Tiang-tiang menggulung kembali perlahan.
Mireilla mundur dari bentuk yang sudah hancur itu—Edran Sylven—napasnya teratur. Tersedak, tapi tak tergesa-gesa. Tak ada satu gerak pun yang sia-sia menempel pada tubuhnya. Gantungan tangannya melebur kembali menjadi kayu melipur yang berbaur kembali ke dalam lumut di bawah sepatu bootsnya.
Ia tak bermegah.
Ia tak perlu.
Glif di atas pun menyala sekali lagi—menyatakan akhir dari pertarungan itu dengan warna violet yang sama, tenang.
Kemenangan: Mireilla Dane.
Edran tidak memprotes. Ia tidak bisa.
Masih bernapas, masih sadar—tapi sudah dikalahkan. Secara tuntas.
Penyembuh bergerak cepat, mengangkatnya dari arena dengan tangan yang terlatih dan salep penenang yang bising.
Mireilla memberi seberapa saja sebagai ia lewat. Nama di atas kepalanya masih berkelip lembut, namun tak mengatakan apa pun lagi.
Tapi sebelum ia bisa sepenuhnya mundur ke sisi salju—
Glif lain menyala.
Nama: Alvera Nyce – Peringkat 12
Tantangan: Mireilla Dane
Namun, duel belum dimulai.
Belum segera.
Mireilla baru saja meninggalkan arena ketika mage pengawal pun mengintervensi—dua orang bersatu melaju ke arahnya dengan efisiensi tak terdengar, gulungan kertas sudah terbuka, tangan teraduk dalam gestur ganda pemulihan.
Seorang ketiga melangkah maju dengan bejana kristal, berisi cairan mana yang biru sehingga bersinar seperti cahaya bintang.
Tanpa kata pun, ia menerimanya.
Duduk melintang di tepi kolam.
Minum.
Dan mulai bernapas.
Lambat. Terkontrol.
Dunia memberinya sekejap waktu, dan ia memanfaatkannya—bukan hanya untuk pulih, namun juga untuk menenangkan diri.
Lucavion, lengan terlipat longgar, mengamati dari sedikit kenaikan di belakang kerumunan. Matanya tak mengikuti gerakannya seperti pemangsa—lebih seperti seorang ahli, cermat, terukur.
"Ia tak pernah menghabiskan gerakan," bisiknya.
[Vitaliara tersentuh di pundaknya, ekor menggerakkan sekali.]
[Si gadis ini cukup berbakat.]
Lucavion mengangkat satu alis. u2018Oh? Pujian dari kamu? Itu jarang.u2019
[Belum yang terkuat,] lanjut Vitaliara. [Tapi cerdik. Adaptif. Maginya dasar—tapi ia pintar di sekitarnya. Ia tak pernah berlebihan dengan voli akan. Ia mendengarkan pada ramuannya.]
Lucavion tersenyum tipis. u2018Oh... kamu juga menyadarinya.u2019
[Apa menurunkanku?]
u2018Kucing pemotret.u2019
[u2014Aku bukan kucing pemotret.]
u2018Pasti, pasti...u2019
[Lucavion.]
Ia tertawa pendendang, mata masih tertuju pada Mireilla saat aura-nya kembali stabil—benang-benang hijau menggabung menjadi jilitan yang semakin kaku di bawah tangannya.
Lucavion bersandar di pilar batu yang aus, lengan tetap terlipat, matanya tak pernah lapar. Efisien. Fokus.
Ia tak hanya mengeluarkan ramuan.
Ia berbicara dengannya.
Pikirnya sambil melihatnya: "Ia bertarung seolah telah melihat banyak hidup. Akan menjadi petualang yang baik."
[Apa yang membuatku pikir ia belum pernah menjadi salah satunya?] tanyaku Vitaliara dengan nada yang menggoda.
"Aku tak bertanya apakah ia sudah,u0021 bisiknya.
[Tapi kamu menyiratkannya.]
Lucavion menyendokkan bahu. "Tak. Itu interpretasimu, bukan kegagalku berkomunikasi."
[Itu sama saja.]
