ONLINE: Blades of Eternity

Up in the sub-VIP section, where General Cao and Vice Chancellor Reeves sat with composed expressions, the air was filled with tension as the heads of four prestigious noble houses—the Lucent, Ferrum, Blightmore, and Stormfell families— were also in the section as they engaged in heated bickering.

"This entire setup is ridiculous," scoffed Lord Ferrum, a broad-shouldered man with streaks of silver in his hair. "This so-called 'fair competition' has been anything but that. You'd think the Royal Chosens and Pacesetters Academy were the only ones worthy of winning."

Lord Lucent, a lean man with piercing golden eyes, smirked. "Complaining already, Ferrum? Your Magnus was flattened at the first phase of the convention. I suppose you'd like a rematch?"

"Watch your tongue, Lucent," Ferrum growled. "Your sweet daughter who was defeated before she could even land a proper hit on my representatives. What excuse do you have?"

"Excuse? I have none. Unlike you, I don't waste my breath lamenting a fight already lost."

Lord Blightmore, a grim-faced man clad in deep crimson robes, sneered at them both. "Enough of this nonsense. It's clear none of our houses are dominating the competition this time around. The real battle lies in the final matchups, and the Royal Kingdom still holds the most influence."

Amidst their bickering, only Lord Stormfell remained eerily silent, his sharp blue eyes locked onto the arena below. Unlike the others, his focus wasn't on their petty grievances—it was on the fight about to unfold.

Lucent noticed his uncharacteristic silence and frowned. "Stormfell, you haven't said a word. What's gotten into you?"

Ferrum followed Lucent's gaze and furrowed his brows. "Hah. Don't tell me you're nervous."

Blightmore scoffed, then suddenly caught on to what was happening. His expression shifted slightly. "Wait… the next duel… isn't this Stormfell against the Royal Chosens?"

At those words, the bickering ceased. The three house heads now turned their full attention to the battle about to begin. A look of pity briefly flashed in their eyes—after all, standing against the Valoria Royal Kingdom's elite was an insurmountable challenge for any noble house.

But Lord Stormfell's lips curled slightly into an enigmatic smirk. "You all assume too much," he said, finally speaking. "My house has something different this time—my son."

The other three exchanged looks, and realization dawned on them. Right there in the arena, standing tall with unwavering confidence, was a boy no older than thirteen, dressed in the Stormfell family's signature dark-blue battle attire.

Unlike the others, he showed no fear.

A prodigy.

And as the fight was about to begin, it became clear—Stormfell was not here to simply participate.

They were here to make history.

As the second group battle was moments away from beginning, Morris subtly leaned toward Kaelen and whispered, his tone unusually grave.

"Watch that boy—Alaric Stormfell. Be wary of him."

Kaelen raised an eyebrow, perplexed. 'The leader of the Stormfell Family? But he was only thirteen. What could possibly make Morris so cautious about him?'

Before Kaelen could press for more details, Seraphine's voice echoed across the grand coliseum.

"Let the battle between the Stormfell Family and the Royal Chosens commence!"

Aric Alexandria took a step forward, his golden cloak billowing slightly as he looked down at the younger Alaric with a smirk of condescension.

"This is laughable," Aric mocked. "A mere child leading a family's pride in battle? You should be watching from the sidelines, not standing before me."

But Alaric Stormfell remained impassively cold. His piercing blue eyes, reminiscent of an approaching tempest, held no emotion, no reaction to Aric's insult. Instead, his voice came out eerily serene.

"Stand down," he commanded his group members without turning his head.

A murmur spread through the coliseum as the Stormfell members hesitated, exchanging uncertain glances.

"Sir, are you sure—" one of them started, but Alaric cut him off.

"I said stand down."

His tone left no room for argument. And then—he moved.

In the blink of an eye, an electrifying wind surged around him, an invisible force shattering the ground beneath his feet as he advanced. Before the Royal Chosens could even react, he was already among them.

—Boom!

A single, controlled palm strike sent one of Aric's teammates flying backward like a ragdoll, crashing into the coliseum walls with a sickening impact. The audience gasped.

The Royal Chosens, realizing the absurdity of what just happened, instantly went all out.

Blades gleamed, spells ignited, formations were set.

But it didn't matter.

