While a storm was starting to brew in another part of the hall, a young man sat in a room that seemed exclusive to those of his status. His hair was icy pale and his eyes the same, his clothes adorned in white, making a perfect match to his appearance. His face was excessively attractive. He sat in silence, leaning back against the sofa, completely still.
Who knew what the man was thinking?
"..."
After a long stretch of silence, the door was gently nudged open, moving smoothly without resistance and without making a sound. In the quiet, a voice resonated through the room as a man who seemed to be an assistant, his role evident from the tag on his shirt, spoke with a hint of haughtiness.
"Ahem, Candidate #50... you may now proceed to the stage," he said, intentionally leaving out the mention of his name. More importantly, the person in front of him remained unmoved despite his presence.
At the words, the man with icy pale hair opened his eyes and stood, his movements slow and monotonic. He stepped forward at an unhurried pace until he reached the entrance of the small room.
The assistant’s brows furrowed in annoyance. 'What an ungrateful bastard… just a pretty face with nothing to show,' he thought, as not even a glance or a word of gratitude came his way. Perhaps there was even a hint of self-consciousness about his own appearance in that thought. Still, as the man reached the door, he stepped aside to let him pass.
But once he was behind the young man, his lips curled into a condescending smirk as he spoke. "Heh. Good luck out there." He got no response, which only deepened his annoyance at the young man’s behavior. Since his presence was required to guide him, he followed along, their steps and his voice echoing through the empty hallway. "Ahem! Your opponent is the prince, so—" His words were cut off.
...Znnngggghh!
It didn’t seem like his words reached only the air, though, as he was suddenly slammed downwards by an unknown force, his face forced toward the ground, pushing him into a kneeling position. He was breathing fine; the force seemed only to press him down, but cracks still formed on the floor beneath him. He gritted his teeth. “W-what?!” He tried to look up but couldn’t. 'I-Is this… aura? N-no way!' he thought in disbelief, the situation far too absurd.
His eyes darted in every direction, searching for any sign of another presence. He tapped into his arsenal of skills to pinpoint the source, yet the result only deepened his disbelief. 'I’m a damned assistant, you know!' He couldn’t believe it—not just the sheer audacity of the situation, but that anyone would even think of doing such a thing to an assistant.
But no matter where he looked, there was no one.
Then, his gaze fixed on the man’s figure, now fully visible, standing at a distance. His breath caught. 'N-no way… there’s simply no way!'
Regardless of his anger, the man simply kept walking forward, unbothered, his steps echoing through the hallway. It was so casual that the professor’s assistant even wondered if the absurd pressure wasn’t coming from the man before him at all.
After a while, the pressure subsided, and he was finally able to stand upright. He gazed at the man with fury. 'It’s him... It definitely has to be him,' he thought with burning anger. He was now on the brink of losing his sanity, his pride far too wounded.
“You think your status gives you the right to pull something like that?!” he shouted angrily, striding toward the man. Then, with a mocking and bitter tone, he added, “You’re not impressive. Hiding behind artifacts to fake your strength? That’s not just cowardly; it’s a disgrace. And it’s against the rules!” His body radiated a red glow as he covered himself with a protective barrier of aura.
...Znnngggghh!
Then, as if his last line’s accusation had been answered, a sudden wall of invisible force came crashing toward him in a blur.
…Bzznnngh!
The aura slammed into him like a massive wave, this time from the side, hurling him across the hall. His back struck the wall with a heavy thud, the impact rattling his bones and driving the air from his lungs. The world spun, his vision warping into a haze before darkness crept in at the edges.
“H-how dare!” he roared in anger. Immobilized, he remained conscious only because he had managed to raise a protective aura at the last moment. But before he could speak another word—
...Krasshh!
His body was slammed downward like a ragdoll, and his consciousness finally slipped away into Wonderland.
Thud.
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Beyond the hallway was a wide-open space. Unlike those used by magic users, this one was under the open sky, the center taken up by a large, raised circular stage lit by the bright sun. The heat wasn’t suffocating, nor did it make anyone sweat. Men and women, all clearly of high noble status, stood or sat around, their movements calm and graceful. Some watched from the audience seats, waiting for their turn, while others had already finished theirs.
Yet something was amiss, as they all seemed to be chattering about something, their voices barely above a whisper, yet somehow carrying across the air. Nearly all of them appeared to be talking about the same matter.
Young masters of varying noble statuses and ranks spoke with calculated words and measured speech.