"Tidak, bukan. Itu masalah interpretasimu, bukan kegagalku berkomunikasi."
[Boo...]
Vitaliara mengeluh secara teatrikal. [Kamu selalu melakukan ini.]
"Lakukan apa?"
[Menaklukkan argumen dengan pura-pura tak ada argumen.]
Ia tersenyum. "Karena memang tidak ada."
[Hewan kampungan yang manja.]
"Semuanya tetap istimewa."
Vitaliara memutar matanya—secara fisik kali ini, tubuh kecilnya meregang languid seperti ular kucing yang sudah melihat terlalu banyak dan menghormati terlalu sedikit.
Di sekitar kami, udara semakin tenang. Bukan damai sepenuhnya. Tapi penegasan.
Sepuluh menit berlalu. Lalu lima belas.
Dan masih—
Tak ada glif yang menyala.
Tak ada nama yang terlihat.
Tak ada tantangan yang terbentuk.
Beberapa kandidat menundukkan kepalanya, mengolah luka yang tak bisa mereka tunjukkan. Yang lain fidget, mencari, menghitung.
Tak seorang pun berani melangkah maju.
Karena mereka semua telah menyaksikan.
Bukan hanya kemenangan—tapi presisi. Beratnya apa yang harus ditempuh untuk menaklukkan satu peringkat pun.
Dan belum banyak yang siap mengorbankan darahnya untuk itu.
Lalu—
Platfom pusat kembali bersinar.
Salah satu mage senior, berjubah emas yang dilukis jingga dan memegang tiang konduktif bertanda sembilan gigi roda Akademi Kekaisaran, melangkah ke tengah dengan langkah yang terukur.
Suaranya terdengar—tenang, terlatih, mutlak:
"Kandidat."
Semua mata lalu.
"Adakah di antara kalian yang masih ingin mengeluarkan tantangan?"
Diam.
Udara tegar.
Ia menunggu tiga detik.
"Sekali lagi: apakah kandidat tersisa yang ingin menantang peringkat saat ini?"
Lucavion menggolak matanya ke arah yang lain—mengamat. Menilai.
Tak ada yang bergerak.
Tak sekuku pun. u2018Kemenangan: Toven Vintrell.u2019
Tanpa dekorasi.
Hanya fakta.
Sereya dibantu keluar dari arena, setengah kesemutan tapi tidak hancur.
Kerumunan bergeser lagi, semakin ribut.
Dan lagi—
Nama lain menyala.
Nama: Renn Talvek – Peringkat 10
Tantangan: Toven Vintrell
Satu lagi yang mencoba memaksakan diri. Satu lagi ledakan ambisi.
Toven tak bereaksi banyak. Ia menghela napas sekali, memutar lehernya, kembali ke lingkaran.
Renn membawa tenaga mentah—tanah, anggota berotot, penguat kuat, kekuatan dan aksi.
Dan hampir berhasil.
Tapi hampir tidak cukup.
Karena Toven tak memblokir.
Tak melarikan diri.
Dan saat celah terbuka—
Ia melepaskan Thundershard Pulse, ledakan arah langsung ke iginya.
Renn jatuh di tengah serangan.
Tiga menit penuh.
Kemenangan: Toven Vintrell.
Zona aman semakin tenang lagi.
Lucavion bersandar sedikit ke belakang, mata mengamati kandidat-kandidat yang sekarang beku di tempat.
Tak seorang pun bergerak.
Karena mereka tahu.
Sekarang?.
Sekarang mereka tahu.
Lima teratas bukanlah penunggu sementara.
Mereka adalah tembok.
Dan tidak semua siap melepasiinya.
Platform menggelap lagi.
Bukan hanya cahaya, tapi suasana—seolah arena butuh napas antar detak kekejaman.
Penyembuh bergerak dengan efisiensi tak terdengar, mengangkat tubuh Renn Talvek dari arena dengan segelintir sigil dan stabilizer.
Lantai kristal merekonstruksi, mulus memperbaiki retakan, menghilangkan jejak-jejak pertarungan.
The vines retracted slowly.
