All of the Cloud Soaring Sect's young Adventurers' expression went cold.
Their expressions sharpened into something as hard as blades as they fixed their gazes on Brien.
This youth was openly belittling one of their own. How could they not feel anger boiling inside them?
And it wasn't just their faction that bristled with displeasure. All across the stands, other groups could not conceal their irritation at Brien's arrogance.
Morris, standing beside him, noticed the chilly stares converging on them. He tried—unsuccessfully—to smile as though to ease the tension. But even he could feel Helbram's growing displeasure.
With a sigh, Morris decided it was time to pull his student away.
"You truly hold yourself in high esteem, Brien," Morris said in a low voice, though his words were heard clearly by all. "You keep testing my patience—and if you truly wish to be humiliated again before all these Adventurers, I will grant your wish."
Brien turned his back, intending to return to their seats alongside Morris.
But he froze in place when he heard a cold voice echo across the arena.
A voice none of them had expected to rise in that moment.
Finn's voice.
"You've exhausted my patience."
Every head turned.
In the short time they had known him, Finn had been calm—rarely speaking, never rising to provocation. But everything had its limit.
Brien's taunts had piled up one after the other, and Finn had decided he'd heard enough.
It was time to teach this conceited Alchemist that they were not equals—and that challenging him was nothing but foolishness.
Finn took a step forward, preparing to descend into the arena—
But before he could, Helbram's voice cut across the space like a thunderclap.
"You have truly no regard for my authority—or for the rules of this competition!"
Helbram's glare was as heavy as iron.
"If the two of you wish to fight, there will be plenty of chances. But do not test my patience further. You will not enjoy the consequences."
His voice rumbled like distant storms.
Helbram's gaze turned on Morris—hard and unyielding.
"Association Master Morris. I've warned you. Even if you are the most renowned Alchemist alive, do not blame me if I am forced to discipline your impudent student. Because to me, it seems he has no respect for the Royal Clan itself."
Morris grimaced. He opened his mouth to respond—but no words came.
He simply fell silent, and laid a firm hand on Brien's shoulder.
"When we return to the Association, you will be punished," he said quietly.
"No matter how talented an Alchemist you may be, you are still a child—and you will learn to conduct yourself properly in the presence of those your elder."
Brien's scowl deepened, but no matter how he struggled, he could not break free of Morris's grip.
Across the stands, many spectators felt a small satisfaction at the sight.
'Serves him right,' they thought.
It was one thing to be arrogant—any gifted Adventurer or alchemist could be forgiven that much. But to brazenly disregard Helbram's laws? That was beyond pride. That was sheer insolence.
The Seven Great Faction Games continued for several more days, match after match whittling down the contestants.
At last, the competition reached the final duel of the first phase:
Hyon Pierceval of the Ice Seven versus Lore Lilytel of the Soaring Seven.
It was the battle between the strongest members of the two weakest factions—so few paid it any mind at first.
Yet all the members of the Cloud Soaring Sect and the Ice Feather Sect were riveted.
These two were the pride of their respective faction, and they watched in unwavering support.
Finn, too, was serious as he watched.
He wanted to see every detail of this contest.
Seconds ticked by.
At last, Hyon moved.
He clenched his fist—blue, icy energy coiling around his arm—and surged forward. His legs, wreathed in the same glacial aura, carried him at startling speed across the cracked arena floor.
Lore was ready.
He pivoted to the side in a smooth motion, his right leg wrapped in violet lightning. As Hyon's blow grazed past, Lore retaliated—lashing out with a sweeping kick.
Hyon crossed his arms just in time to block, sliding backward from the force.
The duel escalated quickly into an exchange of ferocious attacks.
Kicks. Punches. Bursts of skill-charged energy.
More and more spectators who had dismissed the fight were drawn in, unable to look away.
Finally, both combatants summoned their weapons.
Lore's spear gleamed with crackling electricity. Hyon's sword glowed a frosty blue.
Both were Top-tier Rare Armaments.
They charged—and the entire stadium seemed to hold its breath.
Every clash of weapon against weapon sent shockwaves shuddering through the ground.
