Remontada - III
With a sudden fanfare of magical trumpets, the announcers' clear and theatrical voices rang across the arena.
"Good afternoon, one and all, and welcome to Matchday Two of the House Wars!" came the energetic voice of Myra, always just on the edge of breathless excitement. "It is the seventh day of the month of Victor, and we are now officially halfway through the Opening Round!"
"How was your weekend Elric?"
"I was, bored, waiting, but not anymore" came the cheering, excited voice of her co-commentator, "I was eager for bringing you all the analysis, insight, and a rather large mug of ice tea to the commentary and get us through with what's shaping up to be a very intense day of matches."
The big panels above the arena flickered, displaying a gleaming leaderboard to all four sides. Names of houses glowed in descending order of scores.
Rank 01. House Zervas — 347 points (+296)
Rank 02. House Veyra — 329 points (+253)
Rank 03. House Ace — 299 points (+204)
Rank 04. House Wilbourn — 285 points (+158)
Rank 05. House Lyon — 251 points (+95)
Rank 06. House Yates — 228 points (+65)
Rank 07. House Freeborn — 219 points (+43)
Rank 08. House Blackwood — 207 points (+17)
Rank 09. House Owens — 178 points (+10)
Rank 10. House Parker — 189 points (+10)
Rank 11. House Reed — 201 points (+3)
Rank 12. House Clayton — 198 points (–3)
Rank 13. House Creed — 179 points (–10)
Rank 14. House Serica — 168 points (–10)
Rank 15. House Preston — 190 points (–17)
Rank 16. House Spencer — 176 points (–43)
Rank 17. House Maerwell — 163 points (–65)
Rank 18. House Frasier — 156 points (–95)
Rank 19. House Thorne — 127 points (–158)
Rank 20. House Quinn — 95 points (–204)
Rank 21. House Maldran — 76 points (–253)
Rank 22. House Orlean — 51 points (–296)
"And yes," Elric said softly, his voice laced with solemnity, "House Orlean sits at the very bottom of the table — a crushing defeat in their away match has left them with a gap many consider impossible to bridge."
A hush settled over the crowd, but Myra — ever the counterweight to Elric's brooding realism — managed a gentle smile as she leaned toward the scrying orb beside her.
"But it's not over yet," she said brightly. "That's the magic of Matchday Two — the home game. The one chance to turn the tide, if you've got the courage, the strategy, and well… a little miracle."
"We'll soon see if miracles are still on the menu," Elric murmured, eyes flicking to the swirling Sphere of Concord. Then he straightened in his seat, tapping a quill against the commentary ledger.
"Let's not forget," he continued, "the scoreboard isn't always what it seems. Two of the most significant victories in Matchday One weren't just about points — they were away wins. Blackwood and Freeborn pulled it off. And that changes everything."
Myra raised a brow. "You mean the by, don't you?"
"Exactly," Elric said, with a knowing nod. "Only eleven Houses move on. But one of them gets a free pass into the final six. The by. And if I had to place a bet…" he paused dramatically, "it'd be Blackwood. Solid strategy. Strong margins. Away victory. My gold's on them."
"But — " Myra hesitated, unusually careful with her words. Her eyes flicked toward the Orlean crest emblazoned on the lower panel of the screen. "I think House Zervas stands a very real chance. They've nearly a three-hundred-point lead. If they capitalise on it — they might just make history. First time entering the top six. The by could be theirs."
Elric didn't argue. He merely nodded — the gesture that said: perhaps. Perhaps not.
Just then, the Dome shifted. The Sphere of Concord, housed in the heart of the field, pulsed with light. A crystalline hum echoed with a resonant shatter, and the emblem of the next match burst from within the Sphere.
Two sigils streamed forth from the arcane threads — House Reed and House Clayton.
The symbols hovered for a heartbeat before the shimmer of runes declared it plainly: Clayton would have the home advantage.
"Well then," Elric said, his tone sharper now. "Match One: House Clayton versus House Reed. Not what I expected to see first. Though — "
He leaned forward, eyes glinting behind his spectacles. "If the Sphere of Concord has set in this pattern… we may be in for a precise arrangement."
Myra blinked. "What do you mean?"
"I've studied it," Elric said simply. " — The sphere organised matches by margin of score. Which means…"
He let the words hang, ominous and ripe with implication.
Myra's eyes widened slightly. "You're saying House Zervas and House Orlean… might be the last match?"
"It's only happened fifteen times before," Elric admitted. "Could be nothing. It could be fate. But if it holds…" He tapped the edge of his commentary page. "Then we're looking at Zervas versus Orlean — the final game of the day. The largest margin, the longest odds."
"Let's hope," Myra said carefully, "if that's true… that House Orleans' miracle arrives by then."
"Indeed," Elric said, as the magical arena began its shift — stone folding and rising to form the snow-blasted cliffs of Clayton's northern highlands.
"Ready for Match One. Let's move on to the field."
Elric and Myra descended from the commentator's balcony onto the arena stage — black obsidian tiles aligning like a chessboard of war.
The captains of both Houses stood waiting at the edge of the stage — Vernon Reed, tall and composed in the navy and bronze of House Reed, and Josh Clayton, broad-shouldered and smiling in Clayton's signature greys and mountain-green.
Myra approached first, extending a courteous hand. "Captain Vernon," she said brightly, her tone respectful but curious, "you lead in the aggregate by three points. How do you see this unfolding?"
Vernon bowed slightly before he answered, voice even and dignified.
"We've studied Clayton's House, their legacy. We know we're entering a fortress, not a field. In this sport of this war, we step in today not to overwhelm, but to rise. If we win, it will be through resolve and rhythm — not hope. Our opponents deserve that much."
Myra gave a soft, genuine smile at the maturity in his tone. "Best of fortune then, Captain."
