Right before Holand's blade could crash down on Arpheus, the younger man did the unthinkable.
He sat down.
CRASH!
Holand's momentum carried him forward, and he smashed face-first into the hard concrete platform with an audible thud. The impact echoed across the arena like a thunderclap.
"ARGHHH!" Holand roared, clutching his right shoulder as he rolled onto his back. Pain radiated through his arm—his shoulder was dislocated. Again.
The hell is wrong with this kid? Holand seethed, glaring at Arpheus with a mix of fury and disbelief. How does he keep getting away with this crap?!
Arpheus tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. His tone was cold, detached, like he couldn't care less. "You sure you're good to keep fighting? That looked like it hurt."
Holand's face turned red—partly from rage, partly from the humiliation of being played like a fool. "YOU FUCKING IDIOT!" he bellowed, his voice cracking under the weight of his fury. "I'LL KILL YOU!"
The crowd, which had been murmuring among themselves moments before, went silent. Every eye was now on Holand and Arpheus. The tension was thick, suffocating, as Holand pushed himself to his feet.
His magic flared to life.
Flames erupted around his body, licking at his skin without burning him. The fire formed a blazing armor, radiating heat so intense that the air around him shimmered.
"Okay," Arpheus muttered to himself, his smirk vanishing. "That's new."
The fire cast a hellish glow on Holand's face as he stepped forward, his eyes wild with unrestrained anger. "I'll show you what happens when you mess with an A-rank!"
Arpheus stood his ground, unfazed. "Try me, Holdand."
Holand's eyes twitched. "IT'S HOLAND, YOU IDIOT—!"
He froze mid-sentence. His rage flickered into confusion as his gaze fell on Arpheus's right hand.
A sword materialized there, but it wasn't an ordinary weapon. It was made of light—pure, radiant, golden light that pulsed with an almost divine energy.
"H-HOW... HOW CAN A MERE E-RANK LIKE YOU POSSESS THAT POWER?!" Holand stammered, his voice trembling with a mix of jealousy and disbelief.
Arpheus tilted his head, his expression shifting to one of mock pity. "Face it, Holand. I'm just stronger than you."
The grin that followed wasn't friendly—it was sharp, taunting, almost villainous.
Gasps rippled through the audience.
"How… How can he possess such power?" Faree whispered, her voice barely audible over the crackling of Holand's flames.
Up in the bleachers, Gand and Dan sat frozen, their mouths slightly agape. Neither could form words.
Holand's sword, now wreathed in red-hot flames, trembled in his grip. He took a shaky step back. "Y-YOU'RE NOT THE ARPHEUS I USED TO KNOW…"
Arpheus's gaze hardened, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. "No, I'm not. I've changed."
The words hung in the air, heavy and undeniable.
Holand's shock was quickly swallowed by his rage. With a guttural scream, he charged. "YOU... I WILL KILL YOU!"
His flaming sword blazed brighter as he swung with everything he had.
Slash!
The sound was sickening.
Arpheus's head hit the ground with a dull thud, rolling a few feet before coming to a stop. His lifeless body crumpled to the platform, blood pooling beneath him.
The arena was deathly silent.
Faree's hands flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. "Oh my god…"
"That's what he gets for being so arrogant," someone whispered in the crowd.
"Yeah," another voice chimed in, nodding.
Holand staggered back, chest heaving. Then, a wild grin spread across his face.
"I DID IT! I DEFEATED HIM!" he shouted, throwing his arms into the air. "I'M THE STRONGEST! I'VE BEEN CHOSEN BY GOD!"
The cheers he expected never came.
Instead, a calm, mocking voice cut through the silence.
"What do you mean, defeated me?"
Holand froze. Slowly, he turned to see Arpheus—alive, grinning, and completely unscathed.
"You haven't even moved one bit," Arpheus said, his tone dripping with amusement.
Holand's heart pounded in his chest. He blinked, his mind struggling to process what he was seeing. "W-WHAT…?!"
