​The opening match was already heating up by the time Roland’s party settled into their seats in the VIP spectator stands.

​Down below, on the compacted white sand, two mages were clashing for their lives—or at least, their pride. One wore a blazing red robe, while his opponent was clad in light green. The mana barrier encircling the arena pulsed with a soft blue light, reflecting the rays of the rising morning sun.

​Swoosh!

​The Fire Mage took the initiative, unleashing a fierce, roaring orange fireball. However, the Wind Mage had already moved a split second before the projectile could even reach the center of the ring. He had no intention of parrying. The green-robed youth simply took a light step to the left, ducked to the right, and elegantly spun away to evade the heat. His movements were as smooth as silk, almost like a man performing a waltz.

​"Huh? What is he waiting for?" Adul whispered, his eyes wide and unblinking as he stared down at the arena.

​"Waiting for his opponent to run out of breath," Roland replied casually, his eyes never leaving the movement of the two fighters.

​The Fire Mage struck again, even more ferociously this time. Two, then three fireballs were spat out in rapid succession. Boom! Boom! Each whistled through the air with lethal velocity.

​But the Wind Mage maintained his rhythm. He continuously evaded, occasionally dispersing the lethal projectiles with concentrated bursts of air that shifted the fire’s trajectory. The stray fireballs crashed wildly against the protective barrier of the arena, fizzling out into plumes of grey smoke.

​"The Fire Mage is too aggressive, wasting his mana," Roland murmured, resting his chin on his hand. "The Wind Mage... is patient. He’s calculating."

​Beside him, Rianor sat as silent as a stone statue. Yet, his eyes were working far harder than anyone else’s in the colosseum. Rianor was not enjoying the match like a common spectator looking for entertainment.

​He was looking at data.

​The frequency of attacks. The duration of the intervals between spells. The fluctuations of mana density in the surrounding air. Within his mind, strings of magical code began to assemble randomly, though he had yet to fully realize it.

​Down below, the Wind Mage finally retaliated. A single, razor-thin blade of wind swept straight toward the Fire Mage’s ankles.

​The exhausted Fire Mage, drained of his mana, had no time to react. The wind swept his legs out, shattering his balance, and he crashed heavily into the sand. Thud. The arena barrier instantly flickered red—the referee’s absolute signal that one of the fighters was unfit to continue.

​The stands erupted into cheers. The Fire Mage had to be escorted out by two medical personnel, while the Wind Mage stood tall in the center of the arena, catching his breath before offering an elegant bow to the crowd.

​Roland leaned forward. "Hmm. Not bad for an opening match. Good... I can see the pattern now."

​"What pattern, My Lord?" Adul frowned in confusion.

​"They all have an innate rhythm. Inhale, attack, pause, attack again. If you can read the rhythm of their breathing and their mana, you know exactly at what second they will run out of strength."

​"Huh... that sounds like counting the steps of someone dancing," Adul remarked naively.

​"Exactly like that," Roland smiled thinly.

​Hearing this, Rianor glanced out of the corner of his eye. Roland was a diplomat who rarely spoke of combat mechanics—he usually only dealt with people’s motives and politics. But this time, his brother was speaking of rhythm and patterns. It seemed Roland was also absorbing knowledge in his own way.

​"Second match!" the announcer’s voice boomed. "Liana Velthorne, instructor of Luminous Academy... versus Razan of the Luminous Arcanist Conclave!"

​At the mention of those names, Charis and Lira bolted from their seats as if stung by hornets.

​"ADVISOR LIANAAA! GO FOR IT!" Lira shrieked hysterically, waving both hands so wildly she nearly tumbled over the safety railing.

​Charis quickly grabbed Lira’s collar and forced her back into her seat. "Good grief, calm down! She hasn’t even emerged from the tunnel yet!"

​"But she’s about to, you know!"

​Down below, in the dim player tunnel, Liana heard her name called. She rose from her wooden bench. Her hands, which had been as cold as ice, slowly began to warm as her heart pumped mana through her neural pathways.

​Win or lose, Liana thought, closing her eyes. At least today, I stand in the arena.

​She stepped forward.

​The blinding sunlight welcomed her. The white sand beneath her boots felt solid and warm. The crowd’s cheers echoed—though not as deafening as the opening match, the roar was enough to trigger her adrenaline.

​On the opposite side of the arena, her opponent stood waiting.

​Razan. A broad-shouldered youth, standing tall in a dark blue robe characteristic of the Arcanist Conclave. Sparks of blue lightning crackled wildly at his fingertips. Bzzzt. It was not an aggressive gesture, but purely a subconscious habit.

​The youth stared straight at Liana, then offered a respectful bow. "Advisor Liana. It is an honor to stand in the same arena as you."

​Liana returned the gesture with a firm nod. "You are no longer my student, Razan. Save the ’Advisor’ title."

​"Old habits die hard," Razan offered a thin smile. "But rest assured... on the sand of this arena, we are equals."

​"Yes," Liana extended one arm to the side, bracing her stance. "We are equals."

​DONG! The bell rang out sharply.

​Razan did not hold back. He opened with three lightning strikes simultaneously! CRACK! CRACK! The lethal bolts sliced through three different angles, locking down Liana’s evasion options.