Elric, meanwhile, turned to Josh Clayton, whose arms were folded confidently across his chest, expression half amusement, half readiness.
"Captain Josh," Elric said with a glint in his eye, "any surprises planned? A sudden twist in formation? A new tactic we should brace ourselves for?"
Josh gave a hearty chuckle, shaking his head. "I must politely decline your offer for spoilers, Elric. But you're welcome to stay tuned — but I will tell you this much — you will be in for quite the show."
The crowd rippled with laughter and applause.
Elric turned toward the audience with a crooked smile, arms lifted slightly. "Well then — you heard it here first! No leaks. Just spectacle. And what promises to be an excellent opener for Matchday Two!"
With their introductions complete, Elric and Myra gave the captains a final nod and stepped back as a hush fell over the crowd.
A row of robed professors, their cloaks marked with silver filigree, stepped forward — twenty in all — and circled the arena perimeter. They channeled their mana onto the obsidian floor beneath.
The ground pulsed once.
And then, with a great woosh of wind and energy, the Dome of Accord rose — a perfect transparent hemisphere enveloping the battlefield, sealing the combatants inside and the spectators out.
It was time.
Elric returned to his seat beside Myra as the names of the teams flared above the dome — House Clayton vs House Reed — and the first tremors of conjured blizzards rolled in from the arena's eastern edge.
"The match begins and the battlefield is —," Elric hyped, as the horns sounded. The geography inside the arena shifted. Elric and Myra quickly flipped pages from their notes to determine what resonated with the changing scene.
"The Windsor Ranges, a highland pass known for its brutal winds, frozen cliffs, and near-total spell drag at altitude. One of the hardest terrains to adapt to… unless you were born there," Myra spoke first.
Magic thundered, blades clashed, and banners snapped in the conjured storm.
But it was only after the fog cleared, and the last spell cooled, that Myra rose with a hand to her ear, relaying the final scores from the panel of observing judges.
"Well," she said, eyes wide as she stood, "that was one for the archives. A tremendous fight."
Elric nodded. "House Clayton held their field, as expected. Their frontline tactics on the steep ridge were brilliant — channeling wind-based casts, making their spell accuracy nearly impossible for Reed to defect. Their vanguard played aggressively but —"
"But House Reed drew out the clock.," Myra added with a smile, "Reed didn't need to win the match. They came in with a plan — delay, distract, preserve their score."
"And preserve it they did," Elric said, glancing at the official scores on the large screen. "Match score — Clayton wins with 198 to Reed's 197."
Myra declared, "That puts House Reed at a final aggregate score of — " The screen shifted. "375, against House Clayton's 371."
"A victory by just two points!" Elric exclaimed, rising to his feet as the crowd reacted with applause. "They lose the battle, but win the war — House Reed advances. Winners of the 22nd year are now out of the House Wars."
Above the arena, out of the 22 House banners. Clayton's sigil dimmed. Reed's flared gold.
"And with that, our first match of the day ends," Myra concluded.
Elric looked over the next threads of fate forming from the Sphere.
"And up next… who shall take the stage?"
The sigils that glowed were of House Parker and House Creed
Elric was now confident of the upcoming order of matches.
Elric stood and raised his voice to the crowd:
"And look at that, the battleground summoned is none other than — Fog Forest."
Myra's eyes widened. "That place gives me chills."
"A historically vital route for trade caravans," Elric explained, tone crisp. "Long before the Strodale garrisons were stationed nearby, this forest swallowed whole regiments. Thanks to the Ironhelm troops posted there today, travel's become safer. But in the days of old, this was the final resting place of many who underestimated its fog."
The Dome of Accord flared again — this time softer, clouded — as the environment changed. The floor of the arena shimmered like disturbed glass, rising and falling into gnarled tree roots and lowland marsh. Mists seeped in from nowhere, billowing like breath from a sleeping dragon. The Fog Forest had returned.
"Creed's formation looks tight," Elric murmured, eyes narrowed, "but House Parker, who have been given the role of rogue mercenaries, just broke through the third ward layer with that coordinated feint!"
Myra gasped. "They're flanking them!"
A sudden eruption of flame burst near the center of the arena. The mist lit up orange like ghostfire. From nowhere, a barrage of spells rained in, slicing through Creed's warding lines.
Elric stood again. "And that flame barrage from House Parker's support line — devastating! Creed's commander is forced to retreat behind the shielding line!"
The entire crowd leaned forward in unison.
The spell clashes continued, illusions danced, and several combatants on both sides vanished behind cleverly conjured Death Mirages. But it was Parker who somehow managed to control the tempo.
And when the dust — or rather, mist — settled…
"Incredible!" Myra cried. "Parker takes the win in the away match by ten — a defying assault!"
Four glowing scoreboards floated above the dome, shifting digits counting upward before settling.
Final Aggregate Score:
House Parker — 390
House Creed — 370
House Parker Advances
Elric announced. "House Parker Advances. That… was masterful."
"And now," Myra smiled, eyes already scanning the glowing threads of fate for the next match, "the threads shift again."
House Owens was up against House Serica.
A quarter of an hour passed in the match.
"Oh no — !" Elric winced audibly through the arena's soundscape. "The timing for the flame spear throw was off! If that had landed just a heartbeat earlier, it would've wiped out Rory —he's the strongest aspect in Serica's lineup!"
Myra groaned softly. "That… that was the moment. "
Half an hour later, the consequences were clear.
"Rory Haynes has completely turned the match," Elric said, standing as the final scores began to stabilize above the arena. "That missed opportunity is now the thorn in House Owens' path — in one single curse-laced attack, Rory took three sixth-year students down with him."
"Serica took the momentum from there," Myra added, eyes wide. "With the numerical advantage now firmly theirs, they converted the winning position. And it's official—"
Final Aggregate Score:
House Serica — 378
House Owens — 373
House Serica Advances
Elric leaned forward. "Up next — House Blackwood vs House Preston!"
