ONLINE: Blades of Eternity-Chapter 247: PASSIVE MOCKERY

Up in the VIP section, the air was thick with unspoken agreements. Despite the murmurs rippling through the stadium, none of the dignitaries seated in the high-class area uttered a word about the Dragonyx family's defeat. It was an unspoken rule—one ingrained in those who truly understood power.

Kael Dragonyx, the head of his illustrious bloodline, sat calmly, his expression betraying nothing. His deep, piercing gaze followed Kelvin and his group as they exited the arena, taking in every movement, every subtle detail. He appeared relaxed, almost indifferent, yet there was an unmistakable weight in his silence.

Behind him, his aged right-hand man shifted slightly before leaning in. "Lord Kael, should we—"

Before he could finish, Kael raised a hand ever so slightly, cutting him off. His voice was smooth, unwavering.

"It's not needed," he said, his tone carrying an almost amused finality. "Let's just watch and see how the events unfold."

A moment of silence followed. Then—

From the side, King Alexandria, made a nearly imperceptible movement. His eyes, sharp yet unreadable, flicked briefly toward Kael. It was a side glance—short, almost dismissive, yet carrying an unmistakable weight.

Then, just as quickly, the serene smile returned to his lips, and his attention drifted back to the arena, as if he had seen nothing of consequence.

Kael, however, did not miss it.

Nor did he need to acknowledge it.

The game was in motion, and the true players understood—sometimes, the best move was to simply wait.

Back on the arena, Kaelen Dragonyx stood among the competitors, his crimson eyes tracking every movement of the Valen Military Academy's representatives as they made their way back to their designated area. The tension in the arena had yet to fade, lingering like an invisible storm cloud.

Beside him, Morris Grey exhaled slightly before muttering under his breath, his gaze locked on Kelvin's back.

"He's changed…" Morris said, barely above a whisper. "The Kelvin I remember wasn't like this. He's become… something else."

Kaelen didn't immediately respond. He was still analyzing Kelvin, still dissecting every action, every shift in demeanor.

But just as he was about to speak—

Kelvin's head turned.

For the briefest moment, their eyes met.

It was only a flicker, a second at most, but it was enough.

Kelvin's expression didn't shift, didn't waver. He didn't smirk, didn't glare—just a calm, unreadable look before he casually shifted his gaze away, continuing his steady stride toward his designated area.

Kaelen's breath hitched.

His fists clenched tightly, knuckles turning white.

The air around him subtly distorted, his magic reacting to the surge of emotion he barely contained. His crimson eyes darkened with unmistakable intent.

Killing intent.

He watched Kelvin walk away, his entire being radiating silent fury.

This wasn't over.

Not even close.

The anticipation in the arena was still thick when Seraphine's voice suddenly echoed across the stadium, cutting through the murmurs of the crowd as the screen beside her quickly displayed it.

"For the next duel, we have The Dawning of Magic Academy going up against The Blightmore House!"

A ripple of excitement spread through the audience. This wasn't just any matchup—this was a duel between two of the strongest forces in the convention.

Back in the participants' area, within the Pacesetters Academy's ranks, Guinevere crossed her arms, her fiery red hair shifting slightly as she smirked. "We're about to see the best mage in the convention in action," she remarked, her voice carrying the confidence of someone who knew magic.

Kaelen, who had been lost in his thoughts after his brief exchange of gazes with Kelvin, turned toward her. His interest was piqued.

"The best mage?" he asked, his bright blue eyes narrowing slightly.

Guinevere nodded. "Kent Harrow. They call him the Affinity God for a reason. He's mastered more magic affinities than any other mage in this entire convention, and sorry to say but I feel how I just described him might even be an understatement."

'Its's him!'

Kaelen said nothing, but his gaze flickered toward the arena as his curiosity deepened while he thought.

And then—

The competitors arrived.

From one end of the arena, the representatives of The Dawning of Magic Academy stepped forward.

Leading them was Kent Harrow, a tall, composed young man with a mysterious air. His very presence exuded magical supremacy, as if the elements themselves bowed to him. His movements were deliberate, his eyes filled with nothing but unshakable confidence.

Beside him was Rafaela, the user of Lunar Magic, her aura glowing faintly under the arena's artificial light. There was an almost celestial grace in the way she carried herself, her expression calm but sharp.