Mireilla stepped back from the battered form of Edran Sylven, her breathing even—shallow, but steady. Not a drop of wasted motion clung to her frame. Her gauntlet dissolved back into coiling bark and reabsorbed into the moss beneath her boots.
She didn’t gloat.
She didn’t need to.
The glyph above flared once more—declaring the end of the match in that same steady violet.
Victory: Mireilla Dane.
Edran didn’t argue. He couldn’t.
Still breathing, still conscious—but defeated. Decisively.
The healers moved fast, pulling him from the arena with practiced hands and muting salves. Mireilla offered a nod to them as she passed, her name still flickering gently above her head, but said nothing more.
But before she could fully retreat to her side of the basin—
Another glyph lit up.
Name: Alvera Nyce – Rank 12
Challenge: Mireilla Dane
But the duel didn’t begin.
Not immediately.
Mireilla had barely stepped off the field when the attending mages intervened—two of them sweeping toward her with silent efficiency, scrolls already unfurled, hands raised in twin gestures of restoration.
A third stepped forward with a crystal phial, filled with mana-dense liquid so blue it shimmered like starlight.
She took it wordlessly.
Sat cross-legged at the basin’s edge.
Drank.
And began to breathe.
Slow. Controlled.
The world gave her a moment, and she used it—not just to recover, but to center.
Lucavion, arms folded loosely, watched from a slight rise near the back of the crowd. His eyes didn’t track her like a predator—more like a scholar, attentive, measured.
"She doesn’t waste movement," he murmured.
[Vitaliara stirred on his shoulder, tail flicking once.]
[This girl is quite talented.]
Lucavion quirked a brow. ’Oh? Praise from you? That’s rare.’
[Not the strongest, ] Vitaliara went on. [But clever. Adaptable. Her magic is basic—but she’s smart around it. She never overextends her will. She listens to her spells.]
Lucavion’s smile curled faintly. ’Oh... you noticed it too.’
[What do you take me for?]
’A peeping cat.’
[—I am not a peeping cat.]
’Sure, sure...’
[Lucavion.]
He laughed under his breath, gaze still locked on Mireilla as her aura began to re-stabilize—threads of green slowly weaving tighter around her frame, bark coiling into tighter braids beneath her hands.
Lucavion leaned back against a worn stone pillar, arms still folded, eyes fixed on Mireilla as she calmly let the mana tincture do its work. Her hands never trembled. Her breaths never rushed.
Efficient. Focused.
She didn’t just cast spells. She spoke with them.
She fights like she’s seen her fair share of life, he thought. Would do a fine adventurer.
[What makes you think she wasn’t one already?] Vitaliara asked, voice teasing.
"I didn’t say she wasn’t," he murmured.
[But you implied it.]
Lucavion shrugged. "No. You got that meaning from my words."
[That’s the same thing.]
"No, it isn’t. That’s your interpretation problem, not my communication failure."
[Booo...] Vitaliara groaned theatrically. [You always do this.]
"Do what?"
[Win the argument by pretending it was never an argument.]
He smiled. "That’s because it wasn’t."
[Vexing creature.]
"I try."
Down in the arena, Mireilla stood once again—composed, steady, quiet.
The glyph pulsed.
The second duel was about to begin.
And Lucavion?
He was very curious to see if she had more roots left to grow.
Victory: Mireilla Dane.
Lucavion crossed his arms. "Two for two. Good."
[Vitaliara purred.] [She’s starting to show her fangs.]
But the arena didn’t cool.
Because another name lit up.
Name: Sereya Vonn – Rank 14
Challenge: Toven Vintrell
A ripple of interest passed through the crowd. Rank 5. The edge of Imperial qualification. A bold move.
Toven stepped forward slowly, his coat repaired and sleeves rolled up. The moment he entered the arena, static began to rise around him. His usual playfulness was absent now—replaced by a tight, crackling intensity.
Sereya moved first—fast, with dagger throws and flickering displacement spells.
Toven didn’t flinch.
He absorbed a bolt with his bare palm, redirected it mid-air, and then—
Thunderstep. Chainflash. Arc Shear.
A streak of lightning cracked through the arena, bending around her defenses with surgical precision.
