The Sunken Colosseum had become a theater for the impossible. Over the next forty-eight hours, the "Rites of the Sovereign Sphere" continued, but for the crowd, there was only one House worth watching.
The matches against House Caelum and House Ferrum mirrored the first. Against the religious zealots of Caelum, Eizen didn't just move; he seemed to vanish between their prayers. While Selene's defenders stood in a formation of "Divine Grace," Eizen utilized the same "Still Water" flow, his wooden blade striking the nerve clusters of those who claimed to be protected by the Gods. The sight of three "Grace-touched" defenders collapsing into paralyzed heaps while Eizen stepped over them in silence sent a shockwave through the High Box.
Against the warriors of Ferrum, the violence was more direct. Garrick's team was disciplined, but Eizen treated their rigid formations like a puzzle of joints. He didn't fight their strength; he redirected it. A Ferrum striker lunged with a roar, only to find Eizen's shoulder exactly where his balance needed to be. The resulting crash left the Ferrum line broken, and Eizen struck the Vessel with the same impact as before.
The crowds were no longer just cheering; they were theorizing in hushed, terrified tones. The Professors sat in a state of professional crisis. Professor Silas of the Practical track took dozens of pages of notes, unable to comprehend how a boy without a mana-link could move with such efficiency. Headmaster Frost-Vein remained a statue of ice, his silver beard glittering as he watched Eizen secure the final victory.
"House Obscura: 100 Points," the herald boomed into the evening air.
For the first time in a century, the indigo banner of the "failures" hung highest. But Eizen knew that at the peak of the mountain, the wind is the most violent. He had wounded the ego of Magnus von Thorne, and a wounded animal rarely retreats—it lashes out.
12:00 AM. The Obscura Common Room
The ambush was silent, born of wounded pride and desperation. Forty students from House Malum, led by a fuming Magnus, slipped through the locks they had picked with brute force. They entered the Obscura Common Room, their clubs and practice swords ready to break the "Null" Prince's legs.
But the room was empty. No celebrations. No sleeping students.
"Where are they?" Magnus hissed, his bronze skin shimmering in the dark. "Search the dorms! Find that brat!"
Suddenly, the heavy iron-bound doors of the Common Room slammed shut with a deafening thud. The windows, reinforced with thick glass, were bolted from the outside. Magnus lunged for the door, but it was sealed—not by magic, but by heavy iron bars that had been lowered by the very "failures" Eizen had trained.
Then, the smoke began.
It didn't come from the doors. It poured down from the fireplace chimney in thick, roiling indigo clouds. It was dense, heavy, and smelled of nothing. The Malum students panicked. They tried to smash the windows, but the lack of air began to take its toll. Their movements became sluggish. Their roars turned into wheezing gasps.
"It's... magic..." one student choked out before his knees buckled.
"No..." Magnus gasped, clutching his throat, his massive muscles twitching as his brain screamed for oxygen. "The... air..."
Fifteen minutes later, forty of the Academy's most physically dominant students were sprawled across the indigo carpet like discarded dolls, their chests heaving in a shallow, unconscious rhythm. The smoke stopped. The heavy doors groaned open, and Eizen Devon stepped into the room, his hands clasped behind his back.
Beside him stood five Post-Graduate smoke users, their expressions a mix of awe and discomfort. Behind them, Professor Septimus stepped over the unconscious body of Magnus, his yellow-toothed grin wider than ever. Eizen looked down at Magnus's prone form. He looked at him with clinical indifference.
"How foolish and naive," Eizen said, his voice echoing in the silent hall. "To attempt such a childish stunt without a plan, without understanding that the very air you breathe is a resource I can take away. You believed your muscles made you safe. You forgot that you are still a vessel of flesh and bone, governed by the laws of the world."
The seeds of the midnight victory had been sown hours earlier, while the sun was still casting long, jagged shadows across the Academy's spires. Eizen did not join the celebrations in the common room. Instead, he navigated the winding stone stairs to the Alchemical Spires, reaching the private quarters of Professor Septimus.
