CHAPTER 13: ARCADE ACADEMY (3)

Chapter 13 – Arcade Academy (4)

The Colosseum was deathly silent. All the murmurs, the arrogant whispers of noble heirs, the excited chatter of spectators—everything died the moment Michael Willson raised his blade.

Unlike the others, there was no grand flourish, no proud family stance, no blessed aura spilling into the air. His posture was simple, almost plain. Yet his stillness drew the eye more than any noble’s polished form.

Alastor Greythorn’s gray eyes narrowed. He’d watched dozens of students already, each showing pride in their training and lineage. But this one... this one carried himself differently. His body relaxed, his breathing unhurried—like a predator waiting to strike.

"Begin," Alastor said, his voice calm.

Michael’s feet shifted. The next instant, he moved.

---

Michael lunged, blade flashing in a clean arc.

Sword Slash.

The strike wasn’t ornate, but the precision was frightening. Alastor’s wooden sword intercepted, but the force behind it made his wrist twitch slightly. His eyes sharpened—this wasn’t the clumsy swing of an F-rank hopeful.

Michael didn’t stop. He pivoted smoothly, chaining a second slash, then a third. His blade flowed like water, each strike sharper than the last. Alastor blocked them all, his feet unmoving. The boy’s technique wasn’t refined like Leon’s or dazzling like Aiden’s—it was efficient, controlled, dangerous.

Whispers rippled through the stands.

"Who is that? A hidden noble heir?"

"No, I’ve never seen his crest... could he be a commoner?"

"That speed... it’s not normal."

Alastor’s lips curled faintly. "Good form. But technique alone won’t break me."

He suddenly shifted, his wooden sword thrusting forward with terrifying speed. Michael twisted, dodging by a hair. His heart thudded—that was faster than any F-rank should endure.

’ This is exactly like the game, Michael thought, recalling the trial sequence. Alastor won’t move his feet. That’s the opening.’

He darted in again, blade flashing. Alastor’s parries grew sharper, testing him. The sound of wood striking steel echoed like thunder.

---

Michael leapt back, mana flaring. He raised his free hand.

Ice Bullet.

Shards of frost materialized, shooting forward in rapid succession. Alastor swept his sword, shattering them mid-air. Michael followed instantly, thrusting his blade again.

Sword Slash – Frost Infusion. Ice crystals coated the steel, the strike biting colder. Alastor blocked, his wooden sword frosting at the edge.

"Elemental infusion. Hm. Rare for a sword user at your level," Alastor muttered, intrigued.

Michael’s mana pulsed again. A wall of jagged ice formed before him.

Ice Shield.

Alastor’s strike shattered it like glass, but Michael had already vanished around the side. His blade darted low, nearly grazing Alastor’s ribs. The instructor deflected it at the last instant, his eyes narrowing.

’ He’s reading my moves faster than expected... but I’ve barely begun, Michael thought, gripping his sword tighter.’

---

’ The Shadow Dance’

Shadow Dace ( Purple) level skill he created by using 12000SP

Michael whispered softly, mana twisting.

Shadow Swap.

His form flickered, vanishing into a patch of shadow behind Alastor. His blade slashed down in silence. The instructor parried without turning his head, sparks flying.

"Deception. Clever," Alastor murmured.

Michael reappeared, launching another flurry of strike after strike, shadows flickering as he swapped positions unpredictably. For the first time, Alastor’s feet shifted slightly, his stance adjusting. The crowd gasped.

"The instructor moved!"

"What kind of skill is that?!"

Michael’s chest heaved, sweat dripping. Maintaining both frost and shadow drained him fast. He gritted his teeth.

’ I can’t reveal Space Affinity. Not here. Not yet. But if I want to push him—I’ll need everything else.’

Michael pulled a small vial from his belt—the potion he’d purchased earlier. Without hesitation, he downed it.

Mana surged violently through him, his strength spiking. His blade trembled with new power.

"Ah," Alastor muttered, recognizing the shift.

."So you’ve prepared."

Michael roared, charging forward. His strikes grew heavier, faster, each blow forcing Alastor’s wooden sword back. Frost coated the ground as Frost Forge activated, layering his blade in biting cold. Every clash sent shards of ice scattering.

"Impressive," Alastor admitted.

"You fight like a man, not a boy."

Michael ignored the words, chaining spells and slashes.

Ice Bullet – Rapid Volley.

Sword Slash.

Shadow Swap – Dual Strike.

The arena became a storm of steel and frost. Even Alastor’s calm expression shifted slightly, his arms tightening against the relentless assault.

Whispers turned into shouts from the stands.

"He’s pushing Instructor Alastor back!"

"Impossible! He’s only supposed to be F-rank!"

"Who is that boy?!"

---

The Mana Manipulate Traits effect burned through Michael’s veins, but he could feel its time ticking down. His mana reserves were nearly gone. His chest heaved, lungs burning.

Alastor’s gray eyes locked on him, sharp and cold. "If that’s all, boy, then yield. You’ve done well."

Michael smirked faintly. "Not yet."

He raised his blade, frost swirling violently. His mana core throbbed painfully, but he poured everything into one final strike.

Frost Breaker.

The sword gleamed with icy brilliance, the air crackling with cold. Michael lunged, his body moving faster than before, the ground cracking beneath his feet.

Alastor’s eyes widened faintly as the boy wasn’t hesitating, wasn’t holding anything back. His strike carried the weight of someone fighting for his life, not an exam.

Their blades met.

CRAAACK!

Frost exploded outward, coating the arena floor in jagged ice. The sound of steel and wood clashing echoed like thunder. For a moment, even Alastor had to plant his feet firmly, resisting the crushing pressure.

The crowd held their breath.

Then Michael’s sword sliced through the air, slipping past Alastor’s guard by a hair.

Alastor tilted his head, the blade grazing a strand of his gray hair before stopping an inch from his neck.

Silence.

Michael’s sword dropped. His legs buckled. His mana was gone. He collapsed to one knee, chest heaving, vision swimming.

"That’s it... I’m empty..."

---

The arena erupted in chaos. Shouts, cheers, disbelief.

Alastor looked down at the boy, his calm expression unreadable. Slowly, he lowered his wooden sword.

"Pass."

The word echoed like a hammer.

Gasps rippled across the Colosseum. Nobles gaped, commoners roared in excitement. Even the other candidates stared wide-eyed Leon, Aiden, Selena, Aurelia, Edric—all with different expressions.

Alastor finally spoke louder, his voice reaching all.

"This boy... fought with nothing but will, cunning, and power he forged for himself. He hid no fear, no hesitation. Remember all ofyou have to like him remeber his name—Michael Willson."

The roar of the crowd shook the arena.

Michael barely heard it. His vision blurred, his body trembling from mana exhaustion. Inside his head, the system chimed.

[Congratulations, Host. Hidden Requirement Achieved.]

[Reward Granted: +20 Stats]

Michael’s eyes widened faintly before darkness pulled him under.

The last thing he heard was the Colosseum still chanting his name.

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