His match arrangement prediction was correct as the sphere showed the chosen sigils.
The arena flared with golden sigils of the two house banners as the battle unfolded.
"Blackwood's counter-strike line — deadly precise!" Myra exclaimed. "Preston had the defense, but the layered rune array on that terrain gave Blackwood a massive advantage."
The battle finished.
Final Aggregate Score:
House Blackwood — 451
House Preston — 325
House Blackwood Advances
"I was worried, both recent winners are out, but House Blackwood didn't follow suit, " Elric spoke as he breathed a sigh of relief.
Myra rolled her eyes, nobody caught her with that expression. She looked sure that Elric had placed a bet.
Next up was House Freeborn vs House Spencer.
"House Freeborn is moving with confidence," Elric commented, watching the first sweep of illusion magic clear the field. "And Spencer's responding late — far too late!"
Myra gasped. "That shifting illusion of mist wall… that was beautiful. Freeborn just outmaneuvered them from start to finish!"
The screens were displayed.
Final Aggregate Score:
House Freeborn — 447
House Spencer — 289
House Freeborn Advances.
Now two past winning houses reached the Elite Eleven.
The next matchup was House Yates which clashed against House Maerwell.
"House Yates — trying to hold the center!" Myra narrated. "But Maerwell's blade-dancers are encroaching. Too slowly — I think!"
Elric shook his head. "Yates maintained their lead from the first match. Solid defense, minimal errors. They didn't have to win — they just had to hold."
Final Aggregate Score:
House Yates — 410
House Maerwell — 365
House Yates Advances
"House Yates advances with a lead of forty-five. A clinical performance," Myra announced.
"Next — House Lyon versus House Frasier," Elric intoned.
The match progressed and slowly weighed towards the
Myra chimed in. "Frasier came back with grit, but Lyon's siege formation around the advantageous Earth relics… that was textbook warfare! House Lyon holds onto their lead."
Final Aggregate Score:
House Lyon — 497
House Frasier — 417
House Lyon Advances
In Wilbourn's home game, Myra said, "Thorne had their moment with that sudden water trap burst, but the retaliation—"
Elric nodded. "Perfectly timed lightning array by Wilbourn's Sixth year mages. That perhaps has sealed it."
Final Aggregate Score
House Wilbourn — 409
House Thorne — 375
House Wilbourn Advances
"House Wilbourn despite losing advances with a 34-point lead," concluded Myra.
The third-to-last matchup was unfolding.
"Ace against Quinn — one of the most explosive matches!" Elric exclaimed. "Ace didn't just defend, they erased Quinn's offense."
"A relentless wave of coordinated aerial bursts. Quinn barely made it out of the arena standing. Are they this year's top contended?"
The screens were glazed with an outstanding scoreboard.
Final Aggregate Score:
House Ace — 488
House Quinn — 284
House Ace Advances.
"Veyra and Maldran — one of the last but not least entertaining before the final match," Myra whispered.
Elric's eyes narrowed. "Veyra… had a monumental 253-point lead. But look at this — Maldran's home game has completely tilted the scales."
Final Aggregate Score:
House Veyra — 492
House Maldran — 468
House Veyra Advances
Elric and Myra both stood up on their seats after seeing the match results.
"Ooh, that must have hurt, after such a surgical performance and to loose with just 24 points. Lady Veyra escapes with a handfull of points and advances," Elric spoke with excitement.
As the dust settled from the last match, Myra looked down at the table of standings, then back to Elric.
"It's clear now — scoreboards never told the full story."
Elric nodded. "Some houses with massive leads… crumbled. Others, like Ace, Blackwood, and Freeborn, defied the norms and won both matches conclusively. They stand taller than even Veyra now."
Myra added, "Only four houses won both matches — Parker just scraped by. But Ace, Blackwood, and Freeborn? They dominated."
The lights in the arena dimmed.
A singular orb of white-gold light rose from the Sphere of Concord. One last thread remained.
"And now…" Elric said softly, reverently.
"The final match. The impossible match."
From the northern gates, eight members of House Orlean emerged — A meager 51 points to their name.
From the southern gates, twenty-four members of House Zervas — with 347 points in their coffers.
Home advantage: Orlean. Margin to beat: 296 points.
Almost everyone in the arena… placed a bet on this match, including those who usually abstain from betting. Not on who would win the war — but on how wide Zervas would keep the gap.
Only two bets found attention: Zervas winning the match and aggregate… and Orlean winning the match but still losing the war.
No one placed a single coin on a full comeback. The odds were beyond logic. Close to impossible.
On the Arena Stage
Elric and Myra descended the steps from the commentator's perch,
Myra approached Princess Cassandra Orlean. She offered a formal bow, more nervous than she let on. After all, the girl in front of her was a royal — a final-year student — and walking into what many believed was her last appearance in the House Wars.
"Captain Cassandra," Myra began, voice soft but steady. "It's no secret your house is in a difficult position. But if I may ask — what drives you to take the field today?"
Cassandra's answer was cool, measured — yet not without weight.
"We were never here for comfort," she said. "And this field doesn't ask for explanation — only resolve."
Myra nodded. "Do you think the numbers — the odds — reflect the truth?"
Cassandra looked away, toward her team. Her voice gentled.
"Numbers speak. But they don't command us."
Across the field, Elric greeted Rion Zervas, his voice rich and lively.
"Captain Rion. You come into this final match with a nearly three-hundred-point lead. Surely there's a part of you that feels victory is already secured?"
Rion met his eyes without arrogance.
"No battle is secured until the Dome falls, Elric. Many houses have proven unpredictable. Overconfidence is the death of good command."
Elric tilted his head with a smirk. "So no celebration plans just yet?"
