As ntioned before, Adrian had studied nearly every spell across the categories of elental magic. He had a deep understanding of which spells required which grades of armant—and more importantly, what level of spellcasting each standard weapon allowed.
So, when he saw Averis summon Infernal Cataclysm, his mind instantly flagged a problem.
That spell shouldn’t have been possible—not with a regular tournant-grade armant.
Sothing was off.
But how?
The preparation rooms were always under strict supervision. There was no way the Blackthorn manager could have tampered with Averis’s weapon once inside. The rules were too tight for that.
Then... the only explanation was far more troubling.
Could it be... soone from the inspection team had let it pass?
That was the only path left. If Averis truly wielded a third-grade armant, then she must have been allowed through by a mber of the inspection staff. There was no other way.
And Adrian wasn’t the only one thinking that.
The suspicion was confird when the referee, after a detailed check, turned toward the crowd and made the announcent:
"It’s a third-grade armant! Student Averis, you are hereby eliminated on the charge of cheating!"
Averis’s face went pale. Her lips parted, but no words ca out.
Gasps spread through the arena like wildfire. The mood turned from confusion to outrage.
"She cheated?!"
"No wonder she could stand against the Ice Princess!"
"Disgusting... cheating at this level?"
"But wait... if Elana held her own against that... does that an she cheated too?"
Murmurs turned into sharp whispers, and soon, the whole crowd was buzzing with accusations and doubt.
The storm was only just beginning.
Ariana scoffed, her arms crossed. "Quite the daring."
The Headmaster of Blackthorn remained silent, but his face was red with fury. He clenched his fists, barely containing the urge to confront Dextor right then and there.
anwhile, the other Headmasters sat still, eyes fixed on the scene. They were waiting—hoping—for Elana’s armant to fail the inspection. If she was eliminated... no, if Runebound was eliminated, it would remove one of the strongest contenders from the tournant. And that, to them, would be a victory in itself.
All eyes turned toward the referees, who were now examining the silver-haired girl’s twin batons with sharp focus.
Their brows furrowed as they studied the runes engraved on the weapons. Silent tension filled the air.
Then, one of them turned to Adrian and asked, "Were you the one who tuned this armant?"
Adrian gave a calm nod. "Yes, I did. Is there a problem?"
The referee gestured at the markings. "What dialect is this?"
"The Confluence dialect," Adrian replied smoothly. "Her elent is divergent, so it’s the best match for her resonance."
The referee narrowed his eyes. He pulled out a reference sheet from his pocket and began carefully matching the rune sequences to the standard translations.
That’s when Dextor, who had been stewing in frustration, suddenly barked out, "He’s lying! He must’ve secretly added the third-thread runes too! That’s how she could fight Averis!"
Adrian didn’t flinch. He simply offered Dextor a composed smile.
"Let the referees decide, Mister Dextor," he said. "If I had tampered with her armant, they would see right through it. I trust their judgnt more than your outbursts."
Dextor gritted his teeth, fists trembling at his sides. He had more to say—accusations still burning on his tongue—but he stopped.
Not by choice.
Soone else had stepped in.
"What’s all this fuss about?" ca a smooth, confident voice.
Every head turned.
From the stands, a figure leapt down effortlessly and landed in the center of the arena with a fluid, feline grace. Her heels clicked softly against the stone floor as she rose from her landing, not a strand of hair out of place.
She was impossible to ignore.
Long, violet hair flowed in a high, braided ponytail that swayed with her every step. Her black suit hugged her curves in all the right places—tailored sharp along the waist, and open just enough at the collar to tease the edge of a silver pendant resting against smooth skin.
Confidence shimred from her with every motion, every glance, like a scent in the air.
Her legs were long, her posture straight, and her gaze? Cold, intelligent, and dangerously alluring.
She didn’t need to raise her voice.
She was the kind of woman who made people quiet just by walking into the room.
While the crowd was still captivated by her beauty, Adrian stood frozen—his breath caught in his throat.
Shock struck him like lightning.
His brows furrowed the mont he recognized the woman before him.
Sarah.
Daughter of the living legend, Boridicus Clark.
The second-ranked Warden—a na that echoed through every nation and Tower, spoken with admiration, fear, and reverence. Her past deeds had carved her legacy deep into history.
And to Adrian... she was sothing else entirely.
His forr bully.
’Sarah... why is she here?’ he muttered inwardly, watching her move across the arena with that sa infuriating, graceful confidence.
She made no announcent, no grand gesture—just walked, owning every step. Her expression remained unreadable as she ca to a stop in front of the two bowing referees.
"Lady Sarah," one of them began respectfully, "we are inspecting the armants used in the fifth round. We suspect a violation—one of the weapons or maybe both may be above the allowed second grade."
Sarah gave a faint nod, her violet eyes drifting lazily to the weapons laid out before her.
But then—for just a brief mont—her gaze flicked to Adrian.
Their eyes t.
Adrian’s breath hitched. The mont stretched longer than it should have... but then she looked away.
As if she didn’t recognize him.
A strange, unexpected relief washed over Adrian.
Good. He didn’t want her to rember him. Not because he feared her—those days were far behind him. No, it was sothing else.
He despised her.
And a reunion with Sarah Clark, of all people, was the last thing he wanted.
She picked the batons before humming, "Seems complicated set of runes."
She looked at the runes a few more tis before asking, "Were you the one who tuned it?"
The second ti soone asked this, and Adrian’s answer was the sa, "Yes. I used the confluence dialect."
Sarah humd before she muttered, "I have a special team of Runesmiths. Let them inspect it. You may co with ." She told Adrian.
The referees showed no reluctance and Adrian nodded in assent.
He turned towards Elana and told her, "Go and rest. You have won the battle."
Dextor gritted his teeth in frustration upon hearing that.
However, Adrian ignored him and followed Sarah silently.
They walked through the arena and entered the exit way.
Once they were out of sight, Sarah looked over her shoulder before asking, "Long ti. Did you forget ?"
"..."
°°°°°°°
A/N:- Thanks for reading.
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