As the stadium overflowed with roaring crowds, joy thundered through the royal capital. Cheers echoed as spectators marveled at the captains' overwhelming might, watching in awe as they faced off against the remaining teams. The crystal challenge had become a display of raw dominance.
High above the chaos, Zeyr Chrono remained still in his private booth, eyes locked on the projected battle feeds. Yet, something gnawed at his instincts.
A subtle shift in the mana around him.
Something's off…
He scanned the crowd—nothing but celebration. He looked toward the podium where the vice captains stood, all present and calmly watching. Then his gaze shifted upward, toward the royal balcony.
The king himself stood there, cloaked in regal authority, a fleet of knights flanking him.
Then what is this presence I sense…? Zeyr murmured to himself.
Without hesitation, he turned away.
"Loken, stay," he commanded quietly.
The wolf obeyed, resting beside the booth's balcony edge.
Zeyr exited the booth and made his way toward the Royal Castle's upper levels—a place only vice-captains, arch-captains, and the three noble house heads were allowed.
As he neared the royal armory, a strange aura brushed past him again—foreign, veiled… and powerful.
This mana… It's not supposed to be here.
Even most captains wouldn't notice… but you can't hide it from me.
He pressed forward.
Two knights, draped in full silver armor, stepped in front of him.
"You are not allowed beyond this point," one said coldly, gripping his sword hilt.
Zeyr didn't slow.
His eyes narrowed.
Then he laughed—not with humor, but with dark realization.
"…Now it makes sense."
"You guys weren't expecting me to be here today…Imposters"
In a flash, he unsheathed his blade—just in time to block a slashing arc of water from behind.
SHHHRACK!
The water slash was cleaved in two.
Zeyr's eyes locked onto a figure stepping from the shadows.
A tall man in a turquoise cloak lined with white armor. His long dark hair was tied back neatly, and a shimmering scroll was tucked beneath his arm.
"Well done," the man said calmly. "Even with my water cloak, you sensed me."
Zeyr's voice dropped into a deadly calm.
"Tricks like that won't fool a captain. You're lucky the others aren't here."
His glare darkened.
"They might've spared you."
Without warning, Zeyr turned, slashing one of the false knights with a single strike that shattered stone as the body crashed into the wall. He spun and kicked the second across the corridor, denting the armor inward, knocking the imposter out cold.
The intruder leapt, flipping midair, and slashed downward with his katana.
SWOOSH!
A water wheel attack spiraled toward Zeyr, grazing his shoulder.
Zeyr landed clean, and his voice rang with power.
"Spirit Skill: Obsidian Null."
A void of black energy burst outward around him. In an instant, the water wheel fizzled and vanished—mana erased in the radius.
The cloaked man bolted, scroll still in hand.
Zeyr's eyes widened.
A scroll? No… it couldn't be—
"The Hidden Arts Scroll…!"
He gave chase, closing the gap with supernatural speed.
But as the intruder turned a corner, more knights appeared.
Zeyr shouted, "Stop him! He's an intruder!"
But the knights didn't move.
The man ran past.
Instead, five of the armored figures stepped in front of Zeyr, blocking his path.
Zeyr's voice erupted like thunder:
"Traitors!?"
He gritted his teeth.
"No… you're not even knights—you're in disguise!"
His grip on his blade tightened.
Out of my way!" Zeyr roared, his voice cracking through the corridor like a whip of thunder.
One of the knights lunged forward, sword aimed straight for Zeyr's chest—while two others raised their hands, conjuring swirling orbs of blue magic.
FWASH!
Twin bolts of energy shot at him, but—
Zeyr was already gone.
With a blur of motion, he twisted through the attack, his cloak flickering like a shadow in flame. The sword thrust missed completely, and the magical bolts cracked against the wall behind him.
The knights looked around frantically—
But Zeyr was behind them.
CRACK! WHAM! THUD!
In a blur of motion, Zeyr knocked out three of them in an instant—a flurry of precise punches and spinning kicks, bodies collapsing like falling armor.
The remaining two turned, blades raised just in time to catch Zeyr's incoming strike.
CLANG!
But the moment their weapons met, Zeyr pushed forward, his blade pulsing with a violet glow, scattered with star-like sparks of mana.
The sheer force of his spirit energy surged through the clash.
BOOM!
Both knights were blasted backward, crashing into pillars—defeated.
Zeyr didn't stop to look back.
He took off again, pouring mana into his legs—his boots lighting with energy, the floor cracking beneath his accelerating stride.
