Chapter 33: Ceremony (2)
Emily Lionheart stood before us, her re presence eclipsing everything that ca before. Even the glowing runes etched into the marble walls seed dimr now, as though yielding to her aura.
The heat was subtle but not suffocating, not unbearable but present. Like standing a few feet from a bonfire on a winter’s night. It made the air shimr faintly, distorting the space around her.
And the cadets felt it.
I heard a sharp gasp sowhere in the crowd. Another cadet clutched at his chest, eyes wide, his breath coming faster. Whispers spread like sparks leaping from dry wood.
"She’s... she’s suffocating just by standing there..."
"No... that’s her mana leaking, right? It has to be..."
"She’s controlling it. This is her holding back."
Eric, standing only a few rows from , clenched his fists so tightly I could hear his knuckles pop. His usual arrogance faltered for just a heartbeat, his lips twitching. Then he forced a smirk, raising his chin as though daring the fire to swallow him.
"Tch. Big deal," he muttered under his breath, though I noticed he shifted his weight back, as if unconsciously distancing himself from her.
Selena, on the other hand, didn’t move at all. Her violet eyes glimred faintly, sharp and observant, drinking in every detail of Emily’s entrance. She didn’t look intimidated but she did look... wary.
Leon... Leon was another story.
His jaw tightened, and I saw his throat move as he swallowed hard. A mix of awe and pressure weighed on his features. This wasn’t just any senior for him. This was his elder sister the blazing sun he’d grown under his whole life.
He whispered softly, almost to himself, "Sister..."
His voice trembled. Not from fear—at least, not only from fear. But from the crushing weight of comparison.
Yeah, I thought, watching him carefully. This is the mont where his shadow truly begins. The place where his inferiority complex takes root. Leon Lionheart, the "younger brother," always living in her fire. I’ve seen this story play out before.
As for ?
I kept my posture relaxed, hands still in my pockets, expression calm. But my gar brain was firing on all cylinders.
The aura control... that’s not just raw mana. She’s tempering the heat into her sword intent. Efficient. Lethal. No wasted energy. She’s even stronger than the early ga scripts made her out to be.
Above us, even the seniors on the balconies shifted uneasily. So crossed their arms tighter, others stopped whispering altogether. I caught fragnts of their mutters.
"Lionheart fla... always too damn bright."
"She’s grown again... stronger than even the instructors from the outer branches."
"Hmph. No wonder she’s Council President."
And in that mont, I realized sothing.
It wasn’t just us first-years who were under pressure. Even the upper-years the predators watching from the balcony were caught in her firelight. She didn’t just dominate the stage. She dominated the entire Academy.
Vice Principal Sophia smiled faintly, her voice clear as a bell as she extended her arm toward Emily.
"Third-year Rank One. President of the Student Council. Known across the continent as the Fla Empress... Emily Lionheart."
Applause thundered this ti, though it was uneven. So cadets clapped furiously in awe, others hesitated, their palms stiff as they forced themselves to join in.
Emily did not bow. She did not wave. She simply stood, calm, composed, her aura burning in silence.
Then... slowly... she reached for the hilt at her waist.
SHIIING—
The sound of her sword leaving its sheath sliced through the hall like lightning.
The whispers died instantly. The silence was absolute.
Her blade glead, the runes etched into its steel glowing faintly red, as though the tal itself had been forged in dragon’s breath. And as she raised it, flas coiled along its length quiet at first, then louder, crackling like a beast eager to roar.
I felt my heartbeat quicken despite myself.
Here it cos. The demonstration.
her sword drawn, fire whispering along its edge. The hall had gone utterly silent. Even the crackle of mana-lamps seed to bow to the heat radiating from her blade.
Her crimson hair shimred like molten tal under the chandeliers, and her golden eyes swept the crowd like a predator’s calm, calculating, rciless in their certainty.
Then she spoke.
Her voice was clear, firm, each word cutting with a rhythm that left no room for doubt.
"Cadets. You’ve passed the entrance trials. You stand here believing yourselves to be strong... to be chosen."
Her blade tilted slightly, and the fire rippled outward—faint sparks licking at the air, vanishing before they could touch the marble.