She lasted two minutes.
Victory: Toven Vintrell.
No flourish.
Just fact.
Sereya was helped from the ring, half-stunned but not broken.
The crowd shifted again, murmuring louder now.
Yet still—another challenge rose.
Name: Renn Talvek – Rank 10
Challenge: Toven Vintrell
Another one trying to force their way upward. Another burst of ambition.
Toven didn’t react much. Just sighed once, rolled his neck, and returned to the circle.
Renn brought brute mana—earth-element, reinforced limbs, strength-based enchantments. He tried to overwhelm.
And nearly succeeded.
But nearly wasn’t enough.
Because Toven didn’t block.
He dodged.
And when the opening came—
He unleashed Thundershard Pulse, a directional burst straight to the ribs.
Renn collapsed mid-strike.
Three minutes flat.
Victory: Toven Vintrell.
The safe-zone quieted again.
Lucavion leaned back slightly, eyes scanning the other would-be challengers now frozen in their place.
None stepped forward.
Because now?
Now they knew.
The top five weren’t placeholders.
They were the wall.
And not everyone was ready to break through it.
The platform dimmed again.
Not just in light, but in atmosphere—like the arena itself needed a breath between pulses of violence.
Healers moved with silent efficiency, removing Renn Talvek’s body from the field with floating sigils and mana stabilizers. The crystalline floor restructured, smoothing over cracks, clearing the last traces of battle.
The glyph remained inert.
For now.
A rest period was mandated between challenges—ten minutes of silence, stillness, reflection. Time to recover. Time to reconsider.
Most candidates used it to breathe.
Lucavion used it to watch.
Toven Vintrell stood with one hand in his pocket and the other casually tucked under his opposite arm. His coat fluttered faintly, disturbed by lingering static. Blue-white mana danced around his legs like tiny sparks of condensed arrogance. He didn’t bask in attention—he let it wash over him like wind against stone.
Hmph, Lucavion thought, eyes narrowing.
He wasn’t showy.
But he wasn’t subtle either.
[Remind you of anyone?] Vitaliara asked, tone amused and suspiciously smug.
Lucavion gave a noncommittal hum. "A little too loose at the edges."
[No, no. He’s exactly like you.]
"No one is like me."
[Yeah, yeah,] Vitaliara muttered with exaggerated exasperation, [you’re the only one. "Special breed." Zzz...]
Lucavion gave a one-shouldered shrug, that same lopsided grin playing at the edge of his mouth.
"I am a special breed."
[Vain mutt, more like.]
"Still breeded special."
Vitaliara rolled her eyes—physically this time, her small form stretching languidly along his shoulders like a lounging serpent-cat hybrid who’d seen far too much and respected far too little.
Around them, the air settled into something quieter. Not quite peace. But acceptance.
Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen.
And still—no glyphs flared.
No names rose.
No challenges formed.
Some of the candidates kept their heads bowed, processing wounds they couldn’t show. Others fidgeted, glanced around, did the math.
None stepped forward.
Because they’d all seen it.
Not just the victories—but the precision. The weight of what it would take to carve even a single rank upward.
And not many were ready to bleed for it.
Then—
The central platform shimmered again.
One of the lead mages, robed in gold-traced slate and holding a conduit-staff marked with the nine-spoked sigil of the Imperial Academy, took a measured step into the center.
Her voice rang out—calm, practiced, absolute:
"Candidates."
All eyes turned.
"Is there any among you who still wishes to issue a challenge?"
Silence.
The air held firm.
She waited three seconds.
"Once more: do any remaining candidates wish to challenge the current rankings?"
Lucavion’s eyes flicked toward the others—watching. Measuring.
Nothing.
Not even a twitch.
The mage gave a final glance to the basin. Her voice rose one final time, clear and conclusive:
"Final call. Does anyone wish to contest?"
The silence was complete.
And then—
She turned her staff.
The crystal at its top glowed once.
"Then by declaration of this sanctified field—let it be recorded: the entrance examination concludes here."
Light flared—not violent, not sharp. Just clean. Final. The glyphs above the arena shimmered gold, then dissolved.
And just like that—
It was over.
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