Chapter 64: Ripples Through the Ranks
A hush had settled over the arena like a heavy fog, the kind that clung to your skin and refused to be shaken off.
Byron was down.
The realization sank slowly into the minds of the audience—like a dagger driven in silence. He had been one of the academy's proud fourth-year elites. A seasoned warrior, feared and respected. And yet, there he was, slumped and unconscious at the edge of the arena, defeated by someone no one had ever heard of—Contestant 1172.
Even now, that masked figure stood motionless at the center of the arena, their breathing steady, unbothered by the gasps and murmurs that erupted like wildfire across the stands.
From one of the private viewing platforms above, Seraphina narrowed her eyes.
She had watched the match with mild curiosity at first. Byron's fighting style was brutish but effective—built on overwhelming force and relentless pressure. There were very few who could endure it, let alone counter it. But Contestant 1172 hadn't just endured it. They'd picked it apart—calmly, methodically, like they were dissecting a puzzle.
She said nothing, but those close to her caught the briefest flicker in her expression—a faint crease of her brow, a subtle tilt of her head.
For someone like her, that was the equivalent of shock.
In another private booth, Michael Ikner gave a slow exhale, folding his arms as he leaned back against the wall.
"Tch. Overconfidence kills," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "Byron always thought brute strength was enough. He never learned to adapt."
Beside him, a silver-haired instructor raised a brow. "Weren't you advised not to participate in the beginning phase either?"
Michael smirked. "I was. But I'm not Byron."
The crowd continued to buzz with disbelief.
"Was that really Byron?"
"There's no way a fourth-year lost in the qualifiers... that has to be a mistake!"
"No mistake," said one of the senior instructors grimly. "He was warned. Many of the top fourth-years were advised to skip this early stage of the tournament due to the difference in sheer power.—letting the newer students compete, save their strength. But Byron couldn't resist the spotlight. He thought it would be an easy win."
A few stages away, Reynard couldn't help but to look towards bryon fight. The suffocating heat cause by his flame was unbearable enough to make one turn to look at what was happening. The expression on Reynard's face was unreadable, his fingers tapping against his thigh.
"That wasn't luck," he said eventually. "Whoever that person is... they're dangerous."
Dorian watching from his stage, few meters away. Thought.... "Spatial control couldn't track their movement clearly. It's like they were deliberately avoiding predictable steps, as if they could see ahead."
"Maybe a procogniton ability"
"Or just terrifying instinct."
Down near the arena, Professor Marlowe leaned forward in his seat, scribbling notes rapidly. His expression was tense.
"Contestant 1172…," he murmured. "What are you?
Farther back in the stands, gossip spread like wildfire. Some whispered rumors of a hidden prodigy. Others suggested foul play. A few even claimed that the masked contestant was an instructor in disguise, or an elite from another academy sent to test their strength.
But one thing was certain.
The tournament had only just begun… and already, the unexpected had happened.
If Byron could fall, no one was safe.