Staring intently at the doorway leading to the arena, Riven waited for the outcome of Jayce and Silvia's match. Fortunately, he didn't have to wait long. Silvia strode confidently through the entrance, her face barely touched by sweat. The sharpness of her stride hinted at a decisive victory, and Riven's gut churned as his suspicions were confirmed. Jayce was nowhere to be seen, likely recovering in the healer's quarters.
Damn. I thought they were all close in power. If she beat him that easily, I can't afford to be arrogant in my next matches.
The faint glow of Riven's stone token caught his eye as new runes etched themselves into its surface, signaling his next match. His lips curled into a grim smile. Guess I won't have to face Silvia's wrath just yet. My next opponent is… Julius Petralis? He frowned, the name stirring a vague familiarity. Odd. I don't think I've ever sparred with him before. What's his soul type again?
He delved into his memories, sifting through the family names prevalent in this side of the empire and their notable members, but nothing about Julius stood out. Before he could piece it together, a sudden tremor rippled through the arena, shaking the very ground beneath his feet.
The booming voice of a man clad in radiant white armor echoed across the space. "Congratulations to those who have made it this far. The battlefield will now be changed for the upcoming rounds. You have one hour to rest and prepare."
Riven exhaled, letting go of his unease over Julius. Plenty of time to focus. He sat on a bench and closed his eyes, falling into the steady rhythm of meditation. Basic mana breathing techniques will do. Flush out the old and altered mana—better safe than sorry.
The hour passed in what felt like seconds. Riven opened his eyes to find the hunter gesturing toward him. Understanding it was time, he stood, adjusted his stance, and walked toward the arena.
The battlefield had transformed. It was now a quarter of its previous size, with marble and stone pillars scattered across the space. The once varied elevation had flattened into a simpler terrain, forcing a more direct confrontation. Riven stepped onto his side of the arena, his sharp eyes catching sight of Julius on the opposite end.
Julius's dark green hair, long and flowing, framed his face like a cascade of vines. His hand loosened the pouch strapped to his hip—a simple, unassuming bag of brown cloth tied shut with a white string. Riven narrowed his gaze. What could be in there? It's probably not an artifact if the invigilators allowed it.
Julius balled his right hand into a fist, taking a combat stance. Riven's lips twitched into a smirk. Fine. Whatever tricks he's hiding, I'll end this before he even gets the chance to use them.
The referee raised his hands, signaling the start of the match.
Riven wasted no time. Pouring fifty percent of his mana into his body—most of it concentrated in his legs—he launched himself toward Julius at incredible speed. Julius didn't flinch. Calmly, he reached into the pouch, pulled out a small black seed, and dropped it onto the ground.
Just as Riven prepared to land a blow, the ground erupted beneath him. Thick, green vines and roots surged upward, creating a dense wall of foliage. Riven cursed under his breath but didn't hesitate. Drawing his fist back, he punched through the barrier, sending shards of plant matter flying in all directions.
Before he could locate Julius, a blur of movement appeared behind him. Riven whirled around just in time to see Julius's fist—encased in a gauntlet of twisting vines—hurtling toward his head. Reacting instinctively, Riven redirected his mana, reinforcing his skull to absorb the impact.
The gauntlet struck with immense force, its vines growing thicker and harder upon contact, consuming the concentration of mana. Pain exploded in Riven's head as he staggered sideways, blood dripping from a cut where the vines had torn through his skin. What the hell was that?
Julius didn't press the advantage. Instead, he repositioned himself, visibly straining under the weight of the now-massive gauntlet.
Riven shook his head, clearing the ringing from his ears. Spotting a cluster of stone pillars nearby, he sprinted toward them, seeking cover. He leaned against one, breathing heavily.
That gauntlet… it absorbed at least thirty percent of my active mana. And those vines—creating walls so quickly. Is this the power of the Petralis family? Damn. I've really underestimated the nobles.
A faint sound caught his attention. His eyes darted down to see a thumb-sized seed roll to a stop beside him.
Cursing, Riven pumped thirty percent of his remaining mana into his legs and dove aside just as the ground where he'd stood erupted into jagged, dried vines. As he scrambled to his feet, Julius was already upon him, swinging the gauntlet toward his head once more.