Rion chuckled. "Let's finish the match first. The rest… will follow."
The commentators returned to their seats, welcomed by the ambient hum of the crowd and the glowing sunlight above. But beneath that light, Cassandra turned.
She walked toward Liam, who stood calmly with the Orlean House members, adjusting his cuffs like he had all the time in the world.
"I knew it," Cassandra said under her breath. "From the way Rion answered… I know you've planned something."
Liam said nothing. Just gave her that same unreadable look.
"I know you're disappointed in me," he finally said, "but I won't make excuses. Just — please. Promise me you'll give your best. No matter what happens. Think of this as a training exercise… nothing more."
Cassandra stood still for a long moment. Then, without a word, she turned and walked back to her position.
The professors circled the arena, channelling concentrated streams of pale mana into the obsidian floor.
A dull tremor pulsed through the arena.
The Dome of Accord began to rise. As it sealed shut with a sound like distant thunder, the terrain began to shift.
Stone buckled and fell away. Layers of forested cliff, ravines, and a glimmering river carved through.
"Battle of Silverstreak!" Myra exclaimed, suddenly flipping through her notes with wide eyes. "This… this terrain was modeled after the infamous Battle of Silverstreak during the reign of King Ruben, the Benvolent. It is briefly but surely described in the first-year syllabus."
A battlefield of ambushes. Tight, narrow passes. Daring retreats. And moon tides. A map that might favor the few — not the many.
Elric leaned forward, eyes glinting.
"Perhaps the numbers don't command them after all. Or will House Zervas remember the details of the battle?"
The final match had begun with the falling sand.
Inside the Dome — Silverstreak River
Eight figures stood on the deck of an aged Valtorian pirate ship, its silver-etched hull gliding through the narrow river known in legend — and now, in simulation — as the Silverstreak. Mist hung low above the water, the cliffs on either side rising high, the river cutting the forest in two halves. The setting sun behind the Dome cast golden bars across the current.
The realism didn't fail to amaze Liam yet again who was already at the ship's helm.
He gripped the wheel with steady hands, his eyes scanning the upstream curve to the left — the direction from which the Ironhelm battleship would appear.
"Senior Theo," Liam called, calm but urgent. "Please charge for the first strike."
Theo nodded, stepping back from the mast as lightning flickered faintly around his limbs.
"Sister," Liam turned, addressing Cassandra. "Take over commanding."
Cassandra blinked, confusion plain in her eyes. "Weren't they… weren't they going to lose on purpose?"
Liam met her gaze.
"They might have agreed to lose — but by how much? That's for us to determine."
Understanding flickered — and reluctance — but Cassandra nodded and stepped forward.
"James, Serena — follow Theo. Do what you practiced and—" she hesitated, then steadied herself, "don't hold back."
One by one, the rest of the Orlean team moved into position. William adjusted the reinforcing runes around the mast. Elaine stood on the upper railing, already immersed in mana breathing, one hand extended over the river. Evaline knelt near the bow, quiet and still — preparing her spell.
The breathing deepened. The intent sharpened. Showtime.
Then, across the bend of the Silverstreak — distant but unmistakable — came the grey, hulking silhouette of the Ironhelm battleship, its white and gold sails unfurling like wings.
Cassandra gave the signal.
Theo, James, and Serena leapt.
From the cliff ridges behind, hidden in illusion and timing, they emerged like streaks.
The Ironhelm crew on deck turned just as the first bolt of lightning cut through the sky.
They were caught off guard.
Theo!"
The voice rang sharp across the battleship's deck — it was Torian, his eyes flashing as he recognized the enemy before him. He'd crossed paths with Theo once before.
Theo, standing amid the fading embers of the landing assault, met his gaze.
"Nice to meet you again, Torian," he said coolly, lightning crackling from his fingertips. "Let's settle the score."
Just behind him, James intercepted another Ironhelm's ship vanguard.
"I'm sorry, Henry. No hard feelings."
Then came the impact — his explosive strength slamming into Henry's defense like a wrecking ball.
It wasn't just a skirmish now. With both Theo and James unleashing elemental bursts across the deck, the damage extended beyond combat — the ship itself began to groan, boards splintering beneath the impact of elemental pulses.
Within seconds, the ship's crew, who had been busy under their captain's commands — navigating cannons, managing the gyration stabilizers, powering the internal warding systems, reinforcing the weapons, and aligning scrying optics — noticed the damage piling up.
Alarms rang. Several students abandoned their stations to rush toward the deck in support.
The situation mirrored the previous battle three were against Theo and two up against James… only this time, different faces were involved. Except Torian. He was right where he always was — at the vanguard.
Then, just as Henry gained the upper hand over James, a flicker —
A death mirage.
The supporting Adept who rushed in vanished mid-run.
Out from the mist stepped Serena, her blade already drawn. She twisted her wrist, igniting a small explosion at her feet, blasting a rupture through the deck planks.
"My job's done, seniors. Be careful!"
With a graceful leap, she vaulted off the deck and back to the cliffs.
Theo and James nodded as the smoke bloomed — their cue.
"Now!" shouted James.
The two ignited small-scale fire blasts at their feet — disappearing in the rising flame and smoke, tearing into the deck one last time before leaping back to safety.
More splintered wood. More screaming alarms.
House Orlean was scoring points — fast.
Torian was made to follow.
But a commanding voice halted him.
"Torian, don't."
It came from high above — the captain's quarters.
Rion had watched the entire ambush through the glass, standing calmly, arms folded behind his back.
Torian clenched his fists… but obeyed.
In the Arena, outside the Dome
"We have the first casualty!" Myra gasped. "House Orleans is brilliantly using the home advantage!"
Elric leaned forward, voice sharp with focus.
"Can they continue the — oh! It's not over!"
