“Agh—that was bright,” the announcer muttered, rubbing his own eyes. Even from his personal stage, far removed from the battlefield, the sheer intensity of the flash had reached him. He shook his head, blinking rapidly. “Ladies and gentlemen… a counterattack from the little necromancer on the second stage—a brilliant flash—will it be enough to turn the tides?!”

  Elias' eyelids clamped shut, a sharp pressure locking his vision in darkness. A searing numbness and burning sensation fought for dominance behind his eyes, pain flaring as he instinctively rubbed at them. He shook his head, trying to force his sight back, but every attempt to pry them open sent another wave of agony through his skull.

  Twice, he tried.

  Twice, he failed.

  On the third attempt, his eyes finally cracked open, but all he could see was a haze of speckled dots swimming in his vision. A moment more, he saw something through the confusion.

  A large, white tile hurling through the air straight at him.

  His eyes widened instantly, and he threw himself to the side, landing with a thud and rolling over once. His eyes readjusted and saw the white arena tile blast past him, hitting the tournament ground and shattering into large pieces.

  A ripple of gasps surged through the crowd a few seconds later. Elias’ ears pricked at the sound of something large. A heavy impact echoed through the stage. Despite his blurred vision, he managed to see the silhouette.

  “Wha—” he sputtered, his words caught between shock and disbelief.

  Through the haze of rising smoke, past the electricity still crackling atop the water pooling in the cracks of the arena, a new opponent emerged.

  It was massive.

  A towering skeleton, easily over twice his size, its hulking form crashing forward with slow, deliberate steps. Its limbs were thick, each trudge heavy enough to send tremors rippling through the tiles below.

  This was Numbskull. The largest and physically strongest summon in Enya’s repertoire.

  Last time, it had been called Bonehead—a towering brutish ogre-skeleton, a creature so powerful that even the noble skeletal knight had been forced to relent beneath its blows. And now, it was reinforced with Soul-Energy.

  As Numbskull thundered forward, its skeletal body creaking intensely, it lurched down, grabbing hold of another loose white stone tile.

  It was large and heavy—easily fifty pounds, but to the towering skeleton, it might as well have been a throwing stone, or in this case, a throwing tile.

  With a snap of its arm, Numbskull hurled the tile forward.

  Elias reacted quickly. He brought his hand up and blasted a small condensed fireball at the tile. The tile exploded and shattered, the pieces harmlessly tumbling on the ground past Elias’ feet.

  With gritted teeth, he launched another spell. A bright spark of light flickered in front of him, intensifying as energy coalesced into a single point.

  A sharp, high-frequency whine split the air.

  Then the spell fired.

  The projectile blitzed forward, streaking across the arena with blinding speed. A heartbeat later, it collided with the massive skeleton, detonating on impact.

  An explosion rocked the stage, smoke and dust billowing outward in a conical blast.

  Elias’ jaw tightened, his vision still muddled by flickering specks of light from the flash. He squinted through the haze, straining to see if the attack had done any damage.

  Thump. Thump.

  His body tensed. The sound of heavy footfalls echoed through the arena, steady and unshaken.

  Through the clearing smoke, the skeletal behemoth kept moving. Its bones were marred with darkened stains where the blast had landed, but that was all. No cracks. No missing pieces. It had shrugged off the attack completely.

  Elias clicked his tongue. More mana. More power, he thought.

  He thrust out his hands, this time forming a double-layered spell circuit. Mana trickled between his fingertips, the air around him thickening with the charge of something much stronger.

  Time stretched thin.

  Enya’s body shook and her fingers were trembling.

  Her sensory field was being pushed to its absolute limit; the tension like a thread about to snap. It wound through the academy’s hallways, out into the alleys, streets, twisting through the city as it reached out for a single, distant point.

  The inn.

  C’mon… c’mon…!

  Her summon limit had already been reached—Pell, Fred, Uglyface, Numbskull. But she had more. More minions. More undead creatures to do her bidding. But she didn’t have access to any of them. Not here.

  They were all locked away within the dungeon’s core.

  But the inn was far. Much farther than she expected. The last time she had strained herself this much was back in Sable’s dungeon, when she had split her focus between tracking the demon rat and scouting for a singular bone for her spell.

