Drake’s expression was almost apologetic.

"Sorry. You fought well."

His hands held the compressed magma projectile radiating heat so intense the air warped around it.

Elina stared at the attack, mind racing.

I have no choice. 𝙧𝙚𝙚𝔀𝒆𝓫𝓷𝙤𝓿𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝙤𝓶

Her hands moved into a configuration she’d practiced in secret for months. Index and middle fingers extended, ring and pinky curled, thumbs touching.

Her hand pressed to her forehead.

Golden light erupted from the point of contact.

A card materialized between her fingers.

Black as midnight. Golden markings etched across its surface in patterns that seemed to shift and writhe. About the size of a playing card.

Drake’s eyes widened. His attack was already launching, when—

"Sever!"

Elina’s hand whipped forward. The card left her fingers, spinning through the air like a disc, golden markings blazing bright.

It cut through the compressed magma projectile.

The Volcanic Core split perfectly in half and the pieces destabilized immediately. They dissipated into harmless heat and fading light before reaching her.

The attack was simply... gone.

Drake’s jaw dropped. "What the fuck?"

The crowd erupted in shocked exclamations.

"That technique," Professor Vash murmured, eyes gleaming with genuine excitement and surprise, "Was that..."

She paused, hand to her ear as if consulting someone. When she spoke again, her voice was awed.

"Ladies and gentlemen, what we just witnessed was... the Arcana Regia!"

The arena went silent for a heartbeat.

Then exploded in noise.

Professor Vash continued, nearly shouting to be heard. "The legendary technique of the Glimor bloodline! Elina Glimor has manifested her family’s famous ability, the power to materialize Arcana cards that can manipulate reality itself!"

The Silver Crown section was on their feet, screaming support.

Even other houses were cheering, this was history. Bloodline manifestations were rare. Legendary bloodlines awakening mid-combat was the stuff of tournament legends.

In the ring, Drake’s shock was transforming into determination.

"So you’ve got tricks, huh?"

Another card materialized in Elina’s hand. This one was different, with bit red edges, different markings.

She flicked it like a throwing knife.

The card spun through the air, faster than Drake could track and embedded itself in his stomach.

Not deep. But the moment it made contact, Drake’s essence channels seized.

His eyes bulged. He tried to summon magma.

Nothing. His essence wouldn’t respond. The card was disrupting his internal flow, severing the connections between core and technique.

"What the?" he gasped, pulling the card from his stomach.

But Elina was already moving. Her fist drove into his jaw.

Drake stumbled back, still trying to channel essence, panic setting in.

Elina’s knee came up, caught his ribs where she’d broken them earlier.

He grunted, thrown off balance.

Her elbow strike to his temple made his vision blur.

Drake ripped the card free of his stomach, threw it aside.

Still no essence. His channels were still disrupted.

Elina pressed the advantage. She was injured, burned, exhausted, but Drake was worse off. Bigger target. Slower without magma enhancement. Relying on physical strength that couldn’t match her technique.

She struck.

Drake blocked desperately with his forearms, eating punches, waiting for his essence to return.

There.

His channels reconnected.

And.

BOOM!

Magma erupted from his entire body in an uncontrolled burst. Not a technique. Just raw release of pent-up essence, explosion of heat in all directions.

The blast threw them both tumbling in opposite directions.

They hit the ground simultaneously.

Smoke rose from both fighters. Burns. Impact damage. Essence depletion.

For several seconds, neither moved.

The crowd held its breath.

Then—

Elina’s hand twitched. She pressed it to the arena floor, trying to push herself up, but her arm gave out. She collapsed back down, unconscious.

Drake was on his knees, swaying, breathing in ragged gasps.

Then, his eyes rolled back.

He toppled forward and hit the ground face-first.

The arena was silent. Both fighters down. Both unmoving.

Medical staff rushed in from both sides.

Professor Vash’s voice came "Both competitors are... this is... we need official ruling."

Faculty members were conferring rapidly, checking regulations, reviewing what had just happened.

Then one pointed at something. The magical recording crystals that captured every moment for review.

They played it back. Slowed it down.

Drake had stayed upright, barely, swaying, on his knees, for exactly two-point-three seconds after Elina had gone down.

Then he’d fallen.

Professor Vash’s voice came again, this time official: "By tournament regulation, a fighter is considered defeated when they are unable to continue. Drake Volcanic remained conscious and upright for two seconds after Elina Glimor lost consciousness."

A pause as she confirmed with officials.

"Winner by delayed incapacitation... DRAKE VOLCANIC!"

Silver Crown: 0 | Iron Talon: 2

The Iron Talon section erupted again. They’d won, but barely. And they’d all seen what Elina had manifested.