Back inside the arena—
From the pirate ship deck, the final attacks of the first strikes emerged.
Elaine and Evaline, side by side, cast spell after spell —
Ice Shards. Fire Arrows. Ice Shards. Fire Arrows.
Simple in theory — but fired in a relentless wave.
And behind them, standing still with closed eyes, was Cassandra.
Mana flowed from her hands as she cast Restorare, again and again, into the backs of her sisters. The attacks amplified. Their casting fatigue dulled. The storm raged on.
On the battleship deck, Torian cried out.
"At least counter this!!"
Rion didn't move.
"Mages. Counter it."
Instantly, a formation of defensive students raised spells from the sides:
Wind Blaze — spiraling currents knocked aside the icicles.
Water Wall — roaring torrents doused the flame projectiles.
Barrier Array — shimmering domes absorbed impact.
The defense was formidable — most spells were neutralized midair.
But not all.
A few ice shards pierced the wards, sinking into the deck. A few fire arrows scorched the railings. The damage, though not catastrophic, was enough.
The first strike ended.
As the pirate crew returned to the ship, Liam wasted no time.
With a sharp twist of the wheel, the ship began drifting downstream with the river's natural current —
A tactical retreat… not in defeat, but preparation.
Silverstreak River still had many turns.
And House Orlean wasn't done yet.
Selka Ren stood beside Rion in the captain's chamber.
"Do we have to follow them?" she asked, eyeing the narrowing river with hesitation.
Rion chuckled, eyes on the rippling waters. "Of course. They're going downstream, we're forced to go upstream. They'll reach the battlefield's edge before we do — we can't dictate the flow now. Or do you think otherwise?"
"I know," Selka murmured. "We tried but…"
"So we follow." Rion angled the steering crystal slightly, adjusting the course. "
Selka looked puzzled, but said nothing more.
The battleship gave chase.
A quarter-hour passed — marked by the slow fall of sand in the arena's enchanted hourglass.
From time to time, the Ironhelm battleship let loose its cannons — some aimed not at the pirate ship, but at the cliffs flanking it, attempting to collapse rubble upon their path.
But William, standing unshaken on the pirate deck, absorbed the chaos like a fortress of will. As the Magus Knight, he raised shields of mana that shimmered with each impact — deflecting debris, spellfire, even the cannon's concussive force.
It looked graceful. It was anything but.
He stood alone, bearing the full brunt of the enemy fire so the others could focus — mana breathing, recovery, and preparation. Cassandra stood behind him, her arms trembling as she continued to cast Restorare, flooding his reserves with each spell.
Evaline, midway through her recovery session, allowed herself a breath of calm. The plan was working.
"Your plan is working, Liam," she said as she approached, her tone dry — more taunt than compliment. "So… why do you look like you're about to throw up?"
Liam didn't turn from the helm. "Please continue your breathing, sister. You are… very key to the final strike."
She frowned but complied.
Then, as she turned, Liam called to her.
"Sister — can you channel flame along with wind?"
She stopped. "Huh? That wasn't in the plan."
She denied, "I can't do it. It'll take too much out of me. Even with sister Cassandra's support, I'll be at my limit with the final spell. Meteor isn't a backyard spell, Liam.
Liam between his maneuvering asked, "Cut wind output to half of peak strength. Use the remaining to amplify the flame."
Evaline blinked. "You want me to modify the elemental signature now?" She folded her arms. "What is this last-minute plan change BS?"
"Don't worry, sister. Like you said — our plan is going too smoothly. Don't fret about it."
She grumbled and returned to her breathing.
Of everyone on the pirate ship, only Cassandra remained in active spellcasting. William still stood like a lone shield — motionless now, not because the assault had stopped, but because Cassandra was shouldering his strain entirely.
Serena, from her perch, cracked one eye open.
Elaine approached Liam at the helm. "You're sure about it? It looks like he agreed."
Liam's hands tightened on the wheel, then steered hard starboard as he questioned, "Rion?"
Elaine tilted her head.
"We will win," Liam said, his gaze steady. "And you should prepare your spell sister. We need it soon."
Elaine hesitated. "But everything's going fine, isn't it?"
Liam didn't answer. Instead:
"Captain Rion is following us precisely in such a terrain. He hasn't missed a beat. His attacks haven't landed — because we let them hit the shield."
Elaine's eyes widened.
"Like I said," Liam said softly, "My plan is working. Now make sure yours does."
In the corner, Serena was still listening
"Miss Serena."
Liam didn't even look at her. "Mana breathing requires both eyes closed and both ears unraised."
Serena shrank back into silence, flustered.
The chase continued — another quarter-hour of tension in motion.
Then, at last, the Silverstreak River was about to be opened wide — the estuary.
The cliffs were receding, replaced by the broken marshlands and fog-covered crags that made up the final combat zone.
On the pirate ship deck, everyone tensed.
Liam's voice rose calmly.
"Final assault, everyone."
On cue, Theo, James, and Serena disappeared below deck, their boots thudding on the timber steps as they rushed to the lower chamber of the pirate ship. There, working with frantic precision, they manned the artillery station that should have required a dozen trained gunners. Sweat poured from their foreheads, their breathing uneven, but they kept moving.
Cannon after cannon turned, their mouths glowing faintly as mana inscription circuits were ignited — aimed upstream, toward the estuary's mouth.
They fired.
A barrage of cannon fire thundered through the fog, the deck trembling under the recoil.
But none of it was meant to land.
It was a distraction.
On the Ironhelm battleship, Selka Ren stood at Rion's side, squinting at the now-visible pirate ship down the current.
"They're still. All cannons pointed at us," she reported, eyes narrowing. "Should we charge?"
Rion's lip curled into a confident smile. "Absolutely. They can't do anything to us, even with all that."
With a swipe of his hand, Rion amplified the ship's forward thrust.
