The colosseum stood silent under the endless blue sky, concrete tiers baking in the sun. Commoners clustered on the left galleries in loose, buzzing groups—knees pulled up, elbows on thighs, voices overlapping in constant excitement. Nobles took the right side in rigid, separated rows—postures perfect, faces still pale from the prayer hall miracle, lips pressed thin.

Elowen Voss stood at the center of the sand-strewn arena floor—golden hair blazing like a crown, emerald eyes sharp as daggers.

Beside her, Mira Hale shifted uncomfortably, thighs clenched tight to keep Aiden’s thick load from leaking further down her stockings. Every small movement made the warm cum shift inside her—slick, heavy, reminding her of the claiming bites on her neck and breast hidden beneath her cape. She bit her lip, trying to focus on Elowen’s voice.

“Students,” Elowen began—voice magically amplified, cutting through the murmurs like a blade, “this is the third and final trial: Trial by Combat. No stages. No rounds. No healing between matches. One-on-one face-offs. Randomly matched. The goal is simple: prove who is stronger.”

She paced slowly—heels clicking on sand.

“Rules are as follows. Combat continues until one combatant either verbally surrenders or is physically unable to continue. There are no kills. There are no maimings. But there is also no mercy. If you fall unconscious, if you cannot rise, if you beg for it to stop—you lose. Mana exhaustion counts as inability to continue. Weapons, spells, summons, artifacts—all permitted. No restrictions beyond the academy’s basic safety wards. Those will prevent death. They will not prevent pain.”

A ripple of nervous laughter and sharp intakes of breath rolled through the galleries.

Elowen’s gaze swept upward—past the commoner cheers, past the noble silence—until it landed on the highest gallery.

Aiden sat there—legs spread wide, Nyxion and Selvara tucked against his sides, his arms draped possessively over their shoulders. Luna perched sideways on his lap—facing him, arms looped around his neck, cheek pressed to his chest, tail swishing lazily. The rest of his wives formed a protective semicircle behind him—Thristle cracking knuckles, Venya rumbling, Valeforia and Xylendra mirroring excitement, Lysandra calm, Vegia fidgeting, Aethoniel peeking nervously, Zerra bouncing, Liana dangling legs over the edge.

Mira’s eyes locked on the scene.

She felt something twist hard in her chest.

Jealousy? Longing? She didn’t know the name for it. She’d never felt this before—not for anyone. Seeing Luna nuzzle his neck, Selvara lean into his side, Nyxion’s tail curl around his leg… it hurt. A dull, aching pain right behind her ribs. *Why does my heart hurt like this?* she thought, fingers curling into fists at her sides. *It’s like… I want to be part of that. Sitting there. Held like that. Loved like that.*

She swallowed—throat tight. *I’m a professor. He’s a student. This is wrong.* But the thought rang hollow. The memory of his cock stretching her, his teeth marking her neck, his cum still warm inside her womb—it drowned out everything else.

She clenched harder. More cum threatened to drip. She whimpered softly—barely audible.

Elowen’s voice cut through again—cold, final.

“Matches already been fixed at random. Names will appear above the arena floor. When your name glows, step to the center. Refusal to fight is immediate forfeit. Interference from outside the ring is immediate disqualification—for both parties.”

—

The tunnel leading to the arena was dimly lit by floating lanterns that cast long, flickering shadows on the stone walls. The air was cooler here, carrying the faint echo of the crowd’s distant murmurs. Two commoner students stood alone in the narrow passage — a boy and a girl who had known each other since childhood.

He stood in front of her, arms crossed over his chest.

He was a decent-looking commoner boy of nineteenth — lean but toned from years of helping his father at the forge, with messy brown hair that fell into his warm brown eyes and a boyish face that still carried the softness of youth. His crimson-and-gold uniform fit him well, the blazer slightly rumpled, trousers hugging strong legs.

She stood opposite him, back pressed to the cold stone, looking worried and scared. She was a pretty commoner girl with long brown hair tied in a neat ponytail that swayed every time she shifted nervously. Her warm brown eyes were wide with anxiety. The academy uniform clung to her curvaceous figure — the blouse strained noticeably over her full C-cup breastt rose and fell with each anxious breath.

Her short pleated skirt rode high on her wide hips, barely covering the generous, round ass that jiggled slightly whenever she moved. The fabric hugged her thick thighs and plump cheeks, making the uniform look almost scandalous on her.

“Why did the random matchmaker have to set me up with a noble?” she whispered, voice trembling. “I can’t win, I just can’t. He’s going to destroy me in seconds.”