  Her mind continued to push forward, recognizing streets, buildings, landmarks as they passed in a blur. She bit down, forcing herself to continue. From her temple, she vaguely sensed sweat tracing a path down her face.

  Finally—the inn came into view.

  C’mon… even Risha took one down… I… can… too!

  Enya had always been stubborn, never the one to give up.

  Back in the dungeon, she had wasted countless hours engraving a spell circuit onto Dummy D.’s skull. It wasn’t even for anything important. It was simply her headstrong determination to complete the task at hand. Being unable to do something, just left a sour, defeated feeling in her stomach.

  Only by sheer accident had her unrelenting try at spell circuit engraving led her to a class advance.

  Continuing forward, she reached the inn’s door and slipped beneath. She saw the vague image of Sheryl, but ignored her, and climbed the stairs. As her senses blurred, she only made it halfway up the stairs, nowhere near her room, before—

  Her connection snapped.

  A terrible, crushing disconnect ripped through her. Her entire being felt as if it had been yanked from reality, like she had overextended a limb until it dislocated. Sensation vanished. For a moment, she wasn’t in the arena, nor in the inn—she was nowhere. Floating. Untethered.

  A sound echoed from the void.

  Ding.

  It was distant yet sharp, cutting through the timeless limbo. A heartbeat later, Enya gasped violently, her lungs dragging in air like she had been drowning. The world slammed back into place around her.

  She was still in the arena.

  The deafening roar of the crowd filled her ears. Sweat dripped down her forehead as her senses realigned, her hands still trembling from the strange ordeal.

  Through the haze of dissipating smoke, she spotted Pell. Numbskull was also there, further along, and charging forward. Elias stood near the arena’s edge, arm outstretched. Judging by the black marks and pluming smoke billowing off of Numbskull, it was clear Elias had cast some spell, but to little effect.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  The echo of a resounding ding crept up from the back of her mind. She didn’t know what it was, but she had an innate understanding of what had just happened. Especially since her senses were now enveloping her again, but there was a flickering ethereal sensation of being detached; a feeling that she could do it again.

  Quickly, she pulled up her system menu.

  Skill: Absolute Focus [Active] has been enhanced.

  Description: Truth is the pinnacle of power, and the lifeblood of a true Visionary. Absolute Focus is only the first step of true omniscience.

  Additional Effect: By splitting your senses apart while fully concentrated, you may gain true-sight of a familiar target. Distance varies based on mental strength.

  As she read the newly found upgrade to her ability, a sudden shift in mana across the battlefield shook her attention.

  Elias was casting again.

  A double-layered spell circuit swirled at his palm, energy coiling into something dangerous. If this was anything like the twin lightning bolts he had hurled out before, she was in trouble.

  Without further hesitation, she activated her skill.

  Her eyes burned, glowing with an intense, almost unnatural yellow. The air prickled against her skin. Time slowed. The roaring crowd faded, their voices melting into a muffled, indistinct hum.

  Rose’s spores had lost their effectiveness on her. Her mind was now sharp as a razor’s edge. The strain that she felt before, the mental fatigue—all of it had vanished.

  And just like the skill description had said, she took hold of her senses—and split them apart.

  Her focus fractured, half remaining locked onto the battlefield, the other ripping free, surging outward through the city at an impossible speed. She imagined the inn, her mind conjuring the image of her room. There, she envisioned the dungeon core, sitting perfectly still atop a cloth, resting on the counter.

  To outsiders, it may have looked like Enya was lost in thought, or had spaced out. However, Enya knew the truth. Because right now, she wasn’t in the arena. She was inside the inn’s room—and she could see everything.

  The messy bed she had forgotten to make.

  The chair that Pell liked to sit on opposite the room.

  The open drawer that was next to the core. The one she put the Crystal Spiderling Queen… into, to prevent it from escaping.

  Uh-oh.

  She would deal with that possibly fatal mistake later—but right now, her attention was locked onto the dungeon core. Even from this distance, she could feel it. She could interface with it.

  A slow, creeping grin spread across her face—both in the inn and back in the arena.