The corridor blurred around him as he chased the intruder—the man in the turquoise cloak and white armor, still sprinting ahead, scroll clutched tightly.
Zeyr's eyes locked on him.
"I don't know who you are…"
"…but you're not leaving this castle alive."
The man skidded to a halt.
Without warning, his katana slashed through the air, a blur of silver slicing toward Zeyr.
But Zeyr ducked—leaning back just enough for the blade to whistle past his nose. As he dipped under, his leg snapped out in a fluid sweep, catching the man's ankles and knocking him off balance.
In that brief heartbeat—
"First Form!" the man roared.
Zeyr's eyes narrowed. "A Soulform?!"
The man's blade ignited—not with fire, but with water.
"Striking Stream!"
A spiraling arc of pressurized water erupted from the katana, carving through the air like a roaring river.
Zeyr didn't hesitate.
He gripped his own blade, one foot sliding back as he drew power deep from within.
"First Form—Obsidian Drag."
A burst of violet flames, swirling in chaotic streaks of starlight. Then—
Silence.
A sudden void formed around the blade—a collapsing black hole, consuming even the violet fire in its gravity. The instant the two attacks met—
WHOOOOM!!
The water slash collapsed inward, torn apart by the obsidian void. The shockwave rippled the floor, forcing the enemy to stumble backward, the scroll slipping from his grasp.
Thud.
The scroll hit the stone.
Zeyr stepped forward slowly, the void flickering out at the tip of his blade.
"Drop anything else I should be worried about?" he said coldly, eyes locked on the man.
The man scrambled toward the scroll, fingertips brushing the floor.
But he was too slow.
Zeyr had already slid forward, blade low to the ground in a deadly sweep.
The man leapt back just in time, eyes locking with Zeyr's. Fury—and fear—flickered behind his glare.
Then—
Water pooled beneath his feet.
In seconds, it swirled upward in a spiraling vortex.
Zeyr lunged to stop him—but the man was already sinking into the whirlpool, vanishing into liquid nothingness.
Zeyr cursed under his breath.
"Damn it… that sucker got away."
He turned, sprinting back toward the knights he'd taken down earlier.
But before he could reach them—
Water erupted around their bodies, engulfing them just like the first.
One by one, they sank into churning puddles—gone.
Zeyr's eyes narrowed as the last ripple faded.
"That's not just magic…" he muttered.
"…That's Aqua Kingdom teleportation."
He held up the scroll now clutched in his hand, feeling the residual mana hum through the parchment.
"To use that kind of water technique… on multiple people at once?"
He clenched his jaw.
"That confirms it."
He looked up slowly, eyes landing on the scarred edge of the royal castle. The walls were cracked, columns chipped, and smoke from the earlier battle still lingered in the air.
He exhaled.
"Looks like this one's coming out of Syrus's paycheck."
A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as the wind stirred the tattered banners above him.
This was no random breach.
Something bigger had just begun.
Real Arch Knights stormed onto the scene, their polished armor catching the fading daylight.
Zeyr stood among the rubble, calmly sheathing his blade.
"You're late," he muttered.
"Master Chrono!" one of the knights called out, halting at the ruined archway.
"What happened here?"
Zeyr's gaze was sharp, his voice low and firm.
"We were attacked. Aqua Kingdom."
Gasps rippled through the arriving knights.
He raised a hand—firm, commanding.
"Say nothing. Not a word of this goes public."
He glanced back toward the stadium, where the cheers of the Royal Draft still echoed.
"Not during the tournament."
One knight stepped forward hesitantly.
"What about the king, sir?"
Zeyr turned his head slightly, his tone steely.
"Not yet. Don't tell him either. Wait until Syrus and the others return. Then we plan."
"Understood." The knight bowed sharply.
Zeyr looked back at the broken hallway, the damage done… and the scroll now tucked safely inside his cloak.
He whispered, more to himself than anyone else:
"Of all times… why now?"
His brows furrowed.
"How did they know we'd be distracted?"
Zeyr returned to the booth.
Loken, perked his ears as his master stepped in.
"Yeah, I'm back," Zeyr said with a casual grin. "Just a quick bathroom break."
Loken growled low, clearly not buying it.
Zeyr ignored the skepticism and turned his attention back to the crystal projections lighting up the sky above the stadium.
The battle between Syrus and Team Gold was reaching its climax.
Syrus—cool and composed—now moved with real intensity. His blade gleamed in the fading light, locked on both Draven and Renza at once.
Renza stepped forward, fire dancing along his blade.