The Silver Crown section was louder, cheering for Elina despite the loss. She’d awakened her bloodline. She’d fought to unconsciousness. She’d lost by seconds.

Medical staff worked on both fighters. Drake was being carried out on a stretcher, completely spent. Elina required more intensive healing, the burns, the essence depletion, the physical trauma.

Both were done for the tournament.

In the Champions’ Room, the remaining three Silver Crown fighters stood in silence.

"She manifested Arcana Regia," Verelia said quietly.

"And still lost," Kieran added, though his tone held respect rather than criticism.

Alaric stared down at the arena where healers surrounded Elina. His jaw was tight, hands clenched.

******

In one of the private viewing chambers, that weren’t like anything available to common spectators or even most nobility.

Crystal-clear enchanted windows provided perfect viewing angles of all the rings simultaneously. Plush seating in deep burgundy leather. A sidebar stocked with expensive wines and delicacies. Essence-regulated temperature maintaining perfect comfort despite the chaos below.

A middle-aged man sat in the primary seat, honey-blonde hair perfectly styled despite hours of tournament viewing. Eyes the same as hair. His expression remained flat, controlled, but there was a subtle tightening in his jaw as he watched Elina being carried from the arena on a stretcher.

"So she’s awakened it too..." An amused voice came from beside him.

A young man, seemed to be in his early twenties, sat in a posture that mirrored his father’s aristocratic bearing.

Same honey-blonde hair, same amber-gold eyes. "Arcana Regia... her Sever was weak... but the aftereffect was impressive."

The middle-aged man shook his head slowly. "That wasn’t Sever."

The young man’s eyes widened fractionally. "What?"

"The first card was indeed Sever. Cuts essence connections, disrupts technique formation." The father’s tone remained measured. "But that second card she threw? The one that embedded in his stomach and shut down his entire essence circulation?"

He turned slightly to look at his son directly.

"That was Nullify."

The young man’s composed expression cracked completely. Disbelief flooded his features. "That’s impossible. Nullify is the final form of Arcana Regia. It requires—"

"Complete bloodline integration. Yes." The father’s lips curved fractionally, not quite a smile. "Which means that girl from the branch family has manifested the Royal Blood at a higher level than we anticipated."

Silence stretched for a moment as implications settled.

Then the middle-aged man turned his head toward an attendant standing discreetly near the door. "Is that failure still alive?"

The attendant, an older man in formal servant’s attire bowed his head. "Yes, my lord. Ferrick Glimor remains in his estate."

"Mm." The honey-blonde man’s expression went cold. "Kill him. We’ll take the girl before he sells her out to whatever hefty offer comes from another household seeking to acquire Arcana Regia users."

The attendant hesitated fractionally. "That may prove... problematic, my lord."

One perfectly groomed eyebrow raised. "Explain."

"His foster son, the one he recently adopted, is engaged to Duke Rithvale’s daughter. Which means any attack on Ferrick Glimor could be interpreted as offense against Duke Rithvale’s interests."

The young man scoffed. "Why would the Duke bother protecting worthless scum from a branch family?"

"He has to," the attendant replied carefully. "To do otherwise would be to lose face. If his future son-in-law’s family is attacked and he does nothing, it suggests weakness. Political necessity demands he respond."

The middle-aged man turned his gaze back to the arena where preparations for the next match were underway.

"Alright. We’ll wait. Take her from him when opportunity presents itself without direct confrontation."

The young man leaned back in his seat, crossing one leg over the other. He propped his elbow on the armrest, resting his cheek against his knuckles in a posture of casual arrogance.

"Are you scared of a single Duke, Father?"

The middle-aged man’s lips twitched fractionally, might have been amusement, might have been annoyance. "Why would I be?"

He stood, adjusting his formal robes with precise movements. "Ferrick isn’t worth fighting even a mere baron over. He’s irrelevant. But the girl," He turned to face his son fully. "Is not."

Amber-gold eyes met amber-gold eyes.

"You’re the heir, Aurelian. And she’s awakened Arcana Regia just like you did." The father’s voice carried weight beyond mere words.

"We need her under our control. Under our house. Not running loose in some branch family, being wasted by a failure who doesn’t understand what he possesses."

Aurelian Glimor—Aurelia’s older brother, current heir to the main Glimor line—nodded slowly.

"Understood. We bring her in."

"Precisely." The father moved toward the door. "Now come. We should pay our respects to the Duke. Political niceties must be maintained, especially if we’re planning to extract his future daughter-in-law’s cousin from unfortunate circumstances."

The attendant opened the door for them.

As they left, the middle-aged man paused at the threshold, looking back at the arena one more time. Down below, tiny from this distance, Silver Crown’s remaining fighters prepared for their next match.

"Interesting tournament," he murmured. "Very interesting indeed."

Then he was gone, the door closing behind them.