Clara's heart pounded as she watched the brutal scene unfold before her. Every agonizing cry from Ethan seemed to echo in her soul, each blow and each word from Leon only deepening her guilt. She had orchestrated this. The kiss, the plan to manipulate Ethan—it all spiraled out of control, and now the consequences of her actions were on full display. Ethan was on the ground, bloodied and broken, all because of her. She had set him up, using his feelings for her in a way she now deeply regretted.
'What if he finds out?' she thought, her stomach knotting in fear. The kiss wasn't genuine, not entirely. It had been a calculated move, a plot to push Ethan toward proposing, something she thought would make everything perfect. But the results had been disastrous. Leon's growing hatred toward Ethan had been exacerbated by her manipulation. Now the duel had spiraled into a deadly confrontation, and she was terrified that when Ethan learned the truth, he would never forgive her.
Clara's hands trembled as she thought about what she had done. The guilt weighed on her like a heavy burden, and she knew that one day, sooner or later, the truth would come out—whether from her own mouth or through someone else's. What scared her most wasn't just the truth coming to light, but what Ethan would do once he found out. She had brought this pain upon him, and now, watching him suffer at Leon's hands, she could barely stand to keep her eyes open.
Leon's assault was merciless, each attack more vicious than the last. He was clearly reveling in the agony he was causing Ethan. Clara wanted to scream, to do something to stop the madness, but she was paralyzed, torn between her shame and fear of facing the consequences of her actions.
Meanwhile, Ethan, despite the torment, fought on. He used the last of his energy to dash toward Leon, his speed suddenly doubling for just a few seconds. He managed to slide under Leon's raised leg and deliver a sharp kick to his nape, followed by a punch to his face with every ounce of strength he had left. He leapt into the air, attempting a final hammer kick, but Leon caught him midair. Without hesitation, Leon used Ethan's body like a ragdoll, slamming him into the ground face-first, blood splattering across the floor.
Ethan's strength was nearly gone. He was on the verge of collapse, but the only ability he hadn't yet used was his Face of Terror—the one weapon he hoped could turn the tide. But there was no opening, no chance to unleash it.
Leon, seething with fury, grabbed Ethan's head and dragged it along the ground, leaving a trail of blood and broken teeth. The sight was too much for most to bear, and many in the crowd averted their eyes, unable to watch any longer. Ethan had fought valiantly, but against an opponent like Leon, someone with access to a Path, it seemed impossible. Even if Leon wasn't using his Path's full power, the transformation alone was enough to overpower Ethan, who was still a Novice Rank mage.
Among the spectators, Trevor and Lamair struggled to keep their composure. Trevor's fists clenched in fury, his eyes glowing red with barely-contained rage. Lamair, too, was livid, his normally calm demeanor replaced with a dark intensity. Both had murder in their eyes as they watched Leon mercilessly brutalize Ethan.
Leon, oblivious to the growing tension in the crowd, continued his sadistic assault. He broke Ethan's fingers one by one, the sound of snapping bones echoing through the arena. Ethan cried out in pain, but even then, he wore a strange, mischievous smile. Leon, enraged by Ethan's defiance, impaled his legs with icy spikes, freezing his blood slowly.
Finally, Leon grabbed Ethan's head once more, lifting him off the ground to look directly into his eyes. "Ethan, Ethan, Ethan. You are so pathetic," he taunted. "Even if you became an Advanced Rank mage, you'd still be nothing to me. A peasant, trying to eat from a table reserved for kings. You're weak, and you'll always be weak."
Ethan, bloodied and beaten, spat out his reply. "Nice speech… coming from a simp," he said, his voice hoarse but defiant. "You beat me today. So what? You had to use every trick in the book just to beat a first-year. Look at me, Leon. Is this the face of someone who's weak?"
Then, Ethan's eyes shifted. They became slitted, like a serpent's, glowing with a blue light. Leon froze, his body suddenly locked in place as terror gripped him.
Ethan's Face of Terror had finally taken hold.
In that instant, Leon found himself in a boundless world of red. The ground beneath him, the air around him—it was all scaly and red, stretching endlessly in every direction. And then, he saw them—massive, glinting black eyes, with a glowing blue third eye at their center, staring down at him from the sky. Leon felt like a grain of sand beneath those eyes, completely insignificant and powerless.
The fear was overwhelming. Just gazing at the serpent was enough to break him.
But in the next moment, Leon was back in the arena, standing above Ethan, who had finally collapsed from exhaustion. The duel was over, but Leon was not celebrating. His heart raced with fear, and his mind was flooded with doubt. He stared at Ethan's unconscious form, a question lingering in his mind: What if he had been the same rank as me? Could I have won?
The crowd was equally shaken. As Algrid announced Leon's victory, calling him the "Tyrant of Ice," the spectators couldn't shake the question that had gripped them all. What if Ethan had been stronger?
The academy's medical team rushed onto the stage, quickly tending to both fighters. Ethan's unconscious body was carried away, but deep inside him, new notifications from the system rang out—a sign that his journey had only just begun. His future power, his legacy, was just on the horizon.
In Helheim, a shadowy figure watched the duel unfold through a magical mirror. She smiled, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Honey is strong… but still weak right now. I'll have to wait a little longer," she whispered.
"But, your Highness," said a servant, Laudi, standing behind her. "You haven't even seen him—her, or… it. You don't even know this being's gender or race—"
"Shut up, Laudi," she snapped. "I know he's male. I can feel it. I don't care what race he is. He's special, and one day, I'll be by his side."
Laudi sighed, knowing better than to argue further. The Queen's obsession with this mysterious being was baffling, but there was no reasoning with her once she had her mind set.
"I just can't wait," the Queen whispered, her voice trembling with excitement. "One day, I'll be in his arms. And we'll do everything together…"