Cold wind drifted slowly across the fractured stone floor, carrying with it the faint remnants of frost from Raging Blizzard. Several sections of the courtyard tiles had cracked under the force of the impact, thin lines spreading across the arena like spiderwebs.
A few meters away stood Captain Alaric Voss. His armor no longer looked pristine.
Deep scratches ran across the front of his breastplate, and several plates along his shoulder and waist had been visibly dented. Frost still clung to the damaged metal in thin patches where Knox's strike had struck moments earlier.
Alaric remained silent. But the tightening of his grip around both swords revealed what words did not.
Humiliation.
The thought burned through his mind like fire.
I am a captain of the Dresden Royal Knights…
And yet here he stood. Bruised. Armor damaged. Breathing heavier than before.
All while fighting someone far younger than himself.
Worse still—
he wasn't even fighting alone. His vice captain stood beside him.
Two against one.
And still…
their condition looked like this. The realization twisted something deep inside him.
Slowly, Alaric lowered his head. Then he laughed.
A low sound at first. Then louder.
"Hahahaha…ridiculous."
His voice carried across the arena.
"Absolutely ridiculous."
Mana began to surge from his body.
The aura surrounding his swords grew thicker, darker, more unstable than before. It spread outward from his blades like a growing storm, distorting the air around him as the pressure increased.
Several knights watching from the sidelines stiffened immediately.
"Captain…?"
"That aura—"
"Wait…!"
Even those unfamiliar with swordsmanship could feel the change.
The aura pouring from Alaric now was no longer the restrained power of a sparring match.
It was killing intent. Beside him, Ingrid's eyes widened slightly.
"Captain," she said quietly.
But Alaric did not respond. The pressure around him continued to build.
Ingrid's brows tightened.
"…Captain!" This time her voice carried more urgency.
She knew exactly what was happening.
Alaric had lost control. This was no longer a spar. He intended to kill Knox.
From the edge of the arena, Gregor Halstein's expression darkened.
The veteran knight's brows slowly furrowed as he watched the growing aura.
"…Alaric."
The word left his mouth quietly. Yet the disapproval in his gaze was unmistakable.
The rule had been clear from the start. This was a sparring match. Nothing more.
But Alaric was clearly ignoring that boundary now.
A few rows behind him, Jane suddenly stood. Her face had gone completely cold.
Not anger. Not panic. Just an icy stillness that made the air itself feel heavier.
Even the King of Dresden noticed. His eyes flicked toward her.
Beside him, the Queen also turned her head.
And for a brief moment—
both of them felt it.
That quiet pressure.
Jane had not said a single word.
Yet the tension surrounding her was enough to make even the royal couple feel uneasy.
The Queen's expression darkened.
That idiot…
Her gaze returned to Alaric.
What do you think you're doing?!
The plan had been simple. Embarrass Kizen. Not start a political disaster.
If a Kizen student were seriously injured here—
or worse—
the consequences would spiral beyond control.
But now that things had reached this point…
The Queen slowly exhaled through her nose.
If you've already gone this far…
Her eyes narrowed. Then at least win!
If Alaric and Ingrid could defeat Knox here, she could still manage the political aftermath.
But if they lost…
The Queen clenched her fingers against the armrest of her seat.
Nearby, Molly watched the arena with growing worry.
"…Knox…"
The aura surrounding Alaric had become oppressive enough that even she could feel it from the stands.
Yet Knox himself seemed entirely unconcerned. He simply watched the captain calmly from across the arena.
Then he spoke. "Don't worry."
His tone was casual. "Just continue the match."
The words echoed lightly across the courtyard.
Gregor's frown deepened.
For a moment he considered stepping forward to stop the duel.
But Knox's voice had carried no fear. No hesitation. Only calm confidence.
Gregor slowly exhaled. "…Very well."
If that was Knox's decision…
he would respect it.
Jane remained standing for another second. Her cold gaze lingered on Alaric. Then, without another word, she quietly sat back down.
Her expression did not soften. Not even slightly.
From the royal seats, the Queen finally allowed herself a small breath.
