CHAPTER 239: CHAPTER 239: BETWEEN FIGHTS

The wind inside the mountain arena was still, the air dry and charged with faint magical tension. In the center of the battlefield, two girls stood face to face—one in a flowing purple uniform trimmed with silver, the other in deep navy, her hair short and eyes cold.

Selene von Iskandar barely moved.

Her opponent from Luceria Grand Academy summoned a wall of purple light and rushed forward with a long spear.

Selene raised the wand in her left hand. "Frostfall Requiem."

A wave of cold swept across the field in an instant, forming jagged spears of ice beneath her feet. The temperature plummeted. The crowd gasped.

The girl from Luceria didn’t even get close.

She froze mid-lunge, her armor coated in white frost. The protection sigil on her arm flared blue—activating just before the wall of ice would’ve pierced her.

"Victory—Selene von Iskandar!" the announcer declared.

Noel sat back in his seat and exhaled softly.

Balthor grunted beside him. "She’s somethin’ else. Beats her opponents without breaking a sweat... and she doesn’t even look happy about it."

Noel didn’t smile. "She’s not cold, even if she looks like it. It’s just... hard for her to express things. Let’s leave it at that."

Balthor glanced at him sideways, then shrugged. "If you say so." He stood and stretched his arms. "I’m off for a beer. Want anything?"

Noel shook his head. "No. The next match has someone from the Tharvaldur Institute. I want to see it—Torwan said this one should lose. If it happens, we’ll have confirmation."

Balthor scratched his beard. "Right. If I miss it, just tell me how it ends."

He turned and started down the stairs toward the inner tavern built into the arena.

Noel leaned forward, eyes fixed on the sands below.

’Let’s see if your games hold up, Torwan. If this guy really loses... we can confirm for sure you’re pulling strings and you want that Estermont deal.’

He frowned slightly.

’The money from these bets might help me deal with him. I’m not dragging the girls into this—especially not Elyra. If anything goes wrong, her name’s on the line. I’m already risking enough.’

He stared at the golden ring on his finger.

’I’m sure they’ll be mad at me eventually. Charlotte, Elena... and Elyra most of all. But I think they know me well enough to let me do things my way. If I need help, I’ll ask. For now... Balthor and I are enough. If Nicolas joins us, we can shut this down before it spreads.’

The announcer’s voice echoed again, vibrant and sharp:

"Next duel! Representing the Tharvaldur Institute of Arcane Might—Gorvan von Stonegrip!"

Cheers erupted from the dwarven section.

"And his opponent, from the Academy of Velmora—Veyar de Duskwretch!"

Noel rested his elbows on his knees, eyes narrowing.

Gorvan stepped into the arena with solid, confident strides. His frame was bulky, taller than most dwarves Noel had seen, and packed with muscle. Spiked bracers adorned his arms, and mana flickered along his boots—subtle signs of enchantment. Earth magic clung to him like dust to stone.

His opponent, Veyar, slithered onto the stage with a sly grin. Thin and wiry, with skin like wet ash and sharp black eyes, the demon boy dragged a pair of curved blades through the sand as if savoring each step.

’This is it,’ Noel thought. ’Top three in Tharvaldur, physical and earth magic specialist... If he loses, it confirms Torwan’s influence.’

The duel began.

Gorvan didn’t waste time. He charged forward with a thunderous stomp.

"Stonebreak!"

The arena floor cracked beneath his boots as a surge of jagged rock burst toward Veyar, trying to trip him. The demon leapt gracefully, twirling in midair and launching two dark slashes from his blades.

Gorvan raised a stone shield with a grunt, the curved strikes bouncing off with sparks. He immediately countered.

"Rock Fist!"

His gauntlet swelled with mana, coated in earth, and punched a crater into the ground. A pillar of compressed stone erupted under Veyar’s feet, slamming into him and tossing him back.

The crowd roared.

Noel’s eyes narrowed further. ’So far, this isn’t even close.’

Veyar rolled back to his feet, panting. He rushed again, this time using illusions—his form flickered, splitting into three.

Gorvan didn’t hesitate. He slammed both fists into the ground.

"Gravel Quake!"

A localized tremor shattered the fake images, and the real Veyar stumbled, falling to one knee.

The dwarf advanced, raising his fists to end it.

Then... he stopped.

