[17th June]
The stadium fell into a suffocating silence.
Not the kind born from boredom—
But the kind that grips throats… and refuses to let go.
The Host’s interruption had shattered the rhythm of the match.
Yet no one dared to speak.
Because inside that storm—
Sothing was wrong.
For most of the audience, the mist was just that… mist.
A blinding veil of frost and chaos.
But for those above the Acolyte rank—
It was sothing else entirely.
A void.
Rey’s presence—
Gone.
Not weakened.
Not hidden.
Gone.
A murmur spread like wildfire through the upper stands.
Even seasoned warriors stiffened.
Because they all understood what that ant.
Either he had been erased—
Or sothing far worse had happened.
Below, Marin stood amidst the storm.
Her breathing uneven.
Her control slipping.
Yet her attacks—
Did not stop.
Icicles continued to rain into the mist.
Relentless.
Unforgiving.
The Host moved.
Staff rushed forward.
The referee hesitated.
And then—
A pressure descended.
Heavy.
Absolute.
It crushed down upon the field like an unseen mountain, halting every step, every movent, every intention.
Even Acolyte-ranked warriors froze in place.
All eyes lifted.
Toward the highest stand.
The Duke.
“Sir… we must intervene. Sothing is wrong with the match.”
The Host knelt, urgency clear in his voice.
A pause.
Then—
A voice.
Deep.
Cold.
Unshakable.
“…No.”
The single word echoed across the stadium.
“No one enters the field.”
A beat.
“The match is still ongoing.”
Silence followed.
Confusion.
Shock.
Doubt.
“There are no casualties.”
The Duke’s voice cut through it all.
“Do not interfere.”
For a mont—
No one understood.
But then—
The old monsters in the stands looked again.
And their expressions changed.
Because now—
They could feel it.
Rey.
Not fading.
Not dying.
Moving.
Fast.
A blur tore through the mist.
Marin’s instincts scread.
She turned—
Too late.
A figure burst out from the storm like a phantom breaking free from the abyss.
Rey.
His coat in tatters.
His body lined with cuts.
Frost clinging to his limbs like chains that refused to let go.
And in his hand—
A dagger.
He didn’t slow down.
Didn’t hesitate.
Didn’t think.
He rushed toward her.
Icicles fired.
Dozens.
They t him head-on.
And shattered.
His dagger moved like a streak of light, every strike precise, every motion refined to a level that didn’t belong to soone of his stage.
Each icicle exploded on contact—
Not one slipping past.
Gasps echoed across the stadium.
Even the nobles leaned forward.
Because this—
Wasn’t luck.
This was skill.
Pure.
Terrifying skill.
He closed the distance.
Marin’s eyes widened.
For the first ti—
Shock broke through her composure.
In the stands, Gravion’s gaze sharpened.
That shock—
Turned into sothing else.
Greed.
A slow smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
'He doesn’t exist in my past…
And yet—
He stands here.'
Alive.
Dangerous.
A piece that shouldn’t exist.
And that made him—
Valuable.
“I need him.”
The thought ford instantly.
Cold.
Certain.
'Before anyone else does.'
Back on the field—
The clash began.
Steel t frost.
Rey struck first—
Marin answered.
Her palm, coated in ice, collided with his blade.
Frost spread instantly across the point of contact, creeping along his weapon like a living thing.
Rey pulled back.
Adjusted.
Struck again.
Close combat.
The last place an archer should be.
And yet—
He held.
Barely.
Because the mont they exchanged blows—
He understood.
She wasn’t weak here.
Her control may have faltered at range…
But up close—
She was still a monster.
Each strike carried weight.
Each touch spread ice.
Each second drained him further.
His right arm—
Sluggish.
His leg—
Unstable.
The damage from earlier hadn’t disappeared.
It had only been waiting.
And now—
It was catching up.
Still—
He didn’t retreat.
Because he couldn’t.
Ti.
That was the only thing that mattered now.
Seconds ticked away.
The crowd split.
Half roaring for Marin.
Half rising for Rey.
But numbers didn’t matter.
Because on the field—
There were only two people.
And both were reaching their limits.
Marin’s face had gone pale.
Her breathing uneven.
Frost creeping uncontrollably across her skin.
Rey wasn’t better.
His mana burned violently just to keep his dagger from freezing mid-strike.
His body scread.
His limbs protested.
But still—
He moved.
Because stopping ant losing.
And losing—
ant getting dragged into sothing far worse than defeat.
Thirty seconds.
His eyes flicked upward.
It felt like an eternity.
Every second stretched.
Every movent slowed.
Every breath weighed heavier than the last.
'I have to end it.'
Now.
He stepped in.
A single strike.
Clean.
Precise.
Not to kill.
Just to force distance.
But—
Marin didn’t move.
She stepped into it.
The blade pierced her palm.
Straight through.
Blood spilled.
The crowd gasped.
Rey froze.
For a fraction of a second.
And that—
Was all she needed.
Her fingers tightened around the blade.
Holding it.
Trapping it.
Rey’s eyes widened.
Because her face—
Was smiling.
Not calm.
Not composed.
Mad.
Blood stained her lips.