Good.
Her eyes returned to the arena.
Then finish this.
She watched Knox with narrowed eyes.
Let's see how long that arrogance of yours lasts.
Ingrid's eyes sharpened as the pressure around Alaric continued to rise.
The aura spilling from her captain had already crossed the boundary of a normal sparring match. Anyone with experience in combat could feel it clearly now. The intent behind that power was no longer restraint, but something far more dangerous.
"Captain!"
Her voice cut sharply through the arena. The warning was clear. But Alaric did not listen.
"Shut up!"
His voice exploded across the courtyard as he whipped his head toward her, fury burning openly across his face.
"Useless!"
The word came out like a blade.
"Stop talking and just follow my orders!"
For a brief moment Ingrid froze, her grip tightening around the hilt of her rapier. She knew the captain's temper well, but the anger in his voice now carried something deeper than frustration.
It was rage.
Alaric slowly turned his gaze back toward the center of the arena. Toward Knox. The fury in his eyes had sharpened into something darker.
"Knox Aznable…"
The captain lifted one of his swords and pointed it directly at him.
"You are dead!"
The words echoed across the courtyard.
For a split second, the reaction among the spectators was immediate.
The King of Dresden stiffened.
His expression hardened as the implications of that declaration settled in his mind. If a Kizen student were truly harmed here—if something irreversible happened in the middle of what was supposed to be a ceremonial sparring match—then the diplomatic consequences would be severe.
Beside him, the Queen's face darkened as well.
Her fingers tightened slightly against the armrest of her chair.
Several assistant professors from Kizen exchanged uneasy looks. The aura pouring from Alaric had grown so intense that even those without combat training could sense the shift in the atmosphere.
One of them leaned toward Jane, speaking quietly.
"Professor… should we stop this?"
Jane did not answer immediately. Her gaze remained fixed on the arena.
More precisely—
on Knox.
For a moment she simply watched him. Knox's expression had changed.
The relaxed smile he had carried through most of the duel was gone now, replaced by something calmer, sharper.
Jane observed him for another second. Then she smiled.
"Don't worry." Her voice carried clearly across the courtyard.
"Not to mention killing Knox…"
She tilted her head slightly, her eyes glancing briefly toward Alaric.
"…that clown wouldn't be able to defeat Knox at all."
The words spread through the arena like a sudden gust of wind.
Alaric heard them.
Of course he did.
The captain's expression twisted instantly, the anger already boiling inside him surging even higher.
"INGRID!"
His voice roared across the courtyard.
"Use it!"
Ingrid's eyes flickered for a brief moment.
Then she nodded once. The two of them moved almost simultaneously.
Mana surged outward as Alaric stepped forward, his figure suddenly splitting into three identical forms. Three Alarics now stood within the arena. Each one held twin swords. Each one carried the same overwhelming presence.
For anyone watching, it was impossible to tell which one was the real captain.
At the same time Ingrid raised her rapier slightly, her gaze sharpening as a faint ripple of mental energy spread outward from her position.
The technique activated instantly. To anyone facing the three Alarics now, each of them felt completely real.
Their movements. Their aura. Even the killing intent surrounding them. Everything felt identical.
The three figures burst forward at once. From different directions.
To the spectators watching from the stands, the scene became chaotic in an instant. Three versions of the captain closed in on Knox from separate angles, their blades flashing as the distance between them disappeared.
In the middle of it all, Knox moved.
His body shifted lightly from one position to another, the odachi guiding each motion with quiet precision as he avoided the incoming strikes one after another.
A slash from the left.
Another from behind.
Then one from the front.
Each time Knox slipped past the attack with the smallest possible movement, his steps calm and controlled as he continued to evade.
From a distance it almost looked effortless.
But Alaric saw something different. He saw Knox retreating. Dodging. Avoiding. And slowly, a harsh laugh escaped the captain's mouth.
"Hah…!"
The sound grew louder.
"Hahaha!"
The laughter carried across the arena as the three figures continued their assault.
"What happened, Knox Aznable?!"
