Chapter 25: WHO IS THAT KID AGAIN?

The cheers from Morgan Benedict’s match had only just faded when the arena lights shifted again, focusing on the floating bracket.

“Stage One—Match Six! Token 3 versus Token 14!” the announcement boomed.

Two figures walked out from opposite ends of the arena. Token 3 belonged to Kaelen Dros, a hot-tempered earth mage known for smashing his way through smaller tournaments in the Western Isles. His opponent, Lira Wynn—Token 14—was a wind-element duelist from a lesser-known house, calm and unreadable.

“Never heard of her,” someone from the gallery muttered.

“I have,” another whispered back. “She humiliated two seniors during the regional evaluation trials. Fast hands. Faster mind.”

The referee raised a hand. “Begin!”

Kaelen charged forward immediately, brandishing a hammer of compacted stone. The ground cracked under his steps. Lira didn’t move. Instead, she waited, cloak fluttering. As Kaelen lunged, she sidestepped and released a spiraling wind blade. It clipped his arm. Not deep—but fast.

Kaelen roared and swung, but each of his strikes met air. Lira glided across the arena with silent precision, sending pressure gusts and slashing winds that carved narrow trails through stone.

Then, she lifted both hands. A concentrated blast of wind struck Kaelen square in the chest, knocking him off balance. Before he could recover, another gust slammed into him from below, launching him into the air—and then straight into the arena wall.

He didn’t get up.

“Winner—Token 14, Lira Wynn!”

The crowd erupted. Many had expected Kaelen to overpower her. In the balcony, the nobles gave only polite claps, but the gallery was alive with noise.

While the gallery roared, Lilith Starwind leaned back in her seat, her expression blank. The thrill she’d felt during Morgan Benedict’s match—his silence, his precision, that chilling final blow—had stirred something in her. But now, that spark had vanished. The movements felt slower, the spells less refined. Her eyes drifted to the arena, but her mind was elsewhere. Mediocre, she thought. Even Prince Rowan, seated nearby, seemed to share her boredom. His fingers tapped idly against the armrest—disinterested, detached.

Zephyr Albrecht, however, still watched. Sharp eyes, silent posture. But whether he was enjoying the match or simply observing out of habit… no one could tell. His face was unreadable, his emotions sealed behind a wall of calm.

And then there was Logan. Among nobles, heirs, and cold-blooded geniuses—he was the odd one out. He watched every match like a child in a garden full of wonders. His eyes lit up when spells clashed, when blades met, when mana flared. There was no calculation in his gaze, no boredom, no judgment. Only joy. It wasn’t the power that thrilled him—it was the struggle, the way each fighter moved, failed, or broke through.

“She embarrassed him!”

“Did you see that last wind combo? Sharp!”

“Underdog of the day!”

Though the match was over, its echoes lingered in the crowd’s buzz.

The lights shifted again.

“Match Seven—Stage Two! Token 20 versus Token 29!”

This time, a boy with a snake tattoo walked forward—Vaylen Mord, a water-element mage from the Marshlands. Opposite to him stood Degar Flint, a fire-attribute bruiser from House Flint, with crimson gauntlets that shimmered with heat.

“Let’s get this over with,” Degar growled, steam hissing from his gauntlets.

The battle began explosively. Degar surged forward with flame-coated fists, throwing punch after punch. Vaylen, eerily calm, ducked and weaved, spraying jets of high-pressure water from his palms to counter the flames.

Then came a sudden move—Vaylen formed a thin mist, supercooled with water magic, blinding Degar temporarily. With one final sweep of a watery arc, he struck Degar across the chest and knocked him unconscious.

“Winner—Token 20, Vaylen Mord!”

The crowd buzzed.

“Didn’t expect water to win against flame.”

“He outplayed him. Pure and simple.”

“Match Eight—Stage One! Token 4 versus Token 13!”

Token 4: Marei Evin, a defensive water mage from a coastal monastery. Token 13: Arven Skell, a wind mage from the Chainbound Sect with a combat chain laced in enchanted steel.