With fluid, almost ethereal movements, Alaric weaved through their attacks with precision that bordered on inhuman. He countered them before they even completed their strikes, his footwork defying logic, as if he were predicting their every move with unnatural clarity.

A sword slash? He was already past it.

A spear thrust? He had already sidestepped.

A fire spell? The flames were swept aside by the sheer force of his movement.

The coliseum fell into dead silence as one by one, the proud warriors of the Royal Chosens crumbled beneath the onslaught of this thirteen-year-old prodigy.

Even Aric's confident smirk had long since vanished.

"What the hell is he…?" he muttered, tightening his grip on the Blade of Dawn.

And then—Alaric finally turned to him.

The air itself grew heavy, an unexplainable pressure settling on Aric's shoulders as those icy-blue eyes locked onto him with an almost inhuman detachment.

For the first time since the battle started, Aric felt something he never expected.

—Fear.

Aric's breaths came ragged and uneven as Alaric closed in on him, his every step like a drumbeat of despair in Aric's mind. His body trembled—not from exhaustion, but from the creeping realization that he was no match for the Stormfell heir. His pride, his identity as the wielder of the Blade of Dawn, was on the verge of crumbling.

'No… I refuse to be humiliated like this.'

With a defiant roar, he gripped the hilt of his sword and unleashed its full radiance. The Blade of Dawn ignited in a golden inferno, its brilliance outshining even the sun overhead. The very air trembled as he poured every ounce of his strength into his final attack—a desperate gambit to take Alaric down with him.

"TAKE THIS!" he bellowed, his sword carving through the battlefield in a blinding arc. A golden tempest of divine energy surged toward Alaric, a force strong enough to split mountains.

But what happened next shattered Aric's mind.

Alaric raised his scepter, for the first time in the duel, exuding an unfathomable presence, and with the simplest of swings—nullified Aric's strongest technique. The golden light dissipated as if it had never existed. The crowd gasped, their excitement turning to hushed disbelief.

Aric's mind went blank.

No… This can't be happening.

His body screamed at him to move, to attack again, to do something. But his spirit had already shattered. His hands trembled, his knees wobbled, and the words slipped from his lips before he even realized it.

"I surrender."

Silence.

Then, uproar.

The Stormfell family's section of the coliseum erupted in cheers as Alaric was declared the victor. Meanwhile, Aric stood frozen, unable to comprehend what had just happened. His dream of proving himself, of standing at the peak of this tournament—gone in an instant.

Up in the stands, Kaelen watched in complete and utter disbelief. He couldn't process what he had just witnessed.

Only one word echoed in his mind.

'Shit.'

As the dust settled in the arena, the murmurs within the sub-VIP section grew louder. The impossible feat achieved by the young heir of the Stormfell family had left a deep impression on everyone present. Family heads and alike exchanged wary glances, their minds racing with newfound concerns. The power displayed by the boy was beyond anything they had expected, and if this was the strength of the next generation of the Stormfell family, then their dominance in the years to come was all but certain.

Despite the growing tension around him, the head of the Stormfell family remained unbothered. He sat with an air of supreme confidence, his arms crossed, his lips curling into the faintest smirk. 'Let them fear, let them hesitate'—he had no doubts that his lineage would leave them all in the dust soon enough.

Meanwhile, General Cao and Reeves, seated among the other academy's dignitaries, exchanged glances of their own. Even they couldn't deny the raw potential they had just witnessed. General Cao stroked his beard thoughtfully. "A mere boy, yet wielding power at such a level… This changes things."

Reeves nodded, eyes narrowing. "If this continues, he could become a force even the academies will struggle to contain."

Up in the grand VIP section, King Alexandria himself sat back in his chair, his usual composed expression slightly shaken. His son, Crown Prince Lysander, leaned forward with a keen interest.

"Incredible," the prince muttered, eyes still fixed on the arena.

Alden, the king's nephew, scoffed but didn't refute his cousin's words. Even Griffo, Alden's ever-present lackey, was left speechless for once.

The king drummed his fingers against the armrest of his throne-like chair. "A thirteen-year-old boy with such potential… If left unchecked, he could become a variable none of us accounted for." His voice was calm, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his tone—an interest that could either become an opportunity or a threat.

As the anticipation for the next duel grew, the impact of the Stormfell heir's performance had already begun shifting the tides of influence in the kingdom.