Alaric's voice rang out mockingly. "Where did that smug smile of yours go?!"
His blades continued to flash as the assault intensified.
"Earlier you looked so confident!"
The laughter returned. "Now all you can do is run!"
Across the arena Knox's expression had indeed changed. The playful smile from before was gone. His face had grown noticeably more serious.
But the reason for that change had nothing to do with the danger of the attacks surrounding him.
Knox slipped past another incoming strike, his body shifting just enough for the blade to graze past him without contact.
Then—
"Hmm?"
His voice sounded almost absent-minded.
"Sorry, what did you just say?~"
He tilted his head slightly as he continued to evade, the odachi moving lazily in his hand.
"I zoned out a bit… hehe."
The words landed lightly.
But the effect was immediate.
Alaric's forehead twitched. The vein at his temple pulsed visibly as the mockery sank in.
"You—"
The captain's expression twisted further, the rage in his eyes burning hotter than before.
Yet Knox continued as if nothing had happened.
"Oh, by the way…" He stepped to the side, letting another strike pass, his tone casual as ever.
"Mr. Alaric… do you happen to have a sibling named Orphee Lam Tao?"
Another step. Another dodge.
"And Ms. Ingrid… maybe Ingrid Tradoll?"
He glanced at her briefly, almost as if genuinely curious.
"…No?"
A small shrug followed.
"Then my bad~."
For a brief moment, even Ingrid's expression faltered, caught off guard by the absurdity of the question.
Alaric, however, only grew more furious. Before he could lash out again, Knox spoke once more.
"Oh, right…"
This time, his tone shifted slightly. "Didn't Mr. Gregor say earlier that this was just a spar?"
He avoided another strike, the odachi gently guiding one of the incoming blades away.
"But somehow, you turned it into something much more serious…"
His gaze lifted. Meeting Alaric's directly.
The faint smile that lingered on his lips slowly faded.
"Anyway…"
Knox's voice softened. "You were the one who started it first, right~?"
For a brief moment, the arena seemed to tighten around them.
Then—
"Then don't blame me."
Knox stopped.
Right in the middle of the relentless storm of attacks, his body came to a complete halt, as if the chaos around him no longer held any meaning.
The last trace of playfulness that had lingered on his face quietly disappeared, replaced by something far more subdued—something colder, heavier, and infinitely more dangerous.
"…Eclipse." The word slipped from his lips in a low murmur, almost gentle.
And yet, the world answered.
A dark aura burst forth from beneath his feet, spreading across the frost-covered ground in rippling waves. Black, laced with deep violet, devoured the fractured stone as it expanded outward, staining everything it touched while the very air began to tremble under its presence.
A chill swept through the courtyard.
It wasn't the sharp, biting cold of ice, but something far denser—something that pressed against the skin and sank deeper, wrapping around the lungs with an invisible weight.
The atmosphere grew heavy, suffocating, as though space itself had thickened.
Knox's hair stirred slightly in the shifting air.
Strand by strand, the pale white began to darken, black seeping in from the roots and gradually overtaking the color entirely, until nothing remained but a deep, shadowed hue that faintly reflected the dim light around him.
At the same time, his eyes changed.
The familiar crimson vanished without a trace, replaced by a deep, luminous violet that seemed to glow from within.
It wasn't like before. It wasn't like the battle against Jasil. This time, the color didn't turn cold.
It deepened—quietly, endlessly—into something darker, something that felt less like emotion and more like an abyss staring back.
And with it, a pressure started to spread, slow and steady, making the air feel heavier with each passing second.
Even the three advancing figures of Alaric faltered for the briefest moment as the atmosphere shifted around them.
From the stands, several spectators instinctively held their breath.
A deep, violet-black wave surged outward from Knox.
It did not explode like a violent shockwave, nor did it crack the ground beneath him. Instead, it rolled across the arena like a tide—silent, heavy, and suffocating—yet the moment it passed, a powerful gust of wind followed in its wake, sweeping across the courtyard and forcing cloaks, hair, and banners to whip violently in the air.
Several spectators instinctively leaned back, shielding their faces as the pressure washed over them.