Next was a gloomy-looking girl, her dark robes shifting with a strange fluidity. Her eyes, shadowed beneath her hood, carried an eerie stillness—a dark mage. No doubt.

Then came Pine Hughes, a fighter wielding two crescent-shaped blades, their edges shimmering faintly with magical reinforcement. His stance was balanced, ready to pounce at any moment.

And finally, a girl with a bow, her piercing gaze scanning the battlefield. She didn't just hold a bow—she commanded it, like it was an extension of her very being.

As the Dawning of Magic Academy took their positions, their presence alone sent a buzz through the arena.

And then, from the opposite side—

The Blightmore House stepped forward.

They were different. Their aura was heavier, darker. Their robes were adorned with cryptic symbols, their very presence sending an uncomfortable chill through the spectators.

At the center of their formation stood Mortis Blightmore, the prodigy of Necromancy and Dark Arts. His pale face was unreadable, his jet-black eyes holding an unnatural gleam. He walked as if the shadows themselves carried him, his very being exuding the presence of death.

Behind him stood four others—each steeped in dark magic, their auras twisted and suffocating. Their robes bore the insignia of the Blightmore lineage, a name feared for its mastery of necromancy.

The contrast between the two groups was stark. One represented the pinnacle of magical mastery. The other, the depths of forbidden power.

The crowd held its breath.

Kaelen's fingers twitched. 'This…This was going to be interesting.'

The anticipation in the coliseum reached a fever pitch as Seraphine finally raised her hand.

"Let the duel… begin!"

A deafening roar erupted from the crowd, their cheers shaking the very air. This was the duel everyone had been waiting for—the part where they get to see the best mage in the convention in action. The energy was electric, excitement rippling through the spectators.

But then—

Kent Harrow raised his hand.

Instantly, the crowd fell into silence, as if the entire stadium had been placed under a spell. Even the murmurs died down, all eyes locking onto the leader of the Dawning of Magic Academy's team.

Kent took a step forward, his expression calm yet unwavering. His voice carried across the coliseum, steady and absolute.

"I've been watching the previous duels carefully," he began. "And there's something that stands out."

He glanced briefly at Kelvin's departing figure and Alaric who is resting with his eyes closed before continuing.

"In each battle, it has always been one person stepping forward, overpowering an entire team. One individual deciding the entire match." He paused, letting his words sink in. "I don't find that particularly… fair."

A wave of murmurs rushed through the audience. Some exchanged surprised looks, while others frowned in confusion.

Kent's eyes then locked onto Mortis Blightmore.

"So, to make this duel more balanced, I've decided…" He took a breath, then delivered his next words with absolute finality.

"I won't participate."

A sharp silence followed.

Then—

Gasps.

Shocked whispers spread like wildfire. The Affinity God, the best mage in the convention—choosing not to fight? Some spectators looked at each other in disbelief. Others wondered if they had misheard.

The Blightmore representatives, however, took it differently.

Mortis Blightmore's pale face twisted into a scowl. His dark eyes gleamed with cold fury as he took a step forward. "Are you mocking us?" he spat. His voice carried a venomous edge, the underlying insult digging deep. "Do you think so little of the Blightmore House that you believe you don't even need to fight us?"

Kent didn't flinch. Instead, he merely tilted his head slightly, his gaze unwavering.

"No," he said. "I simply don't see the point in fighting unless you prove you're worth my attention."

The insult landed.

Mortis' magic flared instantly.

Dark energy surged around him, tendrils of abyssal power crackling violently. His fury was palpable, his pride wounded beyond measure.

"You arrogant—!"

With a flick of his wrist, Mortis unleashed a devastating wave of dark magic—raw, destructive, and aimed directly at Kent. The sheer force of it warped the air, promising to engulf the Affinity God in an instant.

But before it could reach him—

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The attack was deflected.

Not by Kent.

But by the gloomy-looking girl from his team.

With effortless grace, she raised a single hand, conjuring a shadowy barrier. Mortis' magic slammed into it—only to be swallowed whole, dispersing as if it had never existed.

Gasps echoed across the coliseum.

She lowered her hand, her hood concealing most of her expression, but the smirk in her tone was unmistakable as she finally spoke.

"Actions speak louder than words." Her voice was cold, cutting, and laced with an eerie amusement. "So why don't you start speaking?"

A deathly silence followed.

Then, the tension in the arena exploded.