  “A clever counterattack by Elias Ferris!” the announcer’s voice boomed, riding the roar of the crowd. “His spell has caused the monstrous beast to falter and—Oh my—Ladies and gentlemen! Harold Strebern has incapacitated Seraphine Foster and has thrown her body off the stage! Can we get a playback—”

  As always, the announcer’s enthusiasm bounced between all three arenas, his sentences cutting off mid-thought as he jumped to another match.

  On stage two, Elias activated a new spell and fractured the ground beneath Numbskull’s feet, breaking apart the tiles and forcing open a small crater beneath the skeletal giant. Stone caved inward, and the hulking summon lurched forward, its bony hands clawing for stability as the floor beneath it collapsed.

  Just as it reached out, fingers digging into loose earth, Elias’ second spell ignited.

  Two enormous slabs of earth erupted vertically from either side before leaning and slamming inward like dominoes.

  The slabs broke in direct contact with the skeleton’s back, cracking the shards of earth and sending dirt, stone, and broken arena tiles to pile around its legs; a pit filled with debris, trapping its movements.

  But even buried, even pinned—it still moved.

  The skeleton pressed forward, its sheer size and durability letting it push against the weight, climbing free inch by inch with each claw of its hands at the mound.

  Elias let out a sharp breath, his fingers already tracing the shape of another spell circuit.

  Suddenly, a faint red glow pulsed from a small band on his wrist. His stomach tightened. “Already down to the last quarter…? Are you serious?” he muttered.

  His gaze snapped away from the trapped skeleton, moving across the stage to the necromancer girl who stood absentmindedly, her yellow-hued eyes locked in a trance-like state.

  Elias scrutinized her. The girl’s body was still. Her focus seemingly elsewhere.

  Maybe… she’s controlling them indirectly, he thought. Big mistake, leaving yourself defenseless.

  Mana poured into his spell circuit, flames flickering to life at his fingertips. With a swift movement, a burst of fire roared forward, the scorching arc racing toward his unguarded opponent.

  On the sidelines, Pell’s soul-flames flickered sharply. He had been watching, tracking every shift in the battle, but the instant Elias turned his aim, he knew.

  Pell body jerked as he spun around. But there was no way he could outrun a fireball. No way he could shield her with his own body, not when he was riddled with gaps and holes.

  Still—he ran.

  “Kid! Watch out!” Pell shouted, his bony frame thundering forward as fast as it could go.

  “Here’s an extra boost…” Enya muttered. The Gravecaller’s Band on her finger began to rattle, an eerie glimmer pulsing from it.

  Just as the condensed fireball streaked through the arena—it suddenly detonated several meters in front of Enya, like it had hit an obstacle.

  “The crown on stage three has been—Wait, what is that on stage two?!” the announcer’s voice boomed, full of excitement. “Just when the battle seemed one-sided, the tides have begun shifting again! A new summon by the little necromancer takes the stage—and it’s cool!”

  A few in the crowd groaned at the pun, but most were too stunned to react.

  Both Lord Ferris and Lady Ferris focused more intently on the match, leaning forward in their seats. Harland on the other hand, grinned, enjoying the new spectacle.

  The fireball’s flames billowed outward in a cylindrical cone, its heat licking the air past Enya but stopping just short of reaching her.

  “What—” Elias sputtered.

  Through the flickering embers, another massive figure appeared, already rushing forward with reckless abandon. This one wasn’t as large as Numbskull, but it was different, and much more threatening-looking.

  It stood several heads taller than an average adult male, its frame thicker, its bones reinforced with calcified armor, layered like a knight’s plate mail. Its stance radiated discipline and authority, a figure that exuded a noble presence—valiant and holy.

  Yet, holy was the farthest thing from the truth. This was an undead construct, forged from necromantic magic. And unlike any skeleton Enya had summoned before—this one was enchanted with ice magic.

  Loose stone became pulverized beneath its steps as it charged.

  In its left hand, a massive shield of solid ice glistened under the stadium lights. In its right hand, a greatsword, forged from pure frozen mana, radiated an unnatural chill. It stood tall and intimidating, like the final boss of a dungeon.

  From the sidelines, Pell stood frozen—both figuratively and literally.

  “Holy shit—” he muttered, watching Kidirge—Mr. Bones’ real name—emerge before Enya.