At the center of it all, Alaric froze.
His body locked in place as the aura passed through him, his pupils shrinking slightly as something primal tightened around his chest.
"This…". His voice came out strained. "…what is this power…?"
For the first time since the duel had begun, uncertainty crept into his expression.
His gaze locked onto Knox.
"What are you…?"
A brief pause.
Then, almost involuntarily—
"…Knox Aznable!"
Beside him, Ingrid said nothing.
She stood still, her rapier lowered slightly, her sharp eyes fixed on Knox's transformed figure.
But her body betrayed her. Her fingers trembled. Her footing, though controlled, wavered ever so slightly against the cracked stone beneath her boots.
Her breath came out slower.
Heavier.
Then—
she noticed.
Her eyes shifted. To Alaric.
His hands. They were shaking. A subtle tremor ran through his grip, causing the twin blades to quiver ever so slightly under the oppressive pressure filling the arena.
Ingrid's eyes widened. "Captain—"
"I'm not shaking!"
Alaric snapped immediately, his voice cutting her off as his grip tightened further around his swords.
His jaw clenched. "…This is nothing."
Yet even as he spoke, the faint tremor in his hands did not stop.
From the royal seats, the pressure had already reached an unbearable level.
Before anyone could react—
Gregor Halstein moved.
In a single step, the veteran knight appeared before the King, the Queen, and Princess Molly, placing himself between them and the arena.
A subtle wave of his own aura spread outward, forming a barrier that pushed back against the suffocating pressure emanating from Knox. The air around the royal seats stabilized almost instantly.
Molly exhaled sharply, only now realizing she had been holding her breath.
"Th-Thank you…"
Gregor did not respond. His gaze remained fixed on Knox.
Back in the arena, Knox stood at the center of the spreading darkness, his violet eyes calm as they looked toward Alaric and Ingrid.
The air around him remained heavy, as though gravity itself had thickened.
Then he spoke, his voice quieter now, carrying a deeper tone than before.
"…any last words?"
The question hung in the air. For a brief moment, no one answered.
Then—
"Hah…!"
Alaric let out a strained laugh, the sound sharp and unsteady as he forced his body to move.
"Don't… underestimate me!"
Mana surged violently around him once more as he stepped forward, pushing against the oppressive pressure through sheer will.
"You think this is enough to scare me?!"
His aura flared again, stronger than before, but this time it felt far less stable.
With a sharp motion, his figure suddenly split, once… then again, the movement happening so quickly it was almost hard to follow.
Two additional forms appeared at his side, as if they had always been there.
In the blink of an eye, five Alarics now stood within the arena, each one identical to the others, each one radiating the exact same presence.
Even from a distance, the increase in numbers was overwhelming.
Ingrid's eyes widened. "Captain…!"
That was beyond their usual limit. Their technique had never been pushed this far before.
Even so—
she raised her rapier. Mana gathered. Her mind reached outward, attempting to extend her mental interference across the newly formed clones, forcing the illusion to remain consistent.
For a moment—
it worked.
All five figures moved in unison. But the strain came immediately. A sharp pain pierced through her head.
Ingrid's breath hitched "…gh—!"
Her body trembled as the pressure of maintaining the technique increased drastically.
"Captain—!"
Her voice broke slightly as she forced the words out.
"I can't… maintain this for long—!"
Her grip tightened desperately around the rapier, her entire body straining as she tried to hold the illusion together against the overwhelming pressure pressing down on the arena.
In the next moment, Knox's body slowly lifted off the ground.
He held his position midair, unmoving, the odachi gripped in both hands and raised in front of his chest. For a brief moment, he stayed like that, completely still.
Then, a violet glow formed at his back, spreading outward as it took shape into wing-like forms, their edges faintly glowing as the light intensified.
The air around him tightened.
In the next instant, Knox moved.
He shot forward in a straight line, his body accelerating so suddenly it was hard to follow, the motion leaving behind a thin streak of violet light.
And then, another followed.
Each movement came too quickly to fully register, leaving afterimages that lingered just long enough to overlap along the same path, stacking over one another as he continued forward.
