The cheers faded quickly after the second duel. What remained was murmuring quiet, sharp, like knives sliding under armor. In an arena built for honor and displays of power, silence was the highest form of praise. Viella D'Arceon had earned it with her back held straight.
In the noble stands, expressions grew tense not out of fear, but recalculation.
Duke Armand Vaelric spoke without turning his head, his voice low and weighty:
"That girl… she doesn't hesitate to plant fear."
Marchioness Selene Arceval replied softly, "She didn't kill. That's exactly why they fear the threshold she hasn't crossed yet."
Count Riven Destrois smirked while turning a ring on his finger.
"If only she'd been born a man. The Empire's fate might look different."
Baroness Elira Vaunt, still standing near the edge, stared blankly toward the arena.
"She wasn't born to follow fate. She'll rewrite it."
Meanwhile, Emperor remained silent, his expression carved from marble. No praise. No movement.
And Soren , eyes closed as if still asleep in his seat, had not moved since the first duel. Yet everyone knew he heard everything. The Arena Returns to Stillness
Magister Halvran Rusk stepped down into the arena once more. His movements were slow but deliberate, scanning the field.
"Eric Vale of Umbra."
"Choose your opponent."
A boy in a dark brown cloak stepped forward from the Umbra ranks. Dust-colored hair, quiet eyes not filled with hate, but with resolve. He pointed across to Solaria.
"Cedric Valmour."
A few chuckles rose. Cedric, sneering, stood leisurely and dusted off his fine robes.
"You want to lose fast? You could've just knelt."
Eric said nothing. He stepped onto the field and touched the earth beneath him.
"Prepare."
"Begin."
Cedric launched first flames lancing forward like spears, slicing the air. Eric moved only slightly, not countering. The crowd began to murmur.
"He's frozen!"
"Does he even know it's a duel?"
Another fiery burst. Cedric conjured a ring of fire to close in. But the ground beneath Eric rose a half-circle wall of earth blocked the blaze.
The fire clashed with stone and scattered. Eric pressed his palms flat to the earth.
Cracks formed under Cedric's feet. He leapt backward and unleashed a massive fireball.
An explosion followed.
When the smoke cleared, the stone wall had changed. Fine cracks spidered outward, reflecting dim light crude mirrors.
Cedric hurled another fire strike straight at Eric.
And the fire… bounced.
It reflected back.
The blast caught Cedric's own cloak, singeing him with his own flame. He tumbled back, yelling. Clothes burned. Pride scorched.
Eric remained still. He had never thrown a single offensive spell. He had only shaped the battlefield.
"Cedric Valmour," Magister Rusk called, voice flat.
"Do you yield?"
Cedric opened his mouth, then shut it. He coughed then lowered his gaze. He did not stand.
"Victor: Eric Vale."
Silence again.
A farmer's son had just defeated a Viscount's heir without striking once.