The platform beneath him shimmered, the scene warping like a mirage.
Suddenly, Holand was standing exactly where he had been moments ago, before he had "killed" Arpheus. The flames around his sword flickered, dimming slightly.
"B-BUT I SWEAR… I KILLED YOU…"
Arpheus chuckled, the sound low and chilling. He leaned back in a golden chair—a throne, noble and regal, that hadn't been there before. It shimmered with the same radiant light as his sword.
"Killed me?" Arpheus repeated, his grin widening. "You haven't moved. Not. Even. One. Centimeter."
Holand's legs buckled. He dropped to his knees, his sword clattering to the ground.
Arpheus had manipulated reality itself. He had created an illusion so vivid, so horrifying, that Holand believed it completely. And then, with a twist of his magic, he erased it, leaving Holand to grapple with the truth—or lack thereof.
Because of luck, the mental strain was too much. Holand's eyes glazed over, his body trembling as he sat back on the platform.
"Arpheus has defeated Holand!" Denarlus's voice rang out, though it lacked the usual triumphant flair. Even he was struggling to comprehend what had just happened.
The crowd erupted into murmurs, their excitement tempered by confusion and unease.
Arpheus walked over to Holand, his steps slow and deliberate. He crouched down in front of him, his expression unreadable.
"I feel bad for you," he said quietly. "I didn't mean for it to go this far."
Before he could do anything more, a hand gripped his shoulder.
"You've already defeated him," Faree said firmly. "Stop it."
Arpheus flicked her hand away without looking at her. "You've got the wrong idea."
He stood, raising his hand over Holand's head.
"System Adjure: Reset. Target: Holand.
Effect: 100%.
Create Reality: Remove debuff."
His voice was steady, commanding.
[Seems that you know about that too ;)] the system chimed in his mind, its tone teasing.
Of course I do, Arpheus replied telepathically. I've known you for 28 years. Though this is the first time you've actually spoken to me.
The system went silent. If it could blush, Arpheus was sure it would be.
A blinding light engulfed Holand, washing over his trembling form. When it faded, the fire was gone, his eyes were clear, and his body was steady.
Holand blinked, looking around in confusion. "W-What just happened…?"
Arpheus stood, offering no explanation. He turned and walked away, his golden sword dissolving into particles of light.
Arpheus didn't even spare a second glance at Holand. He turned his back on him like it was nothing, leaving the air between them thick with the bitter taste of defeat. Holand felt the weight of it. He wanted to lash out, to scream at Arpheus for how he made him feel, but the truth was, every word Arpheus spoke cut deeper than any blade could. And there was no denying it.
Arpheus knew it. Damn him...
The way Arpheus spoke, cold and confident, like he was simply stating a fact, hit harder than a punch. He didn't just talk down to Holand—he commanded it. Like Holand's opinion didn't even matter. Like he wasn't worth the effort of a real conversation. It made Holand's fists clench until his knuckles cracked.
"Holand. Accept it. I. Am. Superior." Arpheus said those words, no hesitation, no malice. Just cold, hard truth. It wasn't a challenge. It wasn't a boast. It was an undeniable fact.
Shit. He's right. The thought flickered in Holand's mind. It tasted bitter, like poison. He hated it. Hated that Arpheus was right. There was nothing he could do about it. He had tried. Oh, he had tried so hard to push past Arpheus, to prove he was the better one, but it wasn't working. Arpheus didn't even break a sweat.
Holand swallowed, his throat dry, the words scraping out of his mouth like he was choking on them. "Yes, I know."
It felt like a surrender, but there was no way around it. The pain of admitting it was worse than any wound he had ever received. His chest tightened, his hands shaking at his sides. His pride? Shattered.
Behind him, the murmurs of the other examinees started up again, a low buzz of disbelief. Holand could hear the whispers, the shocked gasps. For the first time, someone had shown that they were stronger than him. That was the truth, raw and ugly. Shit. I'm not the strongest anymore.