What should have been a single dash now looked layered, as if the same motion had been repeated several times in the exact same line.
Knox's movement did not slow. If anything, it became harder to follow.
Then, in the middle of that motion—
his voice echoed.
"This is… how to use clones!"
The afterimages that had been trailing behind Knox suddenly split, spreading outward across the arena like fragments of shattered light. One became many, then many became dozens, each silhouette moving in a slightly different direction, each one carrying the same faint outline of wings behind them.
To the eyes of the spectators, it no longer looked like speed.
It looked like numbers.
Knox stood everywhere.
Above.
To the side.
Behind.
In front.
Every angle was occupied by a flickering image of him, violet wings flaring with each movement as the air filled with overlapping trails of light.
The battlefield that had once been dominated by Alaric's clones was now completely overwritten.
Even Ingrid's mental interference faltered under the overwhelming number of targets, the distinction between illusion and reality collapsing as her control struggled to keep up with the sheer volume of moving figures.
Alaric's expression changed.
His gaze darted from one figure to another, trying to identify the real one among the countless moving silhouettes, but each presence felt equally real, equally dangerous, and equally close.
"…What—"
The battlefield had already been swallowed by light.
Dozens of Knox's afterimages still flickered across the arena, each one trailing luminous violet wings as they moved in overlapping paths, erasing any sense of direction or distance. What had once been Alaric's advantage through numbers was now completely overturned, replaced by something far more overwhelming.
Then something about his movement changed. The scattered images of Knox began to align, no longer random.
In the next instant, the first strike came.
One of the Alarics at the edge of the formation suddenly froze, his body stiffening for a fraction of a second as Knox appeared beside him—so close it was almost intimate. There was no dramatic swing, no exaggerated motion. Just a single, clean cut as Knox passed through.
He was already gone before the blade finished its path.
A thin line appeared across the clone—
then it shattered.
The second came immediately after.
Another flicker of violet light, another appearance from a different angle, and another effortless slash delivered in passing. The motion was seamless, continuous, as though Knox was simply flowing from one position to the next rather than moving between them.
One by one—
the clones disappeared.
Each time Knox appeared, a strike followed. Each time he vanished, another figure collapsed.
There was no pause between the attacks. Each movement flowed into the next, smooth and continuous, like water in motion.
To the spectators, it no longer looked like a battle.
It looked like execution.
Alaric's clones vanished in rapid succession, unable to react, unable to defend, their existence erased before they could even comprehend what was happening.
And then only two remained: the real Alaric and Ingrid.
For a brief moment, both of them sensed it—a faint flicker, a presence forming between them.
Then a violet blur cut into their view.
Knox.
He appeared there without warning, so suddenly that neither of them had time to react.
Alaric's eyes widened.
For the first time, there was no anger in them.
Only fear.
"Wha—?!" His voice broke as the realization hit him too late.
Knox didn't stop.
He moved in a single, fluid motion, his odachi tracing a smooth arc as he passed between them, the violet wings behind him flaring softly in response.
There was no impact, no explosion, no visible sign that anything had happened.
By the time either of them could react, Knox was already behind them.
For a brief moment, nothing changed.
Then two thin lines appeared across their bodies, silent and precise.
The delay lasted less than a second.
Then the impact followed.
Both Alaric and Ingrid were struck at the same time, their bodies jolting as the slashes took effect, and a moment later, they both dropped to the ground.
The arena fell still.
Above them—
Knox reappeared.
Suspended in the air, not far above the battlefield, his position just slightly below the highest tier of the royal seats, yet elevated enough that all eyes were naturally drawn upward toward him.
The violet wings remained unfurled behind his back, glowing softly, their light casting faint reflections across the fractured arena below.
He did not speak.
He simply lifted his odachi—
and, with a calm, unhurried motion, swung it lightly to the side, as if clearing the air itself.
Then he stilled.
Hovering.
Looking down.
His gaze settled on the two fallen figures beneath him, his expression quiet, composed, and cold in a way that made the entire arena feel smaller under his presence.