"But strength isn’t asured in one trial. Nor in one victory. This Academy will strip away your illusions. It will break you, crush you, and force you to rebuild yourself—stronger... or not at all."
A murmur rippled through the cadets. So straightened their backs defiantly, others looked down, already shaken by the weight in her tone.
I watched closely, eyes narrowing.
No wasted words. No sweet encouragent. Just truth... and pressure. The Academy’s philosophy distilled into fla.
Emily’s gaze sharpened.
"You wish to know what awaits you if you endure? Then watch."
She raised the blade.
FOOOOOOSH—
Flas erupted, coiling skyward like a dragon freed from chains. The temperature spiked instantly; the nearest cadets flinched back, covering their faces. Even from rows away, I felt the heat brush against my skin like the breath of a furnace.
Her sword descended in one smooth arc—
CRAAAAACK—
The stone podium at her side split, lted, and caved in all at once. Fire spread in a perfect crescent, the marble glowing orange, dripping molten rivulets onto the floor. The heat warped the runes nearby, making the very air shimr.
Gasps erupted.
One first-year stumbled backward, tripping over his chair. Another cadet muttered, "Impossible..." before biting his lip to silence himself.
Even so of the seniors above leaned forward, eyes wide. A third-year whispered with disbelief, "She didn’t even channel her full mana..."
From the staff seats, instructors exchanged glances.
Professor Nathan Pendragon, the combat instructor, let out a low whistle.
"As overwhelming as ever. That girl doesn’t demonstrate. She intimidates."
Vice Principal Sophia simply smiled knowingly, while Dean Derisu folded his arms, unimpressed. "Intimidation is a form of control. She’s ensuring their respect from day one."
Principal Herald Crimson stroked his beard with a faint grin. "No... not respect. Fear. And fear has its uses."
The heat lingered, though Emily had already lowered her blade. She didn’t sheathe it—she let the fire hum quietly along its edge as her gaze returned to us.
"This," she said firmly, her tone unwavering, "is the difference between passing a trial... and surviving in the real world."
Her words hung in the air, heavy as molten iron cooling on an anvil.
I kept my face neutral, but my brain was buzzing.
Fla arc. Condensed mana. No visible casting delay. Swordsmanship fused with elental output seamlessly. She’s mastered hybrid combat to a degree most pros in the ga only reached mid-tier. And this is her... holding back.
My heart pounded with excitent despite myself.
The Fla Empress... Emily Lionheart. A living raid boss. No wonder even instructors treat her seriously.
Beside , Leon’s fists were trembling at his sides. His eyes reflected the flas on stage—not with awe, but with frustration, and sothing deeper.
Selena noticed too, her gaze flicking between the siblings. A small frown tugged at her lips.
Eric... predictably, scowled, though I noticed sweat glistening on his forehead. He whispered through clenched teeth, "Damn show-off..."
Emily finally let the fire fade, the sword sliding back into its sheath with a crisp SHINK.
She exhaled softly, not even winded. Her presence still burned in the hall, but the oppressive weight lessened just enough for cadets to breathe again.
Then her golden eyes locked on us—no, not on us. On .
Her lips curved into the faintest of smiles.
"And now... let us hear from your first-year representative."
The hall erupted in whispers again.
"Representative...? That’s Michael Willson, right?"
"The Rank 1... the one who got perfect scores..."
"They say he’s a commoner. Can that even be true?"
Above, the seniors leaned against the railings, their eyes sharpening with curiosity. Even the instructors turned their heads.
All of them waiting.
My na was called.
I felt every gaze latch onto as I stood. My chair scraped against the marble with a sharp SCREEECH. My footsteps echoed, steady, deliberate, as I began the walk to the stage.
Inside, my gar instincts whispered, Ah. Here it is. The Welco Ceremony speech scene. The mont the "hidden rival" is revealed. And I’m standing right in the middle of it.
I kept my face calm, expression unreadable.
Step. Step. Step.
Every sound carried in the suffocating silence.
And as I reached the podium, Emily Lionheart turned her head slightly, her golden eyes locking onto mine, testing with fire.
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