Her breath uneven.
Her eyes—
Burning.
“I got you…”
Her voice was soft.
But it echoed like a death sentence.
And in that mont—
Rey understood.
He hadn’t cornered her.
He had walked straight into her trap.
Her fingers tightened.
The dagger didn’t fall.
It stayed—
Locked in her palm.
And before Rey could react—
Her other hand moved.
A terrifying surge of icy energy condensed into her palm, dense and violent, the air around it distorting from the sheer concentration of power.
Then—
She struck.
It landed square on his chest.
The impact didn’t sound loud.
But it felt like the entire world had collapsed onto him.
Rey’s body was thrown back, his feet leaving the ground as he crashed hard, the breath ripped out of his lungs in an instant.
Ice spread.
From the point of impact—
Across his chest.
It didn’t stop there.
It seeped inward.
Through flesh.
Through bone.
His ribs scread.
Sothing cracked.
His heart—
Stuttered.
Cold.
Unnatural.
Invading.
Rey’s body trembled violently as he hit the ground, his hand instinctively clutching his chest as if trying to rip the ice out from inside.
His breath ca out in broken fragnts.
Air wouldn’t fill his lungs.
His body temperature plumted.
And for a mont—
Everything went dim.
Marin stood above him.
Silent.
Her palm still dripping with blood.
She pulled the dagger out slowly, her expression unchanged, before tossing it aside without even looking at it.
Then—
She stepped forward.
One step.
Then another.
Toward him.
Rey’s vision blurred.
The world felt distant.
Muted.
His body refused to respond.
The icy energy inside him spread further, gnawing at his organs, freezing his insides inch by inch.
This wasn’t just damage.
This was ending him.
The referee tensed.
His foot shifted forward.
He was ready to stop it.
Because one more strike—
Wouldn’t be a match.
It would be execution.
Marin stopped in front of Rey.
Her hand rose again.
The energy this ti—
Even sharper.
Even colder.
No restraint.
No hesitation.
She brought it down.
And then—
Nothing happened.
Her body froze.
The energy dissipated.
Her hand trembled—
And she collapsed.
Silently.
No dramatic fall.
No final cry.
She just—
Dropped.
The stadium went still.
No one understood.
No one moved.
Rey lay there.
Barely breathing.
Barely conscious.
Beside him—
Marin.
Motionless.
The referee hesitated.
Then moved.
Slowly.
Carefully.
He knelt beside her.
Two fingers pressed against her pulse.
A pause.
Then—
A breath of relief.
“She’s unconscious…”
He looked at Rey next.
Alive.
But just barely.
The man froze.
Because now—
The decision fell on him.
“Sir… both contestants are unable to continue. Contestant Marin has lost consciousness… the other is still barely conscious, but in critical condition. What should I declare?”
Silence answered him.
Seconds stretched.
The entire stadium waited.
Then—
A voice ca through.
Low.
Cold.
Absolute.
“Declare it...”
The words that followed—
Made his heart skip.
But he obeyed.
He stood.
Turned.
Raised his voice.
“By the rules of the tournant—”
His throat felt dry.
“The only contestant still conscious on the field…”
A pause.
“…ID 19,082—”
“—is declared the winner!”
The silence shattered.
Chaos erupted.
“No way!”
“This is rigged!”
“Marin was dominating!”
Voices rose.
Anger spread like wildfire.
“That’s unfair!”
“Our Ice Queen is the real winner!”
The pressure turned hostile.
Ugly.
The referee stepped back, sweat forming on his forehead.
The crowd didn’t stop.
Because to them—
They had already decided the outco.
And this—
Was wrong.
The Host stepped forward instantly.
“Silence!”
His voice cut through the chaos like a blade.
“The result is not biased.”
His gaze swept across the stands.
Cold.
Unyielding.
“The rule is clear. Victory belongs to the one who remains conscious.”
He pointed toward the field.
“One stands.”
“One has fallen.”
“If this were a real battle—”
His voice dropped.
“The one still breathing would walk away alive.”
Silence flickered.
But it didn’t last.
“Then disqualify him!”
The voice ca from the crowd.
Sharp.
Calculated.
“He used a hidden weapon!”
The words hit.
Hard.
A ripple spread instantly.
“Yes!”
“He must be disqualified from the tournant!”
“That’s against the rules!”
The narrative shifted.
Twisted.
“Just like the poison case!”
“Throw him out!”
The anger found direction.
Rey.
The referee froze.
The Host’s expression darkened.
Because now—
This wasn’t about the match anymore.
This was a storm.
One that could spiral out of control.
Up in the stands—
Hosric’s fists clenched.
His eyes burned.
Beside him—
Edvarin said nothing.
But the armrest beneath his hand—
Had already shattered.
The pressure was rising.
The crowd wasn’t backing down.
They wanted justice.
They wanted punishnt.
And they had found their target.
Down on the field—
Rey lay there.
Barely conscious.
Unaware.
Of the storm rising above him.
A storm that might decide—
Whether his victory would stand.
Or be erased.
And this ti—
It wasn’t strength that would decide it.
It was power.
Influence.
And who chose—
To step in.
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