"The young master of Aldyvorn is the one challenging the prince?" a male noble spoke.
"Rather unfortunate… indeed. The outcome seems all but inevitable, doesn’t it?" a female noble examinee replied.
"Well… they say he lacks the skill his father possessed. His prowess is barely more than a wisp of mana," another man added with a condescending tone.
They all spoke with measured speech, yet underneath lay a hint of superiority toward themselves. Their purpose was to speak with as much damage as possible without hurting themselves in the process. Yet there was always that individual who didn’t think the same and crossed the line.
A young noble with a brown skin tone spoke and slipped something that he shouldn’t have.
"True… and there are also rumors about—"
But his words were cut off. They were nobles of varying status and rankings, but there was also someone who wasn’t even in the place itself.
"Quiet, all of you," said a fit, handsome man with white hair and piercing purple eyes. His demeanor was cold… but it shifted instantly as he added, "I won’t deny it this time. He’ll lose." His voice was rough, carrying a raspy confidence.
They all looked at him, their gazes hinting at annoyance, but they couldn’t speak back for various reasons. They stared in silence, holding themselves back. However, one examinee of high rank—someone who didn’t mind the complications it might bring—stood up and met his gaze. The white-haired man only smirked at the display, which made the high-ranking examinee even more annoyed. But before he could speak, he was cut off—
"You like to gamble, don’t you, Sapharion Duskbane? Then I’ll wager he won’t lose."
A voice echoed through the vast space, sharp with impatience at the nonsense, belonging to a girl whose tone was rigid yet elegant. Her appearance was radiant, catching the sunlight, and her golden eyes burned with cold determination.
One of the game’s heroines, Erica Valebryn.
He looked at her with a smug expression as he replied, “Sadly, I don’t make deals with those who act like a judge. It’s an unfair deal, y’know?” He paused, then added with a hint of sarcasm, “Besides, didn’t you already pass?” He scoffed lightly, as if he didn’t mean to cause any more agitation, though she was glaring daggers at him. “…Well, I’d hope your fiancé does his best, Erica Valebryn.”
".."
At his words, the ever-rigid and resolute Erica flinched, as if the words from the man before her had completely shattered her poised composure, causing her golden eyes to vividly glare at him in distaste and fury, even more so than before.
The air around them stiffened, and Sapharion felt a wave of discomfort as others regarded him as if he were someone accustomed to such things. He could only speak, “…What did I do? I’m innocent, you know?” He sighed, almost in response to their gazes. Rising to his feet, he left, moving away from the scene with the thought, 'I’ve already passed anyway…' Though other lingering thoughts nagged at the back of his mind, he departed, carrying them with him.
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He then arrived at the exit… or rather, the entrance—it was a two-way passage. Yet, for some reason, a sudden coldness in the air made him pause, his steps stiffening.
Chills ran down his spine, and the hairs on his arms stood on end. Confusion gripped him; after all, he was from the Twilight Kingdom, where extreme cold was as ordinary as scorching heat is in the Solarion Kingdom. He was not the type to be unsettled by mere sensations. More importantly, the sun was scorching, making the sudden cold all the more disconcerting, leaving him unsettled and wary.
Step, step, step.
Footsteps echoed through the hallway. To his ears, they sounded cold and distant. His gaze lingered on the man before him…
Badump, badump, badump.
His heart thumped with a rapid rhythm. He stiffened, and a sense of dread washed over him—something instinctual. His trait for sensing things that shouldn’t be touched roared to life. In fact, this was exactly why he had moved away when Erica started glaring daggers at him.
'What in the world is happening?'
The man came into view, excessively attractive, his skin tone enough for him to be mistaken for someone under the influence of the Twilight Kingdom’s dominion. That appearance… it was familiar. In fact, it was the very person they had been talking about just moments ago.
The presence he exuded, the oppressive pressure and the weight in the air, made Sapharion shudder. His once-clear gaze lost focus in that man’s proximity. He gulped against the tension. 'Ugh…' he groaned inwardly, standing rooted in place until the man passed by without so much as a glance.
"..."
A brief moment of respite had passed, and his composure had returned. Yet instead of having his pride wounded by the sheer domination of that presence alone, his smile widened into a grin.
'It seems she’s correct this time.' He chuckled darkly at the thought, a dangerous glint in his purple eyes. “It seems things might be more interesting than I thought,” he said as he retraced his steps.
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| Chapter 18 - The Other Side of the Commotion