The arena, already half-ruined from prior battles, began to fall apart even further.
Rubble split. Dust rose.
Neither boy yielded an inch.
Their clothes were shredded, leaving only their armor to protect them.
Their breathing grew ragged.
But still—they did not stop.
Lore saw an opening and thrust his spear forward.
Hyon failed to dodge. The blow struck him squarely in the chest, sending him skidding several meters back.
He staggered upright—saved only by his armor—and counterattacked.
His blade carved a gash along Lore's side.
Even now, Finn watched, eyes steady.
"…Who do you think will win?"
Finn turned—startled to see Noah standing beside him.
He glanced around, confirming Noah was indeed speaking to him.
"…Hard to say," Finn murmured. "Hyon is stronger with the sword. But Lore's attacks are faster and heavier."
Noah smiled faintly.
"You're right," he said, eyes fixed on the clash.
Then, in a softer voice, he continued:
"I'm curious, Finn… What will you do when the Seven Great Faction Games are over? I know you have no intention of staying with the Cloud Soaring Sect. Once this competition ends, your clan won't need our protection anymore—the Royal Clan will safeguard your people, thanks to your abilities."
Finn fell silent.
Slowly, he turned to meet Noah's gaze.
"…You're right, Sect Master Noah. I don't intend to remain," he said evenly. "But before I leave, I will repay everything I owe the Cloud Soaring Sect. Only then will I begin my training—to become even stronger."
Noah's smile warmed.
He nodded, gratitude shining in his eyes.
He was glad—truly glad—that this boy had been part of their faction, even for a little while.
And he silently thanked Kiden.
If not for Kiden, they would never have met Finn.
--
Below, the duel raged on.
The two boys' auras surged higher—until they leapt into the air simultaneously, gathering their final reserves of soulforce for a decisive strike.
But before either could release their skills—
"STOP!"
Helbram's voice tore across the battlefield.
In a blur, the old man descended, standing between them.
His eyes burned with anger.
"Have you both lost your minds?" he demanded, voice ringing like a bell of judgment.
"This is a tournament, not a battlefield to throw away your lives. Were you planning to drain all your soulforce and die here for a single victory?!"
Neither Lore nor Hyon could meet his gaze.
Heads bowed, they clenched their fists, shame coursing through them.
They had been so fixated on winning, they had nearly destroyed themselves.
Noah and Marcus hurried down to the arena floor.
So did Sheeha and an elder from the Ice Feather Sect.
"Lord Helbram, thank you," Noah said sincerely. "If you hadn't intervened, they could have been gravely injured."
Sheeha inclined her head in apology. She shot her student a withering look, then sighed heavily.
Lore swallowed and bowed.
"…Lord Helbram," he began hoarsely. "May I ask…who won?"
His pride would not let the question go. He could not bear to be declared inferior to Hyon—especially when his true rival was Azur.
Helbram's expression eased.
After a moment of thought, he shook his head.
"No one," he said firmly. "Since I ended this duel myself, there is no victor. Your strengths are nearly equal. The match is a draw."
Lore's jaw clenched.
"But—"
"No," Helbram interrupted coldly.
"My decision is final."
His body rose into the air, robes fluttering.
"The first stage of this competition is over. We will now proceed to the next phase—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
Slowly, he turned to look around.
The entire arena floor was a ruin. The walls were cracked, half-collapsed.
And instead of scowling, Helbram—
—smiled.
The young Adventurers watched, puzzled.
"This is the first time the stadium has ever ended in such a state," Helbram declared. "It only proves what I've said all along: This is the most talented generation I've seen. I am proud of you all."
His smile widened.
"Since the arena must be repaired—and this will take at least two days—return to your faction houses and rest."
He lifted his gaze to the seven faction masters.
"Faction masters, follow me."
Then he turned and strode away.
The seven faction masters filed after him in silence.
Lore, leaning on Marcus' shoulder, ascended to the Cloud Soaring Sect's section.
No one spoke further.
One by one, the groups filed out of the ruined arena, returning to their faction houses.
All that remained was to await the results of the first stage—and prepare for the second.
Excitement and unease thrummed in every heart.
No one could wait to fight again.