He sighed, stepping closer. “Mee…” He used the childhood nickname he’d always called her, voice gentle. “Even if you can’t win… give your best. I’ve known you since we were kids. You always give your best.”

Mee looked up at him, ponytail swinging. “Kee…” she replied with her own nickname for him, biting her lip. “I don’t know if I can. He’s noble. I’m just… me.”

Kee sighed again, softer this time. “Mee… turn that way.”

“W-what?” She stared at him, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Why?”

“Just turn over… come on,” he urged, voice playful but insistent.

She eyed him warily. “It better not be something perverted.”

Still suspicious, she turned — facing the wall, hands pressed flat against the cool stone, round ass now presented toward him. The short skirt rode up even higher, the hem barely covering the lower curve of her plump cheeks.

“You pain me, dear. I would ne—”

Before he finished the sentence, his hand swung.

*SLAP!*

The sound cracked through the tunnel like a whip — loud, sharp, echoing off the stone walls. His open palm connected perfectly with her right ass cheek through the pleated skirt. The impact was hard enough to make her entire round ass jiggle violently, the force rippling through the soft, heavy flesh. A deep red handprint bloomed instantly beneath the fabric — though he couldn’t see it yet — the skin beneath turning hot and stinging.

A sharp, high-pitched cry tore from Mee’s mouth. “KYAA—!”

Her knees buckled instantly. She dropped forward — falling onto all fours, face nearly touching the floor, ass raised high toward him like an offering. Comical wisps of smoke seemed to rise from the impact site, the red handprint throbbing visibly even through the skirt. Her plump cheeks quivered, the skirt flipped up slightly from the force, revealing the lower curve of her round ass and the edge of plain white panties stretched tight over the generous globes.

Kee looked at his tingling palm, then at her raised ass — a slow, satisfied grin spreading across his face.

“Hmm… soft. Very soft.”

Mee whipped her head over her shoulder — eyes wide with tears at the corners, cheeks burning with embarrassment and anger. “WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!”

Kee smiled innocently, dropping his hand to his side. “Did that calm you down?”

She was dumbfounded — mouth opening and closing like a fish. “H-huh?! Kee…! You…! You just slapped my ass! In the middle of a tunnel! Before a duel!”

He shrugged, still grinning. “You were panicking. Needed a reset.”

“I—I am gonna—!”

He walked closer and offered his hand to her, her hands still rubbing her stinging, throbbing ass cheek.

She took a shaky breath — then reached out and took his offered hand. He helped her to her feet — gentle, steady.

Her hand stayed on her ass — rubbing the deep red print through the skirt.

The red handprint burned hot under her palm, making her wince with every touch. “That really hurt, you idiot!”

Kee stepped closer, voice softening. “Mee… how about this.” He smirked, eyes gentle. “If you go out there… give your all… I’ll tell you something. Something I’ve always wanted to say… but I never could.”

Her heart skipped a beat. Her angry expression faltered — cheeks turning a softer shade of pink. “Uhh… what? A secret?”

He nodded — serious now. “Yeah. A secret. But only if you fight like you mean it.”

She stared at him — breath hitching, hand still absently rubbing her sore, round ass. The sting was still there, but something warmer was spreading in her chest. “Kee… you promise?”

“Promise.”

Then he told her again.

“Mee…” He smiled — boyish and warm. “You’ll be fine. Just remember — give it everything.”

He placed both hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her toward the arena entrance. “Mee… let’s go.”

“Huh—! Wait, Kee—! Let me at least prepare my courage!” she yelped, stumbling forward as he guided her.

“Just go,” he teased, giving her one last gentle shove. “You’ve got this.”

The bright sunlight of the colosseum hit her eyes as she stepped out. The roar of the crowd washed over her — students filling the galleries, names already glowing above the arena floor.

Amelia Wystan vs. Harlan Flueron.

Mira — standing at the edge of the stage — smiled warmly toward her.

Mee glanced back once — into the tunnel.

Kee stood there — giving her a bright, childish thumbs-up and that same heart-melting smile he’d always had.

She smiled back — small, nervous, but determined — and walked toward the center of the arena.

On the stage, two figures now stood face to face.

A nervous commoner girl—fists clenched, stance shaky.

“I can do this.”

A smirking noble boy—arrogant, sword already drawn.

“I am going to show this mudblood her place.”

Elowen’s voice rang out—cold, final.

“First duel begins… now.”

—

END OF CHAPTER : 268 : THE THIRD TRIAL BEGINS!

—

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep