Chapter 506: The Grand First-Year Combat Festival: A Possible Future Rivalry

A brief second earlier...

The fight platform had been almost completely covered by smoke.

The remains of the explosions still hung in the air, mixing with the cold breath of the Arena and the snow that had been thrown from the damaged platform. Broken pieces of stone were scattered across the battlefield, while small flames flickered here and there before slowly dying beneath the falling snow.

Then...

A figure suddenly flew out of the smoky area.

The body shot straight toward the edge of the platform before falling beyond it.

BOOM!

The figure crashed hard onto the ground outside the fight platform.

Rocks and snow flew upward from the impact.

A shallow depression appeared beneath the fallen body as dust and snow spread across the surrounding ground.

"Who was that?"

A young Noble lady asked, her eyes filled with worry fixed on the place where the figure had crashed.

Nobody answered her.

The Arena had become strangely quiet.

Many spectators were still standing because they had risen during the final exchange, and none of them had sat back down yet. They stared toward the smoke-covered platform, waiting to see who had remained standing and who had been thrown outside.

Even the people who had been shouting only moments ago had become quiet.

They wanted to know.

Who had won?

Patrick West was also standing.

He held the table microphone in one hand while leaning slightly forward, trying to see through the smoke.

He had already prepared himself to announce the winner the moment the view became clear.

But for the High-ranking Alchemists in the Arena, there was no such uncertainty.

They already knew.

Their eyes had followed the final movement far better than the ordinary spectators could.

They knew who was standing on the platform.

And they knew who had been thrown outside it.

In the seating section reserved for the Elders and High-board members of the Duke Houses...

Elder Portia leaned back in her seat.

A pleased smile appeared on her face.

She didn’t even look toward Fredricks.

Because she didn’t need to.

"I guess you have to start saving well for that Seventh-Grade Ese, Fredricks."

Her tone was calm.

And that somehow made the words hurt more.

Fredricks remained silent.

His eyes stayed fixed on the smoke-covered platform.

He didn’t need to ask what she meant.

The bet.

His bet with Portia.

He had been so confident that Desmond would defeat Ezra that he had been willing to put a Seventh-Grade Ese on the result.

Now he was looking at the aftermath of the fight.

And Ezra was still standing.

Elder Ivanhoe suddenly laughed.

"Hahahaha... That’s our Child of Ash."

His voice was filled with satisfaction.

Elder Paul also laughed as he glanced toward Fredricks.

"Fredricks was really confident in the Derlis child’s strength... Hahaha."

Fredricks’ expression became darker.

His fingers slowly tightened around the armrest.

He had nothing to say.

What could he say?

He had been wrong.

Worse, he had been very confident while being wrong.

His eyes remained on the smoke.

How?

The question appeared in his mind.

Then it came again.

How?

He remembered how the match had begun.

He remembered believing that Desmond’s strength, Blood Alchemy, and Fang Arts would overwhelm Ezra.

He had expected the fight to become a one-sided beating.

He didn’t just expect...

He was anticipating the sight of watching Ezra get beaten badly.

He had even made a bet because he thought the outcome was obvious.

Yet Ezra had stood through the entire battle.

And now Desmond had been thrown out of the platform.

How?

His thoughts became louder.

How? How? How?

His hand tightened further against the armrest.

How did that boy win?

Then his frustration finally reached its limit.

HOW?!

Fredricks’ face twisted with anger.

The veins on the back of his hand became visible as his fingers pressed against the armrest.

"Calm down, Fredricks."

Elder Yestin spoke beside him.

His voice was calm, almost as though he were speaking to someone who had simply lost a game.

Fredricks didn’t answer.

Elder Branthwaite also nodded.

He looked at his close friend, who was also his cousin, before glancing toward the platform.

There was little he could say.

The result was already there.

Fredricks had lost the bet.

Elder Gram Ashenlocke and Elder Tabitha Ashenlocke exchanged a brief glance.

They looked at the Elders who were laughing, then at Fredricks, whose expression remained dark.

Neither commented.

Their attention soon returned to the fight platform.

The smoke was beginning to fade.

The damaged battlefield slowly became visible again.

At the seating area of the Derlis Elders and High-board members, the atmosphere was different.

An Elder with crimson hair, now mixed with small strands of grey, stroked his crimson beard while looking toward the platform.

"Young Master Desmond actually lost."

His crimson eyes remained calm.

He didn’t seem shocked by the outcome of the match.

The Elder was definitely past eighty years old, yet his appearance made him look no older than someone in his early fifties.

His voice carried no anger or disappointment.

Instead, he sounded as though he were simply stating an unexpected result.

"This should be a lesson for Desmond. He’s always lived his life too carefree, never realizing the consequences of his reckless actions, just like his older brother. But at least, Lucien is still more mature and knows when to truly remain calm."

A female Elder with crimson hair and crimson eyes spoke beside him.

Her expression was serious.

She hadn’t shown much surprise at Desmond’s defeat.

To be more precise...

She looked almost pleased.

Desmond losing wasn’t something that disappointed her.

If anything, she seemed satisfied that the boy had finally received a lesson he needed.

"But then again..."

The female Elder shifted her gaze toward the Grand Elder of the Derlis family.

"That Child of Ash is actually promising."

The Grand Elder was the former Duke who had ruled Derlis before Willow and Desmond’s mother took over.

