"THE TWO STARS OF TEAM ONE DOMINATE THE FIGHT, ANING ALL OF TEAM ONE ADVANCES TO ONE-ON-ONE!"
The announcer’s voice thundered through the coliseum.Light flooded the stage as the fallen fighters and the two victors still standing were suddenly engulfed in a pale blue radiance. The air humd, their outlines blurring like reflections in rippling water—then fwoosh—they vanished in an instant, leaving behind only the echo of cheering and the scent of spent mana.
Avin leaned forward, arms on his knees, as the light faded. "They really do like theatrics."
Henry stretched his arms behind his head. "Well, it is entertainnt. If it’s not shiny, no one watches."
"NOW—FOR THE SECOND BATTLE OF THE DAY!"
The crowd erupted again. The massive coliseum doors began to rise, the chanical grinding loud and rhythmic, gears clicking in perfect sync. From behind the haze of mana light, four new groups erged—Teams Five through Eight—each marching through one of the four gates that ringed the battle platform.
Avin’s eyes tracked each formation, careful and attentive. The first to enter—Team Five—instantly drew his gaze.
Three swordsn led the front. Two were armored in polished steel, helts gleaming under the lights. But the third—He wore none. No plate, no chainmail, no cloak. Instead, a noble’s tunic of deep blue, threaded with gold and adorned with dals that shimred faintly as if touched by divine favor. His sword rested neatly at his hip, the scabbard simple yet regal. His stride was calm, his eyes heavy with quiet confidence.
Behind them walked a figure cloaked in shadow. His hood concealed all but his mouth, and wherever he stepped, the light itself seed to dim—just slightly, unnaturally. A faint chill followed his path.
Floating above them, drifting like a wisp, was their mage. No staff, no weapon—just a long robe trailing behind, embroidered with silver glyphs that glowed faintly in rhythm with his heartbeat. He hovered effortlessly, bare feet never touching the ground, as if gravity itself had lost interest in him.
"That’s an interesting bunch," Sylas said from Avin’s right, chin propped on his palm.
"Tell about it," Avin muttered. But his eyes didn’t leave the noble swordsman. Sothing about him... burned.Not hatred. Not familiarity. But a pressure in his chest, a faint echo of sothing divine—the sa feeling he’d known around Ashborn... and Leo. That heat of existence that only the God-folk carried.
He stared harder.
"Is he God-folk?" Avin asked quietly.
Sylas followed his gaze, eyes landing on the swordsman. "Ah. Yes—if I recall correctly, he’s from a noble family. I don’t rember which, but I’ve seen that crest before at a summit." He paused, then smiled faintly. "If you suspect he’s God-folk... he probably is."
Avin frowned. "That’s not really an answer."
Henry, overhearing, leaned in from the left. "There’s a theory, actually. That all God-folk are spiritually tethered—like their gods’ presence lets them feel each other. Subtle stuff, but it fits."He tilted his head. "Weird that you don’t know that."
Sylas chuckled. "Yeah, I’d expect you to know."
"I was... sheltered," Avin said simply.
Eira peeked around Sylas to look at him, smiling. "That explains a lot."
Henry grinned. "You know he didn’t even know what a cleaning bubble was?"
"What?" Sylas and Eira said in unison.
Avin rubbed his temple. "You’re still on about that?"
"Even the poorest God-folk family has cleaning bubbles," Eira said, giggling.
"Worse," Henry continued, grin widening
Avin’s eyes closed as he already knew what Henry was going to drag out
"he thinks centipedes are small insects." Henry stated, cheeks bubbled, unable to keep in his laughter
Eira blinked. "Wait—what?"
Sylas stared blankly. "You’re kidding."
"I wish I was," Henry said. "He said a giant centipede was ten ters."
Eira’s laughter filled the stands. She had to cover her mouth to keep from drawing too much attention. "Oh gods... you’re hopeless."
Avin sighed deeply, sinking in his seat. "Fine. I’m uneducated. Can we please focus?"
He turned his gaze back to the field, jaw tightening slightly.Team Six was stepping onto the platform now—standard formation: two knights, a spearman, an archer, and a mage with a staff. Their armor and weapons were clean, but there was no radiance to them. Ordinary, Avin thought. No divine signature. No strange pressure.
"They have no chance," he muttered.
Then his heart stuttered. Once. Twice.A strange pulse rippled through him, heavy and sharp.