The moment the referee signaled, Arven launched forward. The chain cracked like thunder, striking toward Marei. She summoned shields of water, layering them in hexagonal shapes—but the chain punched through, coiling around her leg.

With a yank, she stumbled. One final whip cracked across her barrier and sent her flying.

“Winner—Token 13, Arven Skell!”

“That chain—it’s more than just physical. It’s reinforced with mana flow.”

“Too brutal for a mage. But damn effective.”

The betting corner buzzed like a hive with every match. Coins clinked, tickets waved, and voices rose in heated arguments over odds and favorites. Every blast of magic or fall of a fighter sent a ripple through the stands—cheers, groans, or wild laughter. For some, this tournament wasn’t about glory or honor. It was about the thrill of the gamble, and today’s chaos fed their hunger well.

“Match Nine—Stage Two! Token 21 versus Token 28!”

The fighters were introduced as Fayra Dusk, an earth mage from the Southern Reaches, and Renald Keir, a dual-wand lightning user from the capital’s Arcane Division.

This match was fast—almost too fast to follow. Fayra raised slabs of stone, forming shields and shifting terrain into rising dunes to limit vision and slow her opponent. But Renald floated just above the ground, his twin wands glowing with crackling arcs.

Lightning rained down.

One blast hit the edge of the arena. Another shattered a stone barrier. A third struck Fayra’s shoulder, sending her tumbling.

She tried to rise—but the next bolt pinned her cloak to the floor.

“Winner—Token 28, Renald Keir!”

Even the nobles leaned forward now.

“He’s refined. Very refined.”

“Tier 2 lightning spell? He’s pushing the limit.”

“Match Ten—Stage One! Token 5 versus Token 12!”

The crowd stirred. Token 5 had been remembered from the lottery—a twin-blade fighter named Jerrik Vale. His opponent, Nara Elen, was known for defensive wind magic and feints.

Jerrik moved like a dancer—fluid, sharp, rhythmic. Nara countered with barriers and curved air currents, her gloves glowing faintly as she guided and diffused his attacks.

For minutes, the crowd watched steel and wind clash across the stage.

Then Jerrik feinted left, twisted mid-air, and brought both blades down in a cross slash.

Nara blocked—but the force shattered her stance.

She stumbled. His blade was at her throat.

“Winner—Token 5, Jerrik Vale!”

Even the gallery quieted before erupting.

“That’s how you use twin blades!”

“Cleanest fight so far!”

“Match Eleven—Stage Two! Token 22 versus Token 27!”

This time, the arena welcomed Soren Vey, a fire and wind affinity fighter from the Scorching Plains, versus Elira Thorn, a water mage who specialized in freezing techniques from the Boreal Crest.

The battle was a spectacle of contrast. Fire bursts and wind blades met frozen barriers and curved water lances. Soren tried to melt through her defense, but Elira danced between his flames, launching shards of hardened water in return.

The tide shifted when she froze the arena’s surface beneath Soren’s feet, causing him to slip mid-charge. Before he could recover, a jagged spike of water slammed into his shoulder and knocked him down.

“Winner—Token 27, Elira Thorn!”

Applause followed—not wild, but respectful.

The betting corner was still abuzz. Eleven matches had ended with excitement, suspense, and inspiring battle prowess. Only five remained in the first round.

And then came the voice that turned heads once more:

“Match Twelve—Stage One! Token 6, Logan Smith, versus Token 11, Varn Drayden!”

The audience stirred. Some tilted forward. Others whispered.

Varn Drayden—a rare triple affinity user. Fire. Earth. Wind.

A known prodigy from the Emberlight Institute.

“Triple affinity, huh?” someone muttered. “The other kid’s done for.”

“Who is that kid again?”

“No clue. But he’s about to get roasted.”

Logan, seated quietly in the waiting area, rose to his feet—still smiling, still calm.

He got up.

“Best of luck Logan,” Both Rudeous and Alice said at the same time.

“Don’t overdo it, kid,” Said Ardin.

Logan nodded politely at all of them. “I will be off then,” He said.

Mirena and Darius both looked at Logan’s departure with tention in their eyes.

Logan walked forward, just as the crowd’s volume rose behind him.

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