"First Form: Ember Fang!"
With a mighty backswing, a roaring arc of flame exploded from the edge of his sword, splitting the air with raw force.
Syrus darted upward into the sky, just above the wave of fire. With a flick of his hand, a glowing construct of ice formed into a broad, crystalline shield. He hurled it downward like a discus.
Draven, charging forward, was already surrounded by a dozen sharp steel spears erupting from his Armor Eater. His eyes locked onto Syrus.
But the shield struck first.
It collided with Draven mid-stride, the impact pulsing with chilling force. The clash sent a burst of cold wind through the arena.
Draven staggered—but didn't fall.
His armor shimmered, adapting to the cold.
From above, Syrus narrowed his eyes.
"You two are sharp," he muttered, blade raised.
"Let's see how long you last."
As the other two knights of Team Gold attempted to flank Syrus from behind, their blades drawn and movement silent—
Syrus backflipped in a blur of motion and reappeared above them, midair.
"Spirit Skill: Ice Step Vow."
A pulse of pure ice mana erupted from his landing, flooding the battlefield in an instant. The ground cracked with frost. The air itself shimmered and slowed.
Time froze.
Renza, Draven, and the two knights—all caught in mid-action—were frozen solid, locked in place by the sheer force of Syrus's technique. It wasn't just ice; it was a moment suspended in time, cold enough to halt breath and burn soul.
Syrus's body moved like a phantom. Before his feet could even hit the ground.
With perfect control, he delivered a flurry of kicks—one knight was slammed into a tree with enough force to splinter bark; the other crumpled as Syrus struck his stomach with the hilt of his sword, then turned and chopped the side of the neck, putting him to sleep before he ever hit the ground.
Still in motion, Syrus landed gently on the icy surface. His cloak fluttered once. Then silence.
Only Draven and Renza remained—locked in place, unable to move, but their eyes flickered with fire behind the frost.
Syrus's gaze dropped on them.
His sword pulsed with cold light.
He stepped forward slowly, power radiating from every movement.
Two down.
His voice cut the air like steel.
"Who's next?"
Zeyr laughed—loud and genuine—as he leaned forward in his booth.
"Syrus… you've gotten stronger, haven't you?"
He shook his head with a small smirk, clearly impressed.
But then, his gaze shifted to the projection of Arion and Team Crimson.
His eyes narrowed… locking onto Helion.
Helion was slashing through the writhing roots that whipped at him, radiant light slashes tearing apart every vine that lashed out toward his team. Even in the chaos, his focus wasn't on himself—but on protecting the others.
Zeyr exhaled, almost whispering to himself.
"That boy… always trying to protect."
A smile crept onto his face—not of pride, but of hope.
"Show Arion the true power inside you, Helion…"
"Show him your First Form."
Beside him, Loken's ears perked up, the great wolf suddenly alert. His eyes, like Zeyr's, were now fixed on the battlefield.
⸻
Back in the open field, the terrain had all but transformed. Towering vines curled from the ground like walls. Thickets of bramble and roots burst from below, shifting the landscape into a living forest—an arena of nature forged by Arion's Elemental Spirit Magic.
Arion stood tall, his blade resting casually on his shoulder as he balanced on a thick, moving root beneath his feet.
"Come now, Team Crimson," he called out, voice calm yet cutting.
"If you're struggling against mere roots…"
"You'll never touch this crystal."
The crystal swayed from its chain on his hip, glowing softly.
Helion locked eyes with it… and then with Arion.
Around him, the others were beginning to slow—Zezzy, Liena, Yuri—all dodging and countering, but barely holding up against the relentless assault of nature.
The pressure was rising. The forest itself was alive with danger.
And still…
Helion stepped forward—his blade glowing faintly in his grip, his eyes burning brighter than before.
Zeyr leaned back in his seat, but his thoughts drifted—his eyes distant.
"The Aqua Kingdom… on the move?"
His jaw clenched slightly as the memory of the cloaked intruder and the stolen scroll played again in his mind.
"What were they really after…? And why now?"
He stayed silent, the sound of the crowd roaring around him, but his thoughts thundered louder.
A long pause filled his chest like a storm waiting to break.
Then—
A sudden flash of light from the projection snapped him back.
Zeyr's eyes refocused instantly—sharpening like a blade.
The projection lit up in a burst of radiant white—centered around Helion.
Even the crowd, wild and untamed just moments before, fell silent. Mouths parted in awe. All eyes were locked on the glow now pulsing across the field.
Something was awakening.