No more curves. No more narrow banks. Now it was a straight-line charge through an open river.
"They're banking everything on this one moment," Rion said coldly. "So let's give them the result they deserve."
He raised his voice. "Arm the cannons! All decks, prepare to fire! Mages, your spell is about to shine."
Mages stepped into formation behind the cannon teams.
"Let's win this with a landslide."
Back on the pirate ship deck:
"Fire!" Cassandra shouted.
Cannons roared from both sides — an aerial ballet of fire, smoke, and spell-glow tore across the water.
And then—
"Sisters, now!" Cassandra screamed as she poured her every mana into one last Restorare. The mana suddenly surged in the environment.
On the enemy ship, Rion's gaze snapped up.
"Mages, incoming! Raise the barrier!"
From far above, a massive sphere of flame fell from the sky. It shimmered like a falling star — Meteor, the spell that could shatter mountain walls when cast correctly.
Outside the dome, the commentators gasped.
"What is that —?" Myra's voice rang out, "That's not… is that — ?"
The colossal breath of flame descended.
But Rion's ship was ready.
"Checkmate," Rion muttered.
With a flawless countermeasure, a massive barrier, fortified with water elemental runes, surged to meet the falling star.
The two forces collided —
But no crack.
No rupture.
No explosion.
Just—
Steam.
A massive burst of it, blanketing the field like fog, evaporating in the late-afternoon light.
Rion squinted. That was it?
He braced for an impact. But nothing came.
"What?" he whispered.
Across the battlefield, everyone held their breath.
"Why is there only steam?" Myra called out. "What's happening — ?"
The battleship surged ahead, speed increasing due to the downstream current — they were now charging straight at the still pirate ship.
Rion frowned and barked, "Selka — hand me the scope!"
He peered through the lens.
Cassandra looked like she had just cast her soul out with the final Restorare toward her sisters.
William stood silent, barely moving, shield still raised.
Even their expressions… they were confused.
And then, through the scope, Rion caught Liam at the helm.
The younger prince was looking directly at Rion through the fog.
He didn't smile.
Didn't speak.
Just raised a hand, and pointed downward.
A cold chill settled over Rion.
"Selka…" he said, voice sharp. "Are we sure we had the right intelligence? That wasn't Meteor — what's going —"
THUD.
CRACK.
The battleship shook violently.
On the pirate ship, Cassandra — heaving from overexertion — turned on Liam.
"What is happening?!" she cried. "Why did Rion counter? Why was there only steam? Why does Elaine look like she's about to pass out? WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!"
Liam didn't flinch.
"Punishment for betrayal, I guess," he muttered with a shrug.
The Ironhelm battleship staggered mid-stream.
On the deck, Rion burst through the captain's door, sprinting to the railing. He looked down — then froze.
His jaw tightened.
Floating in the river — slamming into the hull — were massive jagged blocks of ice.
Dozens of them.
The once-clear estuary had become a frozen graveyard of ship-breaking debris.
"Impossible…" Rion breathed.
In the midday sun. In the estuary's warm current.
His battleship — thought indestructible — was surrounded by icebergs.
His downfall was not conjured from the sky.
But pierced his battleship from below.
The final quarter-hour of the match had begun ticking.
Evaline sat beside Elaine, who was sprawled motionless on the deck, breath faint, skin pale with mana-drain. Panic stirred in Evaline's eyes.
"What is going on, Liam?!" she shouted, voice nearly cracking. "My flame aspect… it was weakened! I felt it break halfway — she didn't cast the second half of the spell! Why didn't she?!"
Liam didn't flinch. He was still manning the steering wheel, navigating the ship into position. The fractured remains of the battleship were now floundering, spinning sideways from the river's force.
"She'll be fine, sister," Liam said, glancing over his shoulder toward Evaline and Cassandra. "Now is not the time to worry."
Cassandra knelt over Elaine, applying a final healing pulse, but looked toward Liam when he spoke again.
"Sisters. I need one last spell. Both of you."
Evaline looked up, eyebrows tight. "What now?"
Liam took a breath. "Forcefully raise the warm air from the estuary. Draw it upward — create a pressure drop. Use the frozen debris and the existing cold as the anchor. We'll shift the entire climate balance in the estuary zone."
"Climate shift?" Cassandra echoed, confused.
Liam nodded once. "The rising warm air will pull the cold down in torrents, and the battlefield will freeze."
Evaline blinked in surprise. "That's… simple. A bit clever, even." She paused, brushing her hair back. "But this'll be the first time I'm doing it. Ever. No practice."
"I don't need perfection," Liam said firmly. "Even two-thirds proficiency is enough. You've already shaped wind and flame today — this is well within your affinity. You just need to force the updraft hard and steady."
Evaline glanced at the cracked ice floating across the estuary, then toward the drifting wreckage of Zervas' battleship.
"…Alright," she said, rising to her feet. "But if I collapse, someone else gets to carry me this time."
"Gladly," Liam replied with a half-smile.
She stepped to the front of the ship, lifting her right hand high.
Cassandra assisted with Restorare again, and the intensity of her spell was declining.
The wind obeyed.
It surged upward with a spiraling hiss, drawing every trace of heat with it — and in return, the cold rushed downward like a falling tide. The mist thickened. The shards of ice no longer floated — they linked.
The estuary itself began to freeze.
"And what will this accomplish?" Cassandra asked, her tone sharp with strain.
Liam looked at her, not with his usual boyish softness, but with a resolve far too calm for his age. "Right now, they can't get to the cliffs," he said. "The ship is breaking apart, and the estuary flow is too strong. My version of Freeze is conjured now… they'll have no footing left at all.
Far below, where Zervas' crew had begun leaping into the shallows in panic, the temperature plummeted with terrifying speed.
