CHAPTER 225: CHAPTER 226: THE ICEBOUND ARENA

The arena lights dimmed before shifting focus to the stage once again. The announcer’s voice echoed with practiced excitement:

"Up next! Selene von Iskandar of the Imperial Academy of Valor... versus Varek Moltan of the Academy of Velmora!"

A wave of noise surged through the coliseum—shouts, applause, and some particularly loud roars from the Velmora section.

From the right tunnel, Varek stepped into the light.

He was tall and broad-shouldered, clad in black armor with deep red accents. Two curved horns jutted from his forehead, and though the rest of him was human in appearance, there was something unnatural about the way fire and shadow magic crackled together across his arms. He looked ready to destroy anything in front of him—and the crowd loved it.

Up in the higher seats, Balthor leaned back, smug.

"I’ve got fifty on the horned bastard," he said, flashing his betting slip.

Noel glanced over. "You bet against Selene?"

"She’s small, quiet, and not exactly intimidating," Balthor replied with a shrug. "Thought I’d go for the underdog."

Noel raised an eyebrow. "You just donated your coins to the arena."

Balthor scoffed. "Tch. We’ll see."

From the opposite tunnel, Selene emerged.

Short blue hair framed her face, and her cyan eyes gleamed under the stadium lights. Her deep-blue uniform hugged her frame with clean lines. She moved with silent confidence, her expression neutral, almost bored.

The temperature seemed to dip slightly as she walked to her mark.

’Here we go,’ Noel thought, his gaze fixed on her.

Selene and Varek stopped a few meters apart at the center of the arena.

Varek cracked his neck, flame curling around his fists. "Try not to shatter."

Selene didn’t said anything to the provocation.

The announcer raised his hand.

"Combatants... ready?"

A beat.

"Begin!"

The instant the announcer’s hand dropped, Varek exploded into motion.

His boots slammed against the stone with brute force, fire erupting along his arms as shadows rippled behind him. His hammer glowed a dark crimson, raised high as he charged forward.

The crowd roared.

Selene didn’t move.

Just before the blow landed—

"Gravity Step."

Her figure blurred, vanishing from view for a split second before reappearing behind him with impossible grace.

Varek’s hammer crashed into the arena floor, sending embers scattering—but Selene was already out of reach.

She raised her arm slowly.

A slender wand glinted in her hand, pale blue and crystalline—like it had been carved from pure ice.

The air around her dropped a few degrees.

"Cryo Grasp."

From beneath Varek’s feet, jagged hands of ice shot upward, locking around his ankles and shins with brutal precision.

He snarled, flames surging around his legs as he tried to burn through them.

But Selene was already casting again.

She flicked her wrist lightly, wand pulsing.

"Frozen Lance."

A spear of compacted ice erupted from the tip of her wand and launched forward with a sharp whistle, slamming into the center of Varek’s backplate.

The hit echoed across the arena. Cracks spread across his armor.

He staggered forward with a grunt, nearly falling to his knees.

The crowd gasped.

From above, Noel leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "That didn’t take long."

Balthor grunted, his jaw tight. "She didn’t even move her feet."

Selene remained where she stood—calm, unshaken. Wand lowered, gaze fixed. Her breath didn’t even cloud the air.

Varek finally broke free with a fiery burst, whirling around with rage in his eyes.

But she was already moving again.

Varek roared, flames swirling around him in a violent burst as he broke the last of the frozen restraints.

"Enough!" he shouted, slamming his hammer into the ground.

A shockwave of black fire and shadow rippled outwards, aiming to clear the space between them.

Selene didn’t even blink.

She raised her wand.

"Gravition Hold."

A sudden pulse of pressure slammed down on Varek from above. His movement slowed mid-swing—his legs buckling slightly under the abrupt weight.

His next step dragged awkwardly across the stone. The shockwave lost momentum before even reaching her.

He cursed under his breath, trying to lift his weapon. "Damn you—!"

Selene moved forward, each step quiet and deliberate, her short blue hair brushing against her cheeks as the wind picked up.

She lifted her wand again.

"Glacial Thrust."

A thin spike of ice shot out like a needle, grazing his thigh and tearing through part of the joint plating. Varek stumbled again, now visibly limping.

He tried to back away, panting, muttering something—maybe a chant, maybe a curse—but the spell never came.

Selene didn’t stop.

Another step. Then another.

Her presence was heavier than the gravity spell itself.

Noel observed from above, arms crossed.

"She’s not just overpowering him," he murmured. "She’s dismantling him."

Balthor didn’t respond this time.

Below, Varek tried one last time to gather mana around his hammer. The flames flickered—dim.

Selene raised her wand once more.

A soft breath escaped her lips—white, cold, and calm.

She whispered the words, barely audible even in the silence.

"Frostfall Requiem."

In an instant, the temperature dropped like a stone.

Every breath became mist. The stone beneath her feet crackled with thin webs of ice. Even the torches along the arena’s edge flickered, dimmed, and shrank.

A pulse of mana erupted from Selene’s body—silent, cold, and absolute.

It expanded outward in a perfect ring, like a frozen heartbeat.

Then came the storm.

A dense, blinding blizzard crashed down over the arena floor, centered entirely on Varek. Snow and frost surged around him, wrapping his figure in a cocoon of white. He shouted something, but the sound vanished beneath the roar of the wind and the hiss of a thousand microscopic needles of ice.

Noel squinted through the swirling frost. "There’s no counter for that..."

In the center of the storm, Varek’s defensive artifact flared—a solid orange dome snapping around him just in time. The blizzard hammered it relentlessly, the glow holding firm despite the barrage.

For several long seconds, it withstood the full weight of the storm.

Finally, the snowstorm slowed. The wind fell still. The magic faded.

The crowd exhaled all at once.

The orange light dimmed and collapsed gently, revealing Varek inside—on one knee, shoulders heaving. His armor was cracked in places, the surface glazed with frost, but he was still conscious.

Barely.

Steam rose from his back as heat returned to the air.

He swayed slightly, then collapsed forward, unconscious—but protected.

The bell rang once.

"Victory goes to Selene von Iskandar of the Imperial Academy!"

The crowd erupted, this time with no hesitation. Even students from other academies had to clap. It hadn’t just been a win—it was domination.

Selene turned without a word, lowering her wand and walking back toward the tunnel. She didn’t look at the crowd, or at Varek, or even the announcer.

Noel followed her with his eyes until she disappeared from view.

Balthor let out a long, dramatic sigh beside him.

"Damn it. There goes my bet."

Noel smirked without looking at him. "Told you. You basically handed the arena your wallet."

Balthor rubbed his beard, clearly annoyed. "Yeah, yeah. Next time I listen to the skinny kid with too many secrets."

He stood up and stretched. "Alright. Let’s go. I’ll take you to the betting lounge like I promised."

Noel blinked. "Now?"

"Of course now," Balthor said, already walking. "But first—we need to look the part. They don’t let just anyone in there dressed like a student."

He gave Noel a once-over and grunted. "We’re making a stop at one of the shops I know you look like a beggar now."

Noel raised an eyebrow. "That a real dress code?"

"No," Balthor said, grinning. "But it should be."