He felt every pair of eyes on him, judging him, noting the cracks in his facade. He could almost hear their thoughts—Oh, look at him. The great Holand, brought low. It made his stomach twist.
He tried to ignore them, but it was impossible. The reality had set in.
The tension in the air thickened until it was suffocating. That's when Denarlus, the examiner who had been standing off to the side, cleared his throat. The sound sliced through the murmuring, drawing everyone's attention back to him.
"Alright," Denarlus started, his voice carrying easily over the crowd, "I will now explain the second test."
The room fell silent immediately. Holand, still trying to regain his composure, found his gaze drifting toward Denarlus. He couldn't help it. He wanted to distract himself from the shame that still burned in his chest. He focused on Denarlus's words, hoping they would drown out the thoughts swirling in his head.
"The second test will take place in the Forest of Shynal."
Shynal. Holand's stomach flipped. Wait. That place?
A girl's voice broke the silence, trembling with concern. "F-Faree... Isn't that the forest where a lot of Wayfinders died?" Her eyes were wide, her face pale. She glanced nervously at the others, as if hoping for reassurance.
The mention of Wayfinders—a group of legendary adventurers known for their skill in surviving the wildest, most dangerous lands—set a chill down Holand's spine. The Forest of Shynal was infamous, feared by everyone who knew its name.
Faree, another examiner, spoke up, her voice soft but steady. "Yes, it may be. But I believe we can survive. If we stick together, we can make it through."
Holand wasn't so sure. Survival was never guaranteed in that cursed forest.
"The rules are simple," Denarlus continued, turning to face them fully. "Everyone will start outside of the forest, separated into five teams. Each team must enter the forest and defeat ten monsters. The first team to defeat ten wins. Sabotaging other teams is allowed."
A low murmur rippled through the group. Sabotage? The idea of attacking others in a test didn't sit well with some, but it was clear that the competition would be fierce. Everyone wanted to win, and winning meant surviving, meant gaining recognition. Denarlus's words made the stakes clear: only one team would win, and the others? They would be left behind.
Holand felt the adrenaline spike in his chest. His body tensed as his mind raced through the possibilities. Ten monsters... that's a lot to take down. And sabotage? He didn't know whether to feel relieved or anxious. On one hand, it gave him an edge. On the other, it meant anything could happen. Anything could go wrong.
"But that'll be it for today," Denarlus said, snapping Holand out of his thoughts. "Rest up. We'll take this up tomorrow."
Just like that, it was over. The tension that had been building in the room for what felt like hours suddenly fizzled out. Some of the examinees looked relieved, others disappointed, but everyone was on edge. The Forest of Shynal was no joke. It wasn't the kind of place you entered lightly.
Holand, still reeling from his earlier encounter with Arpheus, felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. Tomorrow. The test was tomorrow. And it wasn't going to be easy.
He forced himself to stand up straighter, shaking off the fatigue that clung to him. His mind was already spinning with strategy. He couldn't afford to be weak, not in front of Arpheus, not in front of everyone else. He had to push forward. He had to win.
But the Forest of Shynal? The thought made his skin crawl. No one had come out of there unchanged, if they came out at all. Monsters roamed the woods, fierce and untamed. Some were beasts of nightmare, others were worse—creatures that couldn't even be classified. And then there were the hidden dangers: the traps, the pitfalls, the shifting landscapes that made navigation impossible for the unprepared.
Holand couldn't stop thinking about the team dynamics. Five teams... He glanced at the others, sizing them up. Who would I be stuck with? What if my team was weak? What if we failed?
Suddenly, the room felt claustrophobic. Too many eyes. Too many expectations.
"Don't worry, Holand," a voice broke through his spiraling thoughts. He turned to see Faree, the calm one, giving him a reassuring smile. "You'll be fine. Just stick to the plan."