Several wind-elementalists tried to assist themselves to shore with Gale Burst — conjuring upward drafts to carry them over the breaking ice — but the shifting climate betrayed them. The air was too unstable, the cold too thick. Some ice-elementalists had no option but to cast Freeze beneath their feet, forming jagged, makeshift platforms to levitate or leap toward the cliffs.
The sixth-years, desperate to retreat, surged toward the edge of the battlefield. They hadn't even made it halfway when the cannons roared.
"Now," Liam said from the deck, his voice unnervingly calm.
He didn't raise it. He didn't have to.
Theo, Serena, and James obeyed instantly, each infusing fresh mana into the loaded artillery. The barrage rained down like judgment.
William, still pulsing with residual mana and only just recovered from shielding the earlier chase, jumped down from the top deck and joined them without hesitation — shielding the cannoniers as needed, and intercepting any stray return spells that tried to form from the wreckage.
Liam narrowed his eyes at the breaking chaos and simply said,
"No one leaves the freezing zone."
The cannons fired again.
Those who thought they could flee were proven wrong.
Some managed to cast emergency shields.
Some twisted mid-air to dodge.
And some —
We were hit directly by the raw impact.
In a blink, their silhouettes blurred —
Death Mirages.
Smoke, frost, and falling screams filled the estuary.
Cassandra stood beside Liam, eyes wide, mouth parted. She stared at the chaos beyond their ship — the battleship, now a splintered wreck drifting in the frozen estuary, groaned under its weight. Smoke and frost coiled over the surface like a curtain of endings.
"This wasn't… this wasn't the plan," she whispered.
Liam, still at the wheel, didn't meet her eyes. "I have a lot to explain to you, sister," he said softly.
She exhaled slowly. "How did this happen?"
Liam didn't answer. Instead, he turned his gaze toward the battlefield and asked quietly, "We do have a megaphone in the ship, right?"
"…Yes," Cassandra blinked.
"Then it's time," he said. "Time you ask them to surrender."
Realization dawned.
She turned immediately, sprinted below the helm into the captain's chamber, and returned with the horn-shaped spell-amplifier in hand — the kind used in naval drills and public declarations. Her fingers trembled only slightly as she gripped it. The final sixth of the hourglass sand was still falling.
The wind whipped her hair across her face as she stood at the bow, beside Liam.
All around them, the battle dragged like a slow, aching breath.
Intermittent wind updrafts from Evaline continued to feed the frost. The cannons — no longer aiming to kill, but still relentless — ensured no rhythm, no regrouping. Those on the wreckage had no stable ground, no traction to focus long-range spells. Efficiency was lost. So was hope.
"It's time," Liam repeated, more gently this time. "They've suffered enough."
Cassandra raised the megaphone, mana circling its base, and her voice rang clear across the arena.
"Captain Rion of House Zervas," her voice echoed, calm and resolute, "this is Princess Cassandra Orlean of House Orlean."
All attention turned to the pirate ship.
"I implore you — surrender now. Continuing this will only worsen the suffering of your comrades. You have fought well, but your battleship is no longer seaworthy, your formations broken, your spells unstable. We cannot eliminate all of you — but we can keep you frozen, scattered, and helpless.
"End this now, with dignity. The result is already written."
Silence followed.
Rion didn't reply immediately. He stood at what remained of the battleship's midsection — or perhaps what used to be a gun deck — now a jagged platform of debris and frost.
Steam curled around his ankles. The young captain's jaw clenched, his gaze sweeping the estuary. All escape routes are frozen or bombarded. His crew — twenty remained — barely standing. Some were already on the verge of collapse, bodies stiffening in cold shock.
And then — Death Mirages.
One of the second-years vanished into light before his eyes — a hidden professor catching him just in time.
Then another.
He stared at them all. His friends. His squad.
He clenched his fists once… and then exhaled.
"You've got me good, Prince Liam," he muttered to himself.
He raised his voice. "I surrender."
The words echoed like a thunderclap.
The estuary shimmered.
The spell over the battlefield broke like glass. The arena began to shift — cliffs and rivers folding into mist, decks collapsing into sigils, shattered ice evaporating into light.
All around, the Dome of Accord shimmered, pulsed, and fell. The arena returned to its neutral form.
All participants stood where they were, breaths shaking, mana dimming.
Their clothes torn, faces burned or pale from frost. But safe.
A silence more powerful than cheers followed.
Then suddenly — the whole Colosseum roared.
It wasn't just applause. It was thunder. A wave of sound that shook the very rafters of the Colosseum and echoed out into the skies of Azmaaris. Students, nobles, professors, even staff who had never once cheered for a student match — all were on their feet. , Thunderous clapping, some shouting, others laughing in disbelief, some simply screaming at the top of their lungs.
They had witnessed greatness.
They had witnessed history.
Myra was already on her feet, headset barely staying on as she gripped the edge of the commentary desk. "What have we just seen?! WHAT HAVE WE JUST WITNESSED!?"
Elric stood, both hands braced against the commentary desk as if trying to hold back the surge of emotion in his chest. His voice slowed now — not frantic, not loud — but deep and resonant, carried by something more than adrenaline. It was reverence.
"And isn't it poetic," he said, eyes locked on the arena below, "that this battlefield was chosen after the thirteenth king of Ironhelm — King Ruben, son of Valencia. The Benevolent. The man who never allowed misfortune to stain his banners."
The screens above the dome flickered with echoes of the final scene — icebergs breaking hulls, smoke spiraling upward, and the Orlean pirate ship still riding steady in the waters of victory.
"He, who during the Wars, held the Silverstreak line with cunning rather than brute force. Who taught his generals that even when outnumbered, one could turn the river, the mist, the very moonlight to one's advantage."
"And yet… today," Elric's voice trembled, just slightly, "we have witnessed something greater."
Myra turned to him, her breath caught, but she said nothing — letting him speak the words history would remember.
