "Don’t worry, young master," Lyon said in a mockingly reassuring tone. "If you’re that upset, I can give you a head start in the next round."
Yuri’s jaw tightened, but he knew better than to respond, lest he embarrass himself further. Lyon’s words were like salt to a wound—infuriating, yet impossible to counter.
Lyon’s eyes, however, suddenly drifted away from Yuri’s glare. His playful expression faded ever so slightly as his gaze wandered toward the tallest mountain in the distance. His smirk returned, but there was sothing different about it—an edge, as if he had just rembered sothing. Or soone.
The crowd began to murmur once more, noticing the change in his deanor. What had caught his attention? What was he looking at?
Luce’s eyes followed his gaze for a brief mont before she smiled knowingly. "It seems," she said softly, "we’re moving toward sothing interesting."
The matriarchs and patriarchs exchanged glances again, feeling the shift in the atmosphere, uncertain of what Lyon’s casual but sharp gaze toward the mountain might an. Was it a challenge? Or sothing else entirely? Either way, the next round promised to be unlike anything they had anticipated.
Reviews
All reviews (0)