The barrier screamed.
Not metaphorically.
The spellweave groaned like it was alive, strained to its edge as Kael and Lucien clashed again—this time midair. Shockwaves rolled in concentric rings from the epicenter, tearing into stone, shredding the ground.
Their fists met.
Light and shadow burst out like a nova.
In that instant, every broadcast crystal around the empire flared with unstable magic, then stabilized, zooming in on the clash. Millions of citizens saw it at once—the Crown Prince of the Empire exchanging blow for blow with an unknown first-year cloaked in violet aura, each strike rewriting expectations.
"Who is that?"
"What is that aura?"
"That's not just martial arts—what the hell is he doing?"
The voice feeds couldn't keep up with the visuals.
And yet, Kael and Lucien didn't care. They didn't even hear the crowds anymore.
They were grinning now. Both of them.
Finally. Someone who could take it.
Lucien moved first.
He floated upward, arms wide, and the sky darkened unnaturally—space twisting as if reacting to his mana.
A dome of light formed around him, spiraling with sigils that expanded and layered, one after another.
"Mana Zone," he murmured.
The words echoed, distorted, like the air itself bowed to them.
Everything within the dome—the temperature, the density, even gravity—bent to Lucien's will. The audience could barely see inside.
Kael blinked once.
Then grinned wider.
"Cute trick."
He stepped forward—and the violet aura around him surged.
But it wasn't just raw energy now.
The aura shifted.
It coalesced.
Armor began forming over his body, piece by jagged piece. Like a knight forged from violet mist, plated from condensed will. A spectral sword burst to life in his hand—long, cruel, humming with the edge of something ancient.
The commentators stuttered.
"No… wait, wait—he shaped his aura?!"
"That's not natural weapon conjuration. That's… that's—"
"Aura Manifestation. Full construct form."
And then, silence—because Kael walked into Lucien's Mana Zone like he was stepping through mist.
Inside, the air twisted. Mana whirled unnaturally.
Lucien narrowed his eyes. "Gravity. Amplified."
Kael dropped like a meteor—but landed on his feet. A crack rippled through the marble platform.
Lucien flinched. "…How?"
Kael tilted his head slightly, violet flames flickering from his armored shoulders.
"Martial artists aren't just about strength. We temper soul, mind, and will. And I've fought in worse places."
Then, Kael vanished.
No sound.
No aftershock.
Just gone—and then reappeared right in front of Lucien, aura-sword arcing in a perfect line.
Lucien parried—barely—and cast a kinetic rupture spell to back off.
But Kael was already behind him.
He teleported?
No. Moved.
Lucien's mana sensors shrieked at the distortion. "He's bending space with his aura."
Before Lucien could react, Kael struck.
BOOM.
Lucien's barrier shattered in half, throwing him through his own Mana Zone wall.
He caught himself mid-air, coughing slightly, then laughed—eyes glowing now.
"Finally," he whispered, and then—
He unleashed.
Flames burst from his hands—not ordinary fire, but Royal Flame, the kind only a crowned heir could wield. Crimson with white cores, fire that ate mana and air alike.
"Fine. You want terrifying?" Lucien's voice deepened.
"I'll give you divine."
What followed wasn't a fight.
It was war.
Kael tore through mana constructs like they were paper, his violet armor resisting elemental magic as if enchanted. He fought like a beast in motion—elegant, brutal, and aware. He didn't just swing. He predicted, danced, adapted mid-strike.
Lucien hovered above, casting spells with godlike precision—runic overlays appearing beneath Kael's feet, attempting to seal his movements, while a second layer of spells formed overhead. Spatial locks. Time-slip barriers. Royal flame projectiles that curved midflight.
Neither yielded.
Neither missed a beat.
Outside the arena, nobles were screaming into comm-stones.
"Find out who he is—now!"
"What house dares hide a child like that?!"
In the capital's throne room, the Emperor sat forward slowly, lips tight.
"…Call the seers," he said. "And the historians."
"But Your Majesty—?"
"No child should have a violet aura. Not unless…" His voice dropped. "Not unless that thing from the records has returned."
Back in the arena—
Kael finally spoke again, voice calm despite the storm.
"You're not bad, Crown."
Lucien snorted, bruised and grinning, one eye glowing silver from over-channeled mana.
"You either."
Another pulse of silence. The crowd couldn't breathe.
Then Lucien raised his hand, and the sky split.
A sphere of swirling, chaotic energy formed above—dark blue at its core, flecked with streaks of black lightning. He wasn't using school-level magic anymore.
This was imperial combat spellwork.
And Kael?
He crouched.
The violet light around him pulsed once—then flared. The air screamed as his aura surged higher than ever before. His eyes glowed like twin stars—feral, free.
And his sword grew.
Longer. Denser. The edge cracked the ground just by existing.
And as Lucien hurled the collapsing star of mana—
Kael slashed.
The entire coliseum erupted.
The feed cut out for a full five seconds before stabilizing.
When it came back, the sky above the arena had been cleaved in half. The clouds split into a corridor of blue and violet, spiraling upward like a wound in the heavens.
The crowd couldn't speak.
And still—they stood.
Kael and Lucien.
Both bleeding. Both smiling.
Breathing hard.
And still not done.
Lucien wiped blood from his cheek and looked at Kael with something near reverence.
"…You have a name?"
Kael tilted his head again. "Maybe."
Lucien chuckled. "Then say it."
Kael stepped forward, violet armor still smoldering with heat.
"Kael Riven."
The crowd lost it.
The broadcast feeds broke from how many voices shouted at once.
"WHO IS KAEL RIVEN?!"
And in the sky above, their powers surged again.
The second half of the battle was about to begin.