"For in this mock war, where House Zervas commanded numbers, spells, and fear itself, the Valtorian crew — a mere eight souls led by Orlean bloodline — have carved their names deeper than any blade could into the stone of legacy."
"Remontada," Elric whispered the word like a sacred chant. "The old Valencia tongue. The word King Ruben was said to be uttered before every daring push against fate. 'The comeback.'"
"Never," he said, "in a thousand battle scrolls, would Ruben himself have dreamed that one day — a mock match staged upon his battlefield… would show the world the true meaning of his legacy. A comeback for the ages. A Remontada led by House Orlean."
The arena fell into stunned silence again, the audience drinking in the weight of those words.
Then Myra, with tears in her eyes, nodded and said:
"This wasn't a match. This… was legend reborn."
"House Orlean — " Myra gasped. From a 296-point deficit — !"
" — to a full comeback victory!" Elric finished, breathless. "I don't think anyone in recorded Institute history has ever pulled something like this!"
"Let's break it down! The pirate ship terrain — the Silverstreak Estuary — it should've been a novelty pick! A gimmick! But no — it was their home! They turned every bend, every cliff, every frost current into a calculated move!"
"And then that feint! I have confirmed that it was a Meteor feint — Myra, I've never seen anything like that!"
"They made the Zervas crew raise a high-level water-imbued barrier against a fake meteor!" Myra was laughing now, overwhelmed. "And while everyone was watching the sky — they froze the sea!"
Elric slammed his hands down on the desk, shaking with adrenaline. "Icebergs, Myra! In an estuary! In mid-summer! Who thinks like that?! Who plans like that?!"
"Elric, I know that we still don't have the full picture of the battle, as some things have been planned beyond our understanding as of now, but —" Myra's voice, finally, dropped just a little. "Princess Cassandra didn't just win a battle. She wrote a new page in the books of tactical warfare."
"She turned a hopeless match," Elric whispered, staring at the fading shimmer of the battleground, "into a masterclass."
"And let's not forget," Myra said, a little choked, "they didn't crush House Zervas. They forced them to surrender. With precision. With mercy. With intelligence."
"This," Elric said, placing a hand over his chest, "will be remembered for years. Decades. Today, on the Seventh of Victor, House Orlean proved that courage and brilliance can do the impossible."
A beat of silence.
Then —
"Victory for House Orlean!" Myra cried, and the audience's roar rose again like a tidal wave crashing down. They all were sure without a shred of doubt, even before the results were officially announced.
And above the Colosseum, the scoreboard shifted — line by line.
First came the match result:
House Orlean — 396
House Zervas — 0
A silence deeper than any enchantment had blanketed the Colosseum just moments ago. But now—
A roar like thunder.
As the final aggregate score flashed in the screens…
Final Aggregate Score
House Orlean — 448
House Zervas — 347
House Orlean Advances
Myra stood from her seat, voice cracking with disbelief:
"House Orlean wins the match by one hundred and one points!"
She pressed a hand to her mouth.
"A Remontada for the ages!"
The miracle had happened.
The crowd responded as if a spell had lifted from their hearts — erupting into cheers, stomping feet, applause like crashing waves. The very stones of the arena trembled in answer.
The Orlean house members in the arena were a mix of happiness and fatigue, waving to the cheering crowds.
And then — golden text flickered in the screens.
Tournament Standings
Rank 01. House Ace — 488 points (+204)
Rank 02. House Freeborn — 447 points (+158)
Rank 03. House Blackwood — 451 points (+126)
Rank 04. House Orlean — 448 points (+101)
Rank 05. House Lyon — 497 points (+80)
Rank 06. House Yates — 410 points (+45)
Rank 07. House Wilbourn — 409 points (+34)
Rank 08. House Veyra — 492 points (+24)
Rank 09. House Parker — 390 points (+20)
Rank 10. House Serica — 378 points (+5)
Rank 11. House Reed — 375 points (+4)
–––
Rank 12. House Clayton — 371 points (−4)
Rank 13. House Owens — 373 points (−5)
Rank 14. House Creed — 370 points (−20)
Rank 15. House Maldran — 468 points (−24)
Rank 16. House Maerwell — 365 points (−45)
Rank 17. House Frasier — 417 points (−80)
Rank 18. House Preston — 325 points (−126)
Rank 19. House Thorne — 375 points (−158)
Rank 20. House Spencer — 289 points (−158)
Rank 21. House Zervas — 347 points (−101)
Rank 22. House Quinn — 284 points (−204)
Myra turned to Elric, still stunned but exhilarated.
"That means… we have our Elite Eleven."
Elric smiled. "And the top seed — House Ace — earns the coveted bye."
The Colosseum's central screens lit up once more, and one by one, matchups began to align on the screen. Lines of gold magic threaded between houses, forming this:
Elite Eleven — Round of 11 Matchups
Rank 01. House Ace — Receives a Bye
Match 1: Rank 02. House Freeborn vs Rank 11. House Reed
Match 2: Rank 03. House Blackwood vs Rank 10. House Serica
Match 3: Rank 04. House Orlean vs Rank 09. House Parker
Match 4: Rank 05. House Lyon vs Rank 08. House Veyra
Match 5: Rank 06. House Yates vs Rank 07. House Wilbourn
Elric rose, "That brings the first phase of the House Wars to a close," he announced to the still-packed stands. "You've witnessed tactics, courage, betrayal, honor — and one of the greatest turnarounds in Institute history."
"But this was only the beginning."
Myra stood beside him, "The Elite Eleven begins soon — is history still waiting to be rewritten?'
Elric raised his hand to the bustling crowd.
"Join us again on the 14th of Victor — when the strongest eleven houses will clash again, and only six shall remain!"
A final cheer rippled through the stands like a breaking wave.