This time, Riven was ready. Pouring his remaining thirty percent into his fist, he aimed a counterpunch at the gauntlet, knocking it off course. Julius staggered, the gauntlet's weight throwing him off balance. Seeing his chance, Riven surged forward with a palm strike aimed at Julius's neck.
Before the blow could connect, Julius opened his hand, releasing a handful of seeds. The ground between them erupted into a thicket of thorny vines, shredding Riven's left arm and forcing him to retreat.
Panting, Riven inspected the damage. His left arm was riddled with cuts and embedded splinters. Damn it. I can't waste time pulling these out.
The crowd roared, sensing the fight's climax. With one arm limp to his side Riven clenched his right fist. I've only got ten percent of my mana left. He's out of seeds, but that gauntlet is still a problem.
Circling around the vine barrier, Riven found Julius clutching his chest, clearly wounded. Julius noticed Riven and rushed forward, his gauntlet aimed for a final blow.
Perfect.
Riven waited until the last moment, then ducked, sweeping Julius's legs out from under him. As Julius fell, Riven drove an uppercut into his jaw. The impact sent Julius sprawling onto his back.
For a moment, Riven hesitated, unsure if the match was over. Then the referee stepped forward, raising his hand.
"Winner, Riven Stormbrand!"
As the referee raised his hand to announce the victor, the arena erupted with deafening cheers, as though Riven had just claimed the championship title. The sheer enthusiasm of the crowd was overwhelming, a cacophony of voices blending into a thunderous roar. Slightly bewildered, Riven raised his head, scanning the stands for his parents. But they were nowhere to be seen.
Lowering his gaze, his heart skipped a beat as he noticed a hulking black figure looming over him from the sidelines. Startled, Riven leapt back, channeling the last dregs of mana into his body.
"Easy, Riv." His mother's calm, familiar voice cut through his panic, and he immediately relaxed. The black figure shifted, revealing itself to be Corvax, the massive shadow-winged beast. His mother stood beside it, her face adorned with a proud smile.
"Well done," she said warmly. "You've really outdone yourself this time."
His father's voice followed, a deep and approving tone. "Yeah, that was incredible. You've got some serious talent, son."
Riven couldn't help but feel a spark of pride at their praise, but his brow furrowed in confusion. Why does this feel like a farewell? Isn't there still the finals to compete in?
His mother seemed to read his expression. She hesitated for a moment, her smile turning solemn. "Sorry, Riv. We're not allowed to say more. Good luck."
Before Riven could respond, the referee suddenly appeared between him and his family, his presence sharp and commanding. Corvax spread its enormous wings, and Riven's parents climbed onto its back without another word. With a powerful thrust, the bird took to the skies, disappearing beyond the arena walls.
The referee cleared his throat, gesturing toward the door leading back to the waiting area. Riven nodded, giving one last glance at the sky before making his way inside.
As he stepped through the entrance, he noticed the space was eerily quiet. The once-bustling room was now deserted, not even the servants of the noble families remained. Only two figures stood near the far side of the room: the hunter and the royal knight. They appeared to be speaking to two women—Silvia and another girl.
The second girl immediately caught Riven's attention. She was shorter than Silvia, her pink hair framing a heart-shaped face that might have been considered cute if it weren't so clouded with anxiety. She looked utterly defeated, as though the outcome of her next match had already been decided.
Riven recognized her: Lili Faerhart, from the Faerhart family. While her family specialized in beast breeding research, they lacked the prestige and power of other notable families. Lili's soul was veiled, just like Silvia's, but the contrast between the two women couldn't have been starker.
Silvia exuded calm confidence, completely unfazed by the prospect of her next battle. Meanwhile, Lili seemed ready to crumble under the weight of her nerves.
Riven sat down on a nearby bench, letting his thoughts wander as a man dressed in a healer's robe approached to patch him up for the finals. He put his arm out as his mind replayed the last two matches. Both Lira and Julius had pushed him to his limits with techniques that were leagues ahead of what he'd faced before.
They were stronger than I expected. Almost strong enough to beat me. If Silvia is in the same league—or stronger—this isn't going to be simple.
He sighed, leaning back against the wall as he glanced at the two women preparing to leave. Nothing I can do about it now except wait for my turn.
With that thought, he watched as Silvia and Lili exited the room, heading toward the battlegrounds.