End of Inter-Academy Festival I

Astral energy.

Aura's final evolution, a fully matured form of mana so vastly superior to 6-circle magic that its power seemed beyond comparison. Astral energy moved like currents of starlight, dense clusters of mana in pure, undiluted form, an entire cosmos folded within one's grasp.

For a swordsman, the ability to wield an astral blade was the true mark of Ascendant-rank, the first transformation of body and power. This shift was so profound that it created an unbridgeable chasm between those with astral energy and those without; no Integration-ranker, no matter how skilled, was supposed to rival even the youngest Ascendant-ranker.

So the legends claimed, until Lucifer Windward and Jack Blazespout defied them. Their feats rewrote those expectations, yet astral energy remained unmatched. Even a single astral-infused strike could reduce a 6-circle spell to nothing but fractured mana.

True astral energy was meant to be a privilege of the Ascendant-rank, requiring mastery over Sword Heart. But I had Astral Manifestation—a rare, imperfect glimpse of the power, made possible through Sword Resonance, the precursor to true mastery.

The path to wielding such energy lay through five stages of swordsmanship, each more difficult to reach than the last. I'd barely crossed the first threshold.

Sword Intent was the first level, imbuing one's blade with purpose. Then came Sword Resonance, where the blade began to vibrate with the swordsman's intent, amplifying each strike. Beyond that lay Sword Heart—the unity of body, mind, and weapon, a state where astral energy became accessible to only the most seasoned of Ascendant-rankers.

My task now was to resonate with my sword, somehow pulling the echo of astral energy into my attacks without crossing into Sword Heart—a perilous feat even in theory only possible because of Astral Manifestation. I focused on Mythic Body, letting it steady my frame as Luna's gift lent me strength. With each breath, I let my blade come to life, feeding it my will until it pulsed with my intent. My core ached, the strain bordering on agony, but I was too far in to stop.

As I struggled to maintain control, Jack's gaze sharpened, sensing the falter. He lunged forward, Nirvana Flames sparking dangerously close to his limits. The scorching heat scraped against my skin as I met his strike, blade to flame, pushing my own limits to meet him head-on. His assault was relentless, each blow threatening to break my control over the pseudo-astral energy. But I matched him, circling one another with desperate, calculated moves, each of us too exhausted to land a decisive blow.

Then, desperation overtook me. I let go of caution and summoned every ounce of strength, focusing everything on the fragile resonance thrumming through my sword. With a final, stubborn push, I channeled my will through the blade. The energy responded, steadying at last—a fierce, controlled blaze as the pseudo-astral energy sparked to life, flickering like starlight across the edge of my weapon.

Jack's eyes widened as he recognized the shift. I stepped forward, blade charged with a radiance unlike any I'd wielded before.

He brought forth his Nirvana Chakra, white-hot flames swirling in a deadly disc that warped the air around us. But I was no longer at his mercy. With pseudo-astral energy coursing through me, each step closing the space between us felt like a single heartbeat stretched to infinity. Our attacks collided, my star-flecked blade against his searing fire.

White flame clashed with the icy edge of astral energy, sharp heat meeting unyielding cold. But the chakra cracked, then wavered, and with a final, shattering blow, I cleaved through the deadly disk, scattering Jack's flames into nothing.

He staggered, his arrogant gaze giving way to shock and grudging respect. And then he was gone, fading in a blaze of light, his defeat absolute.

As I watched him disappear, my strength drained completely. The pseudo-astral energy flickered out, leaving me spent and defenseless. The battlefield blurred as my artifact activated, sensing my critical state. I, too, was whisked from the field, the last image in my mind the fractured remnants of Jack's chakra and the bittersweet taste of victory paid for with every ounce of strength.

__________________________________________________________________________________

If one had to distill the atmosphere in the control room into a single word, it would be bedlam.

The Inter-Academy Festival's Capture the Flag event—a grand flagship for the second years—had ended far too soon. It should have stretched over several tense, war-ravaged days, yet it lasted a mere three before coming to a decisive close. And the final clash between Jack Blazespout and Arthur Nightingale was nothing short of staggering. Both had already proven themselves as brilliant strategists throughout the festival, but their strength… their power… it was monstrous.

Jack had, of course, cemented his might when he nearly eliminated Lucifer without breaking a sweat. But this? This was an entirely different order of magnitude. The real question no one dared voice was a simple one: just what was Arthur Nightingale?

"Astral energy," muttered Leon Viserion, the Immortal-ranker from Serpentstone Academy and Ian's uncle, breaking the stunned silence. "A 16-year-old wielding astral energy."

No one countered him. No one spoke at all.

Nero, ashen-faced, looked as though he'd seen a phantom; Valerie's usually casual expression was replaced with open astonishment, while the Martial King's own wide-eyed gaze betrayed his shock.

"Not quite true astral energy," came a mutter from the head of the Meriot family, the Immortal-ranker who had accompanied Gravehold Academy. He coughed as though his own words made him uncomfortable.

"Yes, but have you ever seen anything even close?" Leon asked, gesturing towards the screen. The question struck the man mute.

Pseudo astral energy. The concept itself was nearly mythological. Many who had spent decades at the Wall had never dared attempt it. But here, before them, a boy who had only just entered Integration-rank had called forth its power.

To call him a genius was an insult. To call him a monster fell far too short. Arthur Nightingale had talent that could neither be tamed nor fully understood, overshadowing every standard, every legend, every comparison.

He was beyond them all.

Magnus Draykar, the Martial King, replaced his earlier surprise with a practiced stoicism as he regarded the scene on the screen before him.

A draw.

Arthur and Jack, locked in brutal symmetry, had neither won nor lost, their raw strength and tenacity culminating in a stalemate. And though neither had fought under ideal conditions—both weary from countless battles and meager rest—the final clash was enough to send a chill down Magnus's spine.

'They'll come for my throne,' he thought, feeling the hair on his arms rise. 'They'll be here, sooner than I'd like.'

He knew that in less than a decade, these two would rise to challenge him, and he was no longer certain that he could hold his ground against them forever. The thought sent a strange, unfamiliar pang of apprehension through him.

'Such monsters,' he mused.

This new generation of prodigies was something the world had not seen in centuries, and it had emerged right on the heels of another already considered exceptional.

Seraphina Zenith, Cecilia Slatemark, Ian Viserion, Jin Ashbluff, Rachel Creighton, Ren Kagu, Lucifer Windward, Arthur Nightingale, Ava Peng, Aria Gu, Seol-ah Moyong, Aaron Meriot, Elara Astoria, Tobias Grimfeld, Naomi Draven, Liora Arundel, and Jack Blazespout—their names resounded like a prophecy of storms to come.

It was foreboding, all of it.

'Will you lead us to salvation, Nightingale?' Magnus wondered, his fingers drumming thoughtfully on the armrest. 'Or…'

He left the thought unfinished, a question whose answer only time could reveal.