He remained silent.

His eyes passed through the fading smoke.

Then he found Ezra.

The boy was standing on the platform.

The Grand Elder’s perception followed Ezra’s body.

He could see the flow of Cognis moving through him with surprising ease.

But there was something else.

A faint heat.

It was not the normal warmth produced by physical exertion.

The Grand Elder’s eyes narrowed slightly.

The strange heat seemed to move through Ezra’s skin and deeper into his body.

His attention shifted.

That child’s blood flow...

For a brief moment, he watched it carefully.

Something about it felt unnatural.

Yet the thought was quickly pushed aside.

Since, it didn’t concern a child of his House.

The Grand Elder moved his attention to Desmond’s position.

The smoke continued to disappear.

And finally, the Arena could see the result.

Back on the fight platform, the remaining smoke cleared enough for the crowd to see two figures.

One was standing calmly on the platform.

The other had crashed outside it.

Patrick immediately raised his binoculars, which one of the Royal Academy’s technical staff had handed to him.

He looked through them.

His eyes widened slightly.

There was no longer any doubt.

He lowered the binoculars.

"Winner!!"

Patrick’s voice echoed loudly through the Arena speakers.

The silence shattered.

"Mr. Ezra Ashenlocke!!"

The crowd erupted.

Ezra stood on the platform, calmly adjusting his Black Magnetic Gloves.

His fingers pulled at the material beneath the gloves, making sure everything was sitting properly.

There was blood around his mouth.

More blood stained parts of his arms, legs, and stomach.

The injuries weren’t enough to stop him, but they showed how much he had been forced to move throughout the battle.

He had dodged.

He had weaved.

He had been surrounded by Blood Daggers.

He had taken risks.

And now he was still standing.

Ezra slowly turned toward the outer part of the platform.

The crowd’s voices became louder as they saw him clearly.

Outside the platform, Desmond lay on the ground.

He looked upward with a helpless expression.

Blood dripped from his mouth.

There was also blood around his ears and nose, while more covered different parts of his body.

His training cloth had been torn during the battle.

Rocks and snow had landed across his body from the impact.

For several seconds, Desmond simply remained there.

The cheers of the audience reached him from the Arena.

Some were shouting for Ezra.

Others were calling his name.

"Wooooaahhhh!"

"I knew it!!"

"Sir Ezra Ashenlocke!!"

"NOOOO! My Sir Desmond Derlis!"

"Yes, Ezra Ashenlocke wins!!"

"Ashenlocke for the win!!"

"The fight was amazing!"

"Best fight ever!"

The cheering spread throughout the Arena.

Ezra’s fans were especially loud.

I mean...

Ezra Ashenlocke was the winner of the fight.

Some young Nobles were waving their hands above their heads, while others shouted his name repeatedly.

The voices of the spectators who supported Desmond could still be heard.

Their voices were mixed into the larger celebration.

Some sounded frustrated.

Others sounded disappointed.

A few simply stared at the platform, unable to accept that Desmond had lost.

But even among Desmond’s supporters, there was little they could argue against.

The fight had been intense.

Both Young Alchemists had shown enough skill to make the entire Arena watch until the final moment.

Desmond had fought hard.

He simply hadn’t been the one who remained inside the platform.

And strangely enough, Desmond himself didn’t look particularly angry.

He lay there for another moment.

Then...

"Ah... ah... Ahhhh."

He let out a lazy sigh, while his chest rose and fell.

"Cough! Cough!"

Desmond suddenly coughed.

Blood came out of his mouth.

He raised his hand and looked at the blood staining his palm.

His crimson eyes remained on it for a moment.

Then he passed Cognis into his hand.

A small Blood Alchemy Circle formed beneath his palm.

The blood on his hand evaporated into thin air.

At the same time, Cognis spread through his body.

The Blood Alchemy began healing his injuries.

The wounds across his body slowly started closing.

The pain that had been running through his muscles became weaker.

Desmond placed one hand against the ground.

He pushed himself upward.

His body shook slightly before he finally managed to stand.

He looked down at himself.

His training cloth was covered with dirt, blood, and pieces of snow.

Desmond dusted the debris from his body.

Then he moved his shoulders.

Crack.

A stiff bone shifted.

He rolled his neck.

Crack.

Another joint loosened.

The Medic staff were already approaching him.

Two medics moved closer while another prepared healing supplies.

Desmond barely paid attention to them.

His crimson eyes remained fixed on Ezra.

On the platform, Ezra was already leaving.

He walked toward the Arena entrance while waving toward the crowd.

The cheering followed him.

Desmond watched his back.

His expression slowly changed.

The defeat was still a defeat.

There was no reason to pretend otherwise.

He had lost.

But this wasn’t the same as being crushed without a chance.

He had fought Ezra.

He had pushed him.

And Ezra had pushed him back.

Desmond’s thoughts became quieter.

This is now one loss and one draw for me.

A faint smirk appeared on his face.

I guess this Royal Academy life will truly be worth my time.

His fist tightened.

The smile remained.

I will enjoy our next battle again.

Ezra Ashenlocke.

Desmond continued watching until Ezra’s back disappeared through the Arena entrance on the left.

Only then did he turn away.

The Medic staff helped guide him from the area.

Desmond left with them.

On the fight platform, the Craft-based Royal Academy staff soon entered.

They began cleaning the damaged battlefield.