  Then he noticed something even stranger. He looked down at his own skeletal frame. A slow chill crawled up his limbs. Thin layers of frost coated his bony hands, creeping up to his forearms, forming something akin to bracers or gauntlets—crafted entirely from ice.

  He flexed his fingers, feeling the solid weight of them, the frost melding into his form as if it belonged there.

  Mr. Bones ran with his shield raised in front of him. Unlike Numbskull, Mr. Bones was fast—not as fast as Uglyface, but its speed was far greater compared to what his frame would have suggested. He would cross the arena and reach Elias in a little over ten seconds.

  “Go get him, Mr. Bones! Break… break his bones into pieces!” Enya yelled, her voice ringing across the battlefield with fierce determination.

  Pell shot her a side glance, waiting for someone—anyone—to react to that outright declaration of violence. But no one seemed to notice. The announcer was too caught up in the excitement of the match, the crowd too absorbed in the spectacle. If anything, they were cheering even louder.

  Pell sighed.

  Across the stage, Elias’ jaw tightened as he took in the escalating disaster before him.

  Not one, but two massive skeletons were closing in.

  Numbskull, the initial colossus, had finally clawed its way out of the pit, its frame encased in thick layers of ice, each jagged, crystalline surface catching the sunlight and gleaming like frozen steel. Its makeshift ice claws, formed over its skeletal hands, had driven deep into the ground, acting as stabilizing ice picks that let it haul itself upright with the extra leverage.

  “Argh… this is so annoying!” Elias shouted, frustration boiling over as he thrust out his palm.

  Mana coiled tightly into a double-layered spell circuit, the band on his wrist flaring crimson—brighter than before.

  From her position, Enya caught the shift.

  Pell! Can you… I don’t know, stop him from casting? I’m completely out of mana, and I’m using the last of my Soul-Energy on my ring!

  The thought snapped through their bond, sharp and immediate.

  Pell turned to her, arms crossed, the weight of the ice-formed gauntlets encasing his skeletal hands still settling over him.

  “Stop him? Kidirge is probably faster than me, there’s no way I can reach him in time,” Pell responded. Though he was far from Enya, his words still reached her through their bond, even if he didn’t say them mentally.

  He had his cloak he could use, but using such a thing in a children’s tournament, and possibly damaging it, would ruin its sell value. And even with it—he wasn’t sure he could reach the brat in time. Moreover, he had nothing in it for him. He was dragged into the tournament arena by Enya without his permission; and though his face was always grumpy, he really was grumpy this time.

  Can you… throw ice at him or something? Or throw him a bone?

  Pell’s soul flames rolled over at the unintentional pun. He looked down at his hands, the ice now forming thick gauntlets over his forearms. The ice had a strange familiarity, like the shock of a waking limb. Stretching his fingers, Pell tried to change the formation of the ice.

  He flexed his fingers.

  The ice responded. It shifted, morphed, reshaping itself along his hands.

  Pell’s jaw clicked in thought. If Kidirge was too slow, then he needed to act faster. He couldn’t reach Elias in time—but a projectile could.

  He needed to make more ice.

  Experimenting mid-fight wasn’t ideal, but he had no choice. Truth be told, he was being caught up in the theatrics of everything. He’d rather have just watched the fight in the stands, but now that he was here—might as well. He was subtly influenced by Enya’s determination to try, at the very least.

  He clenched his hands and willed the frost to change—to take on a new shape. The gauntlets pulsed, and suddenly, the ice splintered outward, jagged shards breaking free from his hands. A cluster of sharp icicles formed in his palms, the weight unfamiliar yet somehow right.

  He lifted his arm, wound back his throw—and hurled the icicle straight across the arena.

  It veered wildly off course. Pell frowned. “Alright, so my aim’s garbage.”

  While he could throw them far, and hard with his soul-forged body, he wasn’t exactly the best marksman. He wasn’t some trained knight, and the weight of the ice felt too different from throwing a blade or a rock. But he could fix that. If his aim was bad, he’d just have to make up for it in quantity.

  He braced himself, both arms snapping forward, ice forming and launching in rapid succession.

  One icicle. Then another. Then another.

  A barrage of icicles rained sideways at the mage.