The silence that smothered Verdant City was absolute. It was as if someone had reached out and yanked the battery from the world itself.
On the arena floor, the impossible had manifested in steel and blood. Dorian Cross stood triumphant, his spear buried deep in Ethan Lyle’s chest. The crowd struggled to process the sight. Dorian hadn't just used a Forbidden Incantation; he had successfully executed a man who, by all rights, should have been invincible.
"Dorian... he actually did it!"
"I thought Forbidden Incantators were supposed to be gods among men in their level bracket? Ethan is four levels higher, and he just got pinned like a butterfly to a board!"
"Dorian really went for the throat. Using a Forbidden Incantation at his level? That’s career suicide."
The stands erupted into a cacophony of stunned whispers and frantic theorizing.
"Sutton! You senile snake!" Victor Gao’s roar cut through the noise. He lunged toward Principal Sutton, his face a mask of primal fury. "You sacrificed a boy’s future for a trophy? You actually taught a student a Forbidden Incantation just to win the Grand Trial?"
Dorian was a genius, but no Level 14 had the capacity to master such a taboo art on their own. The implication was sickening: Sutton had forced the technique onto his star pupil, consequences be damned, solely to secure the title for Prodigy High.
Sutton didn't even flinch. A thin, oily smirk played on his lips. "Is there a rule against excellence, Victor? My student won. Yours is dying. If you can't handle the heat, stay out of the arena."
"You shameless bastard!"
The other principals looked on with visible distaste. To them, the Forbidden Arts were a poison—a desperate man’s gamble. Dorian Cross was an SSS-rank talent; to burn out his potential for a single tournament victory was a betrayal of everything an educator stood for.
"Dorian knew the risks and accepted them," Sutton added, leaning back with the air of a man who had already won. "The Grand Champion title stays with Prodigy High."
In the stands, Nira Ashford stared at the blood blooming across Ethan’s chest. Her emotions were a tangled mess of relief and sudden, unexpected grief. She had spent weeks obsessing over how to defeat him, but seeing him on the verge of death felt hollow.
I warned you, she thought, a bitter lump forming in her throat. I told you the Forbidden Incantator class was a dead end—a house of cards built on borrowed time. She shook her head, turning away. There was no point in holding a grudge against a corpse.
On the stage, Dorian was gasping for air, his face ashen. Channeling Void Dragonfall had drained him to the dregs.
"Level 18... doesn't mean a damn thing," Dorian wheezed, his eyes bright with manic triumph. "You’re still just a corpse at the end of my spear."
"Who told you..." Ethan’s voice was low, chillingly steady. He raised his eyes, and the sheer lack of agony in them made Dorian’s skin crawl. "...that I lost?"
"Your heart is shredded, Lyle! Stop acting tough and die already!"
Ethan’s arms drifted outward, opening his stance. "It seems people have forgotten why this class is feared. It’s been too long since a true Forbidden Incantator walked these lands."
A dark, rhythmic pulse began to radiate from his chest.
"No man can kill a Forbidden Incantator," Ethan whispered. "We only die when we choose to pay the price. Forbidden Incantation: Deathless Ward."
The air around the arena turned into lead. A terrifying, primordial energy erupted from Ethan, freezing the breath in Dorian’s lungs. Despite the spear still protruding from his ribs, Ethan moved. He gripped the shaft, shoved it aside as if it were a minor inconvenience, and swung Starfall Scar in a brutal arc.
Dorian scrambled back, his mind screaming. He should be dead. Why isn't he dead?
On Ethan’s wrist, the Yin-Yang Bracelets flared with a blinding light. The jagged, fatal wound in his chest didn't just stop bleeding—the flesh began to knit together, muscle weaving into muscle, skin sealing over bone in a grotesque display of rapid regeneration. Within seconds, the hole was gone.
The audience went into a frenzy. This defied every law of biology and magic they knew.
Up in the officials' booth, Roland Marsh and the other examiners stood up, their eyes wide.
"Deathless Ward?" Roland breathed, his voice trembling. "That spell was lost centuries ago. To see it now... a Forbidden Incantator truly is a vessel for the impossible."
"He's trading his lifespan to ignore a fatal blow," another examiner noted, his face pale. "Immunity to death, followed by high-tier equipment healing. The boy’s tactical mind is as terrifying as his magic. If he weren't cursed by his class, he’d be the greatest hero of our generation."
He sighed, the pity evident. To the world, Ethan was burning his very soul just to stay in the fight.
Ethan pressed the advantage, each swing of his greatsword carrying the weight of a falling mountain. Dorian was driven to the edge of the platform, his confidence shattered. He had fired his best shot, and his opponent had simply shrugged it off.
Desperation took hold. Dorian’s eyes turned bloodshot. If he was going down, he’d take the monster with him.
"Forbidden Incantation: Void Dragonfall!"
Dorian lunged again, this time aiming for Ethan’s skull. The black spear shrieked through the air, wreathed in destructive energy.
Ethan frowned. He didn't want to use Deathless Ward again; the "cost" was too high to fake convincingly multiple times. He needed to end this now.
He raised a single hand toward the sky.
"Since you like the forbidden stuff so much," Ethan muttered, "let’s see how you handle a real one. Forbidden Incantation: World-Rending Tempest."
The sky above Verdant City blackened instantly. Thunder roared like a dying god as jagged bolts of violet lightning began to coil within the clouds.
"Impossible!" Dorian screamed.
The pressure was suffocating. Before Dorian could even think of dodging, a pillar of lightning slammed down from the heavens. It didn't just hit the stage; it erased the light from the world for a heartbeat.
When the dust settled, Dorian Cross was a charred husk slumped at the edge of the arena. Static electricity danced over his blackened armor. He was alive, but only just—his body twitching in involuntary spasms.
The silence returned, heavier than before. One second, Dorian was the victor; the next, he was cinders.
Ethan stood in the center of the scorched stone. He paused, remembering the "cost" of his class, and then collapsed to one knee, coughing up a mouthful of blood for dramatic effect. His face went pale, his breathing ragged.
Gotta keep up appearances, he thought. If I look too healthy after that, the high-ups will start asking the wrong questions.
Medical teams rushed Dorian off the field. Ethan had been brutal, but considering Dorian had tried to lobotomize him, no one could blame him.
The scoreboard flickered. Ethan Lyle: 140 points.
The final was set: Nira Ashford vs. Ethan Lyle. A Verdant High civil war. Victor Gao was practically vibrating with joy, already mentally popping champagne.
Principal Sutton, meanwhile, looked like he’d swallowed a live toad. He surged to his feet, pointing a trembling finger at the arena. "I demand an inquiry! Ethan Lyle attempted murder! He used a high-level Forbidden Art against a Level 14! This is a violation of the Grand Trial’s safety protocols!"
The crowd gave him a collective side-eye. Dorian had literally skewered Ethan’s heart five minutes ago. If Ethan hadn't been a freak of nature, he’d be in a body bag.
"The rules say no intentional killing, Sutton," Victor Gao sneered. "Your boy started the Forbidden Incantation arms race. Ethan just finished it. If you want to cry, do it in your own office."
Sutton snarled, turned on his heel, and stormed out, unable to watch the impending Verdant High victory lap.
"Good riddance," Victor chuckled. "What a beautiful day."
Down in the tunnels, Ethan was rubbing his temples. God, this exam is more exhausting than fighting Kensen, he thought. Against a world-boss-level threat, he could go all out. Here, he had to hold back 99% of his power just to avoid turning his classmates into red mist.
And now he had to face Nira.
How do I beat her without accidentally vaporizing her? he wondered. If I hit her with a World-Rending Tempest, her father will hunt me to the ends of the earth.
The final round bell chimed.
The stadium was packed to the rafters. Most people assumed the fight was a formality. After seeing Ethan’s lightning, they figured Nira would be down in one hit.
The two stood opposite each other. Nira’s expression was unreadable. She had seen him "die" and come back. She had seen him summon the wrath of the heavens.
The referee signaled the start.
Neither moved.
Ethan was terrified of killing her; Nira was lost in thought.
"Ethan," she said finally, her voice cold but steady. "If you need to recover from your last fight, I’ll wait. I don't take cheap wins."
"Don't worry about me," Ethan waved her off, looking genuinely stressed. "Just... go for it."
He ran through his mental spellbook. Karmic Inferno? No, she’d be ash. Necrotic Seal? No, that’s too creepy. Blink Dance? Maybe.
"Fine! Then don't blame me for what happens next!" Nira snapped. She flipped open the Infernal Codex. "Phoenix Burst!"
Giant spheres of roaring flame spiraled toward Ethan.
Time to kite.
"Forbidden Incantation: Blink Dance."
Ethan "sacrificed" a bit of his internal energy—narratively framed as a heavy cost—and his agility quintupled. He became a blur, a ghost weaving through the fire. He didn't counter. He didn't attack. He just moved, his feet barely touching the ground as he danced around the explosions.
The audience was baffled.
"Why isn't he attacking? One lightning bolt and it's over!"
"He must be out of mana. That lightning spell probably drained his entire reservoir."
"Or maybe..." a spectator whispered, "he’s going easy on her because she's pretty? I heard a rumor he’s already been scouted by Lord Ashford. He’s throwing the match!"