Noel’s body tensed.

Gorvan froze mid-step, his fists trembling in place. His eyes flickered briefly—almost like he had forgotten where he was. He stood there, open, vulnerable.

’No...’

Veyar surged forward.

"Shadow Fang!"

Both blades struck Gorvan’s side—not hard enough to kill, but enough to trigger the protective sigil. It flared blue. A barrier rippled around the dwarf’s body, locking him in place. Disqualified.

"Victory—Veyar de Duskwretch of the Academy of Velmora!"

Cheers rose, but they were scattered—confused. Even some dwarves were silent.

Noel clenched his jaw.

’Tch... That hesitation wasn’t natural. That kid froze like something seized his will. And it was right when he was about to win.’

He stared down at Gorvan, who stood in disbelief as the referee escorted him away.

’You’re sending a message, aren’t you, Torwan? That even the strong can fall. That fear lingers after seeing what happened to the first one. I still remember it too... how Bone Crusher squeezed that poor guy’s ribs like twigs. But this wasn’t just fear. Something stopped him.’

His fists tightened slightly.

’You’re rigging this... and doing it clean enough to make it look like doubt or nerves. Bastard.’

Balthor returned a few minutes later, elbowing and shuffling his way through the crowd. In one hand, he held a large frothy mug of beer. In the other, a small cloth pouch of peanuts.

"’Scuse me—"

"Coming through—"

"Watch your feet, lad!"

He finally dropped into his seat beside Noel with a satisfied groan.

"Ahhh, worth the wait." He looked over. "What? You want some?" he said, offering the peanuts with a grin.

Noel shook his head. "No thanks."

Balthor munched on a handful anyway. "So? The match over?"

"Yeah," Noel said, eyes still on the arena. "The student from Velmora won. The one from Tharvaldur lost... and he’s supposed to be top 3 in their entire academy."

Balthor stopped mid-chew. "He lost? Just like that?"

Noel nodded. "It wasn’t obvious to anyone else, but he froze up near the end. Just for a second. Long enough to let the hit land. It was too clean—too perfectly timed."

Balthor leaned back. "So... my brother wasn’t bluffin’."

Noel exhaled slowly. "Apparently not. It’s not the outcome we wanted, but it helps. Confirms that Torwan’s manipulating the results somehow. Whether it’s threats or with something else..."

Balthor took another sip of beer, then grunted. "We’ll figure it out. Step by step. You asked me to take your suit to Noriel, by the way."

"Right. Did you?"

"Of course I did. Two gold coins."

Noel raised an eyebrow. "Two gold?"

"You think repairs are free? That suit of yours had marks, tears, and whatever else you did to it."

"You’ve already made enough money off my matches," Noel muttered. "Shouldn’t this be on the house?"

Balthor clicked his tongue. "Two gold. Or next time, you take it to Noriel. And believe me, he’ll charge you double. I’m the only dwarf alive who can actually bargain with him."

Noel sighed. "Fine, fine."

Balthor smirked into his beer mug.

The next match was already being announced, but Noel’s attention snapped back into focus when he heard the name:

"Representing the Imperial Academy of Valor—Elena von Lestaria!"

He sat upright.

From the left gate, Elena stepped into the arena with elegant poise. Her academy’s uniform—a formal gray with deep crimson accents—flowed with her every movement. Her silver-platinum hair shimmered in the artificial arena light, loosely braided down her back. Her pointed elven ears twitched subtly, and her amber eyes scanned the massive stands with quiet purpose.

She was searching.

Then—she found him.

Her gaze locked with Noel’s for just a second.

Without thinking, she raised her hand and blew him a kiss.

As soon as she did, her face flushed crimson, and she turned her head away quickly, trying to compose herself.

Noel blinked in surprise, then gave her a subtle wave, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

’Cute.’

From the row above, chaos broke out.

"Wait, was that for me?"

"In your dreams. She was obviously looking at me."

"Bro, she looked straight down, I’m sitting directly below—"

"Shut up, she turned her head left, and I was on the left!"

The argument escalated into mild shoving.

Noel didn’t even glance up. His smirk widened slightly.

Balthor leaned in, holding his half-empty beer. "What just happened?"

"Nothing important," Noel said, still watching Elena from afar.

The crowd settled again as Elena moved to her starting position on the field.