Chapter 274: The End of the Inter-Academy Selection Tournament

The silence that followed the collapse of Swef Ashi’s domain was heavy, almost suffocating, as the dust settled over the shattered clearing.

Across the arena grounds, the surviving Astoria forces lay scattered or turned to ash, the lingering dark miasma dissolving into the crisp autumn air. The Valecrest team lay strewn across the dirt- bruised, battered, and bleeding- their bodies utterly drained of mana.

Silas remained on one knee, his hand resting on the hilt of his Saber-tooth Wolf Fang dagger, his breathing ragged as his single pink-feathered wing slowly dissolved into faint, shimmering particles that melted into his back.

Beside him, Chloe clung to his chest, her shoulders shaking with silent, tearful relief. The agonizing terror that had gripped her moments prior had faded into a dull, exhausted warmth as she felt the steady, reassuring thrum of his heartbeat against her cheek.

Far beyond the shattered trial grounds, inside the grand command center of the New Liberty Tournament Council, chaos erupted.

Sirens blared in high-pitched, rhythmic shrieks, flashing crimson light across rows of panicked monitors and frantic technicians. High-ranking guild masters, military liaisons, and government officials scrambled across the central deck, their previous hubris entirely shattered.

The scrying screens, which had just broadcast what the world remembered as a desperate, heroic clash between Silas Ashard and an ancient SS-Rank cannibal threat, now displayed red environmental alarms and critical medical warnings.

The Tournament Director stood frozen in the center of the command bridge, his collar soaked in cold sweat, his face pale as chalk. His hands trembled as he gripped the edge of the central console.

The reality of what had just transpired pressed down on him like a mountain: the Astoria had breached a sanctioned national event, nearly butchering the most gifted youth of the generation on live global television. The political fallout would be catastrophic, but right now, every second wasted meant another dead prodigy.

"Cut the public feed!" the Director roared, his voice cracking with sheer panic as he turned toward the broadcast team. "Cut it now! Switch to the official council seal!"

"Sir, the country is already in an uproar!" a broadcast officer yelled back, fingers flying across the glowing control panels. "The guild leaders in the viewing galleries are demanding immediate entry to the tower grounds!"

"I don’t give a damn about the galleries!" the Director slammed his fist onto the console board. "Mobilize the Emergency Medical Corps! Clear every portal leyline in the sector! I want First-Response Trauma Teams inside that clearing within sixty seconds, or every single one of your licenses is revoked!"

Within moments, the live stream feeds across New Liberty cut from the dust-filled clearing to a stark, golden emblem of the National Tournament Committee. An automated, high-priority announcement resonated through the city’s public broadcast towers and directly onto every personal device in the region:

[ATTENTION ALL CITIZENS AND PARTICIPANTS: BY ORDER OF THE HIGH COUNCIL AND THE NATIONAL SECURITY BUREAU, THE INTER-ACADEMY SELECTION TOURNAMENT HAS BEEN OFFICIALLY TERMINATED. ALL ACTIVE TRIAL ZONES ARE DECLARED EXCLUSION AREAS. MEDICAL AND TACTICAL UNITS ARE CURRENTLY DEPLOYED. STAND BY FOR FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS.]

The announcement sent shockwaves through New Liberty.

In the streets below, crowds cheered for Silas’s victory while simultaneously shouting in outrage at the organizers’ criminal negligence. But inside the ruined realm, the response was swift and overwhelming.

A violent, blinding rift of spatial energy tore open directly above the clearing.

Before the spatial distortion even fully settled, dozens of high-tier medical personnel clad in stark white and gold enchanted armor descended from the sky. Behind them came heavily armed elite vanguard guards, their shields drawn and weapons raised to secure the perimeter against any remaining Astoria stragglers.

"Perimeter clear! No hostile mana signatures detected!" a vanguard commander bellowed, sweeping a glowing tactical sensor across the tree line. "Medical team, move in!"

"Priority targets down! Over here!" a senior trauma specialist shouted, leading a squad of six high-tier healers directly toward Silas and the Valecrest group.

Floating stretchers woven from dense, emerald-green healing mana descended onto the blood-soaked soil. The medics moved with frantic, practiced efficiency. Two healers immediately knelt beside Peter, applying pressurized mana-clamps to his arm to halt the severe blood loss caused by his overextended abilities. Another pair scrambled to Alicia, gently stabilizing her fractured spine and applying high-grade regenerative salves to the deep claw wounds marring her shoulders.

"Check the S-Rank!" the lead medical officer instructed, rushing toward Silas and Chloe. "Get an emergency mana-stabilizer on his chest core, now!"

"Don’t touch him roughly," Chloe snapped, her voice raspy and laced with a residual frost that made the medic hesitate for a fraction of a second. Though exhausted, her S-Rank aura flickered defensively, her eyes cold as she guarded Silas’s side.

"Easy, miss, we’re here to help," the lead medic said gently, kneeling beside Silas and hovering a glowing golden diagnostic orb over his torso.

The orb hummed, projecting a floating array of light that detailed his internal condition. "Internal organ strain... severe mana exhaustion... muscular micro-tears... but his core is intact. His vitals are miraculously stabilizing."

The medic looked up at Silas in genuine awe. According to the data feed they had received, this kid had taken the full brunt of an SS-Rank cannibal lord’s domain and survived long enough to slay the monster.

"You’re a monster, kid... a bloody miracle."

Silas offered a weak, tired smirk, resting his head back against the dirt as a soothing aura of healing energy washed over his body. "Just... make sure the rest of my team gets the good elixirs..."

"They’re already being treated, son," the medic replied, signaling two assistants to carefully lift Silas onto a floating medical gurney. "Every high-grade health elixir in the eastern district has been redirected to this site. You’re all going home."

As the medical teams lifted the injured members of Valecrest onto the floating platforms, the sky above them filled with heavy military transport vessels. The air hummed with the collective power of dozens of S-Rank guild masters and high-level officials finally arriving at the scene- far too late to fight, but in time to manage the chaotic aftermath.

G

odfrey, resting his bandaged arm on the side of his stretcher, spat a bit of dirt onto the ground and looked over at Damien.

"Looks like the tournament’s over."

"Yeah," Damien muttered, looking up at the shattered sky where the ancient Tower once stood, now nothing more than drifting clouds of shimmering dust. "And I don’t think anyone’s gonna care about who won the trophy after today."

Silas lay on his stretcher, his eyes half-closed as Chloe held his hand, refusing to leave his side as the platform floated toward the evacuation rift.

In the back of his mind, the lingering warmth of the Cupid’s divine resonance fully receded, leaving him with only the heavy, satisfying weight of survival. The danger was over, the world was none the wiser, and for the first time in a long time, Silas Ashard could finally rest.