​But Liana proved her caliber. A split second before the first bolt struck the sand beneath her feet, a dense white mist enveloped her body, swallowing her whole.

​"Illusion mist...!" Razan clicked his tongue, quickly spinning around to scan the flanks. But Liana was nowhere to be found.

​She had already manifested behind his back.

​Shing! Three ice shards, as sharp as daggers, flew toward Razan’s neck.

​Razan’s combat instincts flared. He parried wildly with a makeshift lightning shield, shattering two of the shards into dust. Crack! However, the third projectile slipped through, grazing his shoulder. Sshk. It was not a fatal wound, but it forced him to stumble forward.

​"Tch, still as fast as ever," Razan hissed through his grimace, a hint of admiration in his voice.

​Liana had no intention of giving him room to breathe. She stomped her foot. An icy chill surged across the ground. The sand beneath Razan’s boots instantly froze as hard as steel! The clear layer of ice expanded, ruining the youth’s balance until he slipped. Razan’s knee hit the ground. Thud.

​"This isn’t over!" Razan snarled.

​BOOM!

​A colossal pillar of lightning erupted from within Razan. It was not a focused strike, but a pure AoE (Area of Effect) electromagnetic shockwave that swept in all directions.

​The explosion was brutal. The ice on the floor shattered into countless shards. Liana’s mist veil was violently torn apart. Razan stood tall once more, panting heavily, his eyes glowing blue.

​Liana merely offered a thin smirk at the sight. "Good. It seems you haven’t forgotten my lessons."

​"Of course. You always emphasized: ’If you are trapped in enemy territory, simply destroy the territory from within,’" Razan replied, wiping sweat from his temple.

​"Unfortunately, there is one small detail you forgot."

​Razan’s brow furrowed. "What?"

​"Look up."

​Liana was no longer standing on the ground. Since the explosion, she had leaped high into the air, using the airborne ice shards as temporary footholds. Razan looked up in shock, but his time had run out.

​Liana descended like a white meteor, a colossal ice spear already formed in her grip. Its sharp tip was aimed straight at Razan’s throat.

​Silence fell instantly.

​The noisy colosseum seemed to be hushed. The arena’s blue barrier immediately flashed a brilliant red—the safety system reading the potential of a lethal strike and declaring one of the fighters completely cornered.

​The ice spear froze in mid-air, its tip resting mere millimeters from Razan’s trembling Adam’s apple.

​"I... yield." Razan finally lowered his hands slowly. The lightning crackling at his fingers fizzled out.

​Liana lowered her spear, letting it melt into a gentle mist. "You fought exceptionally well, Razan."

​"Still not enough to win against you," Razan offered a bitter smile. "But I have a long memory. Next time... I won’t lose."

​"I shall await that day."

​Razan offered a deep, respectful bow before turning to walk heavily out of the arena.

​The explosion of the crowd’s cheers was deafening. Up in the stands, Lira and Charis hopped up and down hysterically, hugging each other, their proud shouts entirely swallowed by the colosseum’s roar.

​Liana Velthorne stood in the center of the arena, wiping the sweat from her forehead as she caught her breath. She had won decisively. Yet, as she stared up at the stands... a strange sensation suddenly gripped her chest.

​It was not the physical pain from the match. Nor was it exhaustion. It was an ominous premonition—a bad omen that froze the flow of her blood for no apparent reason.

​In the VIP spectator stands, Rianor did not join in the cheering.

​His hands gripped his knees so tightly his knuckles turned white. His eyes stared blankly at the empty space above the arena. He did not see Liana’s victory. He saw the residual pattern of the magic.

​Liana’s mist. The sharp ice. Razan’s electromagnetic blast. None of it appeared as natural elements to him anymore. Instead... they were lines of code. Raw strings of numbers and frequency waves. Rianor could dissect them in the air.

​4.2 Hz. 7.8 Hz. 1.3 Hz.

​Within his mind, those raw codes began to assemble, stacking to find a structure. It was not perfect, indeed. But his vision was growing clearer.

​"Rianor?" Roland turned, frowning at his brother’s pale face.

​Rianor didn’t answer. He didn’t even blink.

​Then... abruptly, the density of the air in the Colosseum shifted violently.

​The sky, which a second ago had been painted with warm orange hues, suddenly decayed into a horrifying, deep purple. The clouds were sucked in, spinning frantically to form an unnatural spiral vortex directly above the Colosseum roof.

​The wind died instantly. The cheers of tens of thousands of spectators vanished, replaced by a low hum that vibrated through their ribcages.

​"W-wait! What’s happening?!" Adul reflexively bolted upright from his chair, the pain in his knees completely forgotten, replaced by pure horror.

​In the churning purple sky... a crack slowly split open.

​Pitch black. Wide and asymmetric. It looked exactly as though someone had ripped open the fabric of reality with a giant blade. Sshhk.

​The gasps of awe in the stands instantly shattered into hysterical screams of panic.

​In the center of the arena, Liana stared up at the sky. The color drained from her face entirely. Her lips trembled in disbelief.

​"No... it can’t be..."

​And from within that black tear, something crawling in the shadows... began to manifest.