Team Seven was erging.
Three knights in gleaming white armor took point, a single archer walking behind them. But Avin’s eyes froze on the fifth—Rapier in hand, silver hair catching the light, that familiar posture so effortlessly perfect it almost irritated him.
Seraphine.His sister.
The last ti he’d seen her, her calm expression had been the sa—right before she poisoned him. Even if he hadn’t died from it, that wasn’t sothing easily forgiven. His jaw flexed, his hands curling unconsciously into fists.
"Hey, that’s your sister," Sylas said, elbowing him.
"Yes," Avin exhaled, "I know who she is."
"The genius of the Chrono," Henry added. "Way better than you."
Avin shot him a glare. "Gee, thanks."
"This fight’s already over," Eira chid in, almost impressed. "She’s rumored to be faster than most instructors."
Avin didn’t respond. His crimson eyes dimd slightly, the conversation fading to background noise as he turned back to the battlefield.
Team Eight was the last to erge. Their formation was tight—balanced. Two mages, one knight, one assassin-like figure, and a dual-wielding fighter. They climbed onto the black concrete platform, the bright mana lines running beneath it pulsing in anticipation.
"THIS IS ROUND TWO!"The announcer’s magic circle flared, the voice booming louder than before, shaking the glass-like barrier that encased the upper stands.
"THE RULES REMAIN THE SA! SO... BEGIN!"
A bell tolled, long and deep.
Instantly, a wave of mana burst from the center of the arena.
It didn’t co from the mages. It ca from Seraphine.
The crowd gasped.
The shockwave of power rippled outward, washing over the entire coliseum. The very air seed to harden, thick with pressure. Loose dust lifted off the ground and hung suspended midair. Movent froze—not because anyone chose to stop, but because ti itself hesitated.
All the other teams froze, unable to lift a hair on their skin
Her rapier remained sheathed, but her presence alone felt like gravity bending around her.
Avin felt it imdiately—the world stretched thin, his heartbeat echoing louder in his ears until even that slowed.The other contestants stood mid-motion: arrows caught in the air, swords paused inches before striking, mana circles flickering and halting as if held by invisible hands.
It was beautiful.And horrifying.
Mana waves rolled outward from her like ripples in a glass of still water. Each one shimred blue and white, carrying divine resonance. For those without divine blood, it must have felt like standing before a collapsing star.
Her red hair floated in the suspended air as she lowered her head slightly, her hand resting on the hilt of her rapier. Her eyes were half-lidded, calm. No fury. No exertion. Just... control.
"Woah..." Henry whispered. "God-folk are that strong?"
Sylas swallowed. "That’s not strength. That’s command."
Eira’s gaze sharpened, fascinated. "She’s not even using full divinity..."
Avin’s jaw tightened. He sent mana rushing into his eyes, crimson light flaring. "If I don’t enhance my vision, I won’t even see it."
He blinked—and the world shifted again. The frozen haze broke into streaks of color, slow lines of light tracing each suspended motion.
Seraphine exhaled.
Then moved.
It wasn’t teleportation. It was speed—so imnse that it mimicked it. A thunderous whoosh swept across the coliseum, shaking the platform. She blurred from one side of the field to the other, cutting through the stillness like a blade through silk. Each motion was a strike, and each strike carried a burst of blue-white light.
To the untrained eye, there was only a single flash.To Avin—there were dozens of slashes, perfectly angled, each disabling or defeating an opponent before their brain could register the attack.
In a breath, she was back where she started—hand resting on her hilt, the tip of her rapier glimring faintly in the light.
The glow in the air shattered.
The sound of steel dropping, bodies collapsing, and spells fizzling filled the arena all at once as ti resud its course. The teams she had cut down fell almost in unison—armor cracked, weapons broken, mana dissipating into smoke.
Gasps echoed through the audience. Even the announcer hesitated before stamring,"T-TEAM SIX AND TEAM EIGHT—ELIMINATED!"
Seraphine stood calmly amidst the chaos, her expression unchanging. Her rapier hadn’t even left its sheath.
Avin’s fists clenched, knuckles white. His crimson eyes dimd as he exhaled slowly, his pulse still uneven."She really didn’t change at all," he muttered under his breath.
Across from her, the God-folk swordsman from Team Five adjusted his grip on his weapon, the corner of his mouth curling in anticipation.
Two divine presences remained.
And the real battle was only about to begin.
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