The room was a masterpiece of Dark Academia—it smelled of bitter almonds, sulfur, and old, wet earth. The walls were lined with thousands of jars containing things that should not have been preserved: pickled hearts of marsh-beasts, glowing fungal spores, and liquid that shifted colors without a heat source. Septimus sat behind a desk of petrified wood, his yellowed eyes fixed on a bubbling vial.
Eizen entered and performed a perfect, clinical bow. "Professor."
Septimus chuckled, a dry, rattling sound. "The hero of the hour. The boy who broke the 'Colossus' without a spark. What brings the Undergraduate Head to my den of rot?"
"I require five Post-Graduate students," Eizen said, his voice flat. "Specifically, those with a peak Tier 2 mastery of Smoke Magic. I need them at the Undergraduate Obscura dorms at eleven tonight."
Septimus paused his stirring, his brow furrowing. "Post-graduates? For a first-year's victory party? Why smoke, Prince? Are you planning a theatrical entrance?"
"The muscleheads from House Malum do not handle humiliation well," Eizen replied, his emerald eyes cold. "Magnus von Thorne has the pride of a king and the intellect of a boulder. He will mindlessly ambush our dorm tonight, seeking to 'reclaim' his dignity in the dark. I intend to let him."
Septimus laughed—a genuine, wheezing cackle. "And you want to hide in the smoke? A childish stunt, surely?"
"Not hide, Professor," Eizen said, walking toward a candle on the desk. He took a heavy glass beaker and slowly lowered it over the flame. "I have observed a curious phenomenon. If I place a glass over a flame, the fire dies in minutes. It does not go out because of magic; it goes out because it is 'choking' on the air it has already used. I have repeated this multiple times. Humans are no different. We breathe the air as fire breathes the wick. If I saturate the room with a smoke that displaces the air, I do not need to fight them. I simply need to wait for them to fall."
Septimus's smile faded into a look of genuine, predatory intrigue. "You... you observed the 'breath' of a candle and applied it to a military ambush? Most mages believe unconsciousness is a gift from the Devil or a spell of the mind. You see it as a mechanical failure of the lungs."
"Belief is for those who cannot see the structure," Eizen said. "Will you provide the students?"
"I will provide them," Septimus hissed, his eyes gleaming. "I wouldn't miss this for all the gold in Vaeloria."
The Judgment of the Ice (1:00 AM)
By 1:00 AM, the room was crowded with a different sort of power. Headmaster Frost-Vein stood in the center, his waist-length silver hair and crystalline beard glowing in the dim light. Beside him were the teachers of the other houses, their faces pale as they realized what had occurred.
"Explain this, Prince Eizen," the Headmaster commanded, his voice like cracking ice.
"An attempted mass assault by House Malum, Headmaster," Eizen replied calmly. "They entered our domain with the intent to maim. I simply utilized the House Obscura Post-Graduates to perform a 'non-lethal containment.' No magic was used against their bodies; I only modified the environment."
The Malum House Professor, Iron-Will, was trembling with rage. "You choked them! This is heresy! This is dark alchemy!"
Eizen leaned in a low whisper that only the headmaster could hear. "It is observation, Professor," Eizen corrected smoothly. "I noticed a candle cannot burn without open air. I hypothesized that humans, who also require 'breath,' would react similarly. I tested the theory. The results speak for themselves."
Headmaster Frost-Vein looked at the unconscious Magnus, then at Eizen. For the first time, a look of genuine, chilling realization appeared in the old man's eyes.
"House Malum is deducted 100 Points for this illegal incursion," the Headmaster announced, his voice booming. "To regain their standing, they must first recover from this deficit. And Prince Eizen..."
Frost-Vein leaned in, the ice particles on his beard brushing against Eizen's shoulder.
"You have found a way to win without drawing a sword or casting a spell. You have turned the very air into a weapon. Do not think I haven't noticed that you are no longer playing a student's game. You are playing a war."
Eizen bowed, his face a perfect mask of indigo shadow. "I am merely an observer, Headmaster. It is the world that provides the weapons."
As the teachers hauled the Malum students away, Septimus leaned over to Eizen. "They're terrified of you now, Prince. Not because you're strong... but because they don't know the limits of what you 'observe'."
Eizen didn't respond. He looked at the empty common room. The 100 points were his. The House was his. And now, the fear of the Academy was his.