By the third day, Ebonreach stopped feeling like a school.
It felt like a cage.
Every hallway had cameras. Every training hall had suppression grids. Every student wore their rank like a warning label. Even conversations felt measured—like everyone was listening for weakness.
Cyron kept his head down.
It didn't help.
"E-Class, Court Two—sanctioned duel request!"
The announcement echoed across the training wing, drawing attention instantly. Students leaned over railings, whispers spreading fast.
"Who's it?"
"Voss. Angelica Voss."
"…No way. Why is she in E-Class?"
Cyron's stomach dropped.
That name again.
He'd heard it twice already—once in hushed awe, once in outright fear.
"Opponent: Cyron Vale."
Silence hit harder than noise.
Then—
"—That new guy?!"
"He's dead."
"Isn't he the arena incident?"
Cyron exhaled slowly.
So much for staying hidden.
Court Two
The duel arena hummed to life, layered with reinforced barriers—far stronger than the one that shattered three days ago.
This time, the system was prepared.
Angelica Voss stood at the center.
She didn't look intimidating at first glance. Tall, composed, silver-blonde hair tied neatly behind her head, academy uniform perfectly aligned.
But her presence—
It pressed.
Not like Bygon Blood.
Not overwhelming.
But precise.
Controlled.
Dangerous.
"You're Cyron Vale," she said, voice calm.
Not a question.
Cyron stepped onto the platform. "Yeah."
Her gaze dropped to his arm.
The mark.
Hidden beneath his sleeve.
"Show it."
Cyron didn't move.
"…No."
A pause.
Then she nodded slightly, like she expected that answer.
"Then I'll take it."
The barrier sealed.
"Sanctioned duel begins."
Angelica moved first.
Of course she did.
"I summon—Seraphis, Warden of the Veil."
Light bloomed.
Not harsh.
Not blinding.
Clean.
From her mark emerged a humanoid figure clad in white-gold armor, wings folded behind its back like blades at rest. Its eyes glowed softly, but the air around it warped—like reality itself was being… filtered.
Cyron felt it immediately.
Pressure.
Not chaotic like his.
Structured.
Restricting.
"King-tier," the system announced.
The crowd erupted.
"She's using a King-tier in E-Class?!"
"That's illegal—!"
"No… she's got special clearance…"
Cyron clenched his jaw.
Of course she did.
Angelica raised a hand.
"Subdue."
Seraphis moved.
Not fast—
Precise.
It stepped once—and was suddenly in front of Cyron.
Too fast.
Cyron barely reacted, throwing himself sideways as a blade of condensed light sliced through where he stood.
The floor split cleanly.
No explosion.
Just… separation.
"Your control is unstable," Angelica said calmly. "You rely on suppression rather than synchronization."
Cyron pushed himself up. "You've been watching me?"
"Yes."
Another step.
Another strike.
He dodged—barely.
"I don't need to see your entity to understand it," she continued. "The energy signature alone was enough."
Cyron's heart pounded.
She knows.
Not fully.
But enough.
"Then why challenge me?" he snapped.
Angelica's eyes sharpened.
"Because unstable power becomes a threat."
Seraphis raised its hand.
The air tightened.
Cyron froze.
Not by fear—
By force.
Invisible restraints wrapped around him, locking his limbs in place.
"…And threats," she said softly, "must be controlled."
Inside his mind—
The voice stirred.
"Pathetic."
Cyron gritted his teeth. "Not now."
"You're losing."
"I know that!"
"Then release me."
"No."
The word came instantly.
Too fast.
Too certain.
For a moment—
Silence.
Then—
A low chuckle.
"Good."
Cyron blinked.
That wasn't what he expected.
"Yield," Angelica said.
Seraphis stood over him now, blade inches from his throat.
The system hovered, waiting.
Cyron breathed heavily.
If he resisted—
If he slipped—
This entire place could end up like the arena.
He exhaled.
"…I yield."
"Duel concluded. Winner: Angelica Voss."
The restraints vanished.
Cyron dropped to one knee, catching himself.
The crowd buzzed again—some disappointed, some relieved.
Angelica stepped closer.
Too close.
Before Cyron could react—
She grabbed his arm.
Right over the mark.
His eyes widened. "What are you—"
Light flared.
Not from him.
From her.
Seraphis's wings unfolded slightly, and the air around them shifted—like a ritual circle forming without lines.
Angelica's voice lowered.
"Card Subjugation Protocol."
Cyron's blood ran cold.
"No—stop—!"
"Ritual initiated."
The mark on his arm burned violently.
Something was pulling.
Not his body.
His bond.
His connection.
"You're unstable," Angelica said, expression unchanged. "If your entity is beyond your control, it must be reassigned."
"You can't just—take it!"
"I can," she replied. "And I will."
Inside his mind—
Something moved.
Not violently.
Not yet.
But it was awake.
"So… this is their answer."
The pull intensified.
Cyron screamed as the mark flared, crimson pushing against white-gold light.
Angelica's eyes narrowed.
"…Resistance?"
Seraphis shifted, applying more pressure.
The world tilted.
Cyron's vision blurred—
Then—
The crimson surged.
Not outward.
Inward.
Toward the bond.
Toward the ritual.
And then—
It stopped.
Completely.
The pulling force vanished.
The light flickered.
Angelica's eyes widened.
For the first time—
She looked surprised.
"…What?"
Cyron's arm dropped.
The mark pulsed.
Steady.
Untouched.
Unmoved.
Inside his mind—
The voice spoke.
Clear.
Cold.
Unyielding.
"I was not chosen."
A pause.
Then—
"I chose."
The air around them cracked.
Not physically—
Conceptually.
Seraphis stepped back.
Not commanded to.
But forced to.
Angelica staggered slightly, grip loosening.
"That's… impossible…"
Cyron slowly lifted his head.
His eyes weren't glowing.
His body wasn't transformed.
But something had changed.
Not power.
Authority.
He pulled his arm free.
"…Guess it didn't work," he said, voice steady despite the tremor underneath.
Angelica stared at him.
No fear.
No anger.
Just focus.
"…Interesting," she murmured.
Seraphis reformed at her side, wings folding once more.
"The bond rejects external override," she said quietly. "Not even a King-tier can interfere…"
Her gaze sharpened again.
"Then it's worse than I thought."
Cyron didn't respond.
He didn't trust himself to.
As she turned to leave, she paused.
"Next time," Angelica said without looking back, "I won't hold back."
Then she walked out.
Just like that.
The crowd erupted again—but quieter this time.
More cautious.
Cyron stood alone in the arena.
Heart racing.
Mind spinning.
Inside—
Bygon Blood whispered.
Soft.
Amused.
"Now that… was entertaining."