The Runic Alchemist

Suddenly, one of the elite team guy broke through—a fist crashing against Damian's shoulder. The impact staggered him slightly but fueled his next strike. The aura around him expanded, pushing back three students in a single motion. Even so, their numbers pressed hard, draining his focus.

The potion's effect had worn off, further taxing his already depleted stamina. He had taken down six or seven students, but many more still surrounded him.

With a metallic groan, the unexpected happened. A coordinated blow struck Damian's black-aura longsword in perfect synchronization—a combination of brute force and expertly placed strikes. The blade trembled, cracked, and then shattered in a burst of shards. He hadn't even managed to use the last spell etched on it yet.

Damian stood amid the chaos, holding only the jagged hilt, his armor dented and cracked in multiple places from the barrage of powerful hits. The pugilists cheered briefly at the sight of his broken weapon. Everyone froze in place for a moment. Karl's grin widened, a gleam of pride evident in his elite team's discipline.

"You're done," Karl declared, stepping forward.

Damian locked eyes with him and smiled—not a surrendering smile, but one brimming with confidence. "Come on now. You'll have to do better than that," he said, letting the broken hilt drop to the ground with a dull thud.

Damian stood at the heart of the pugilist group that surrounded him, his chest heaving as he drew a deep breath. His fingers began weaving an intricate runic circle into existence with deliberate precision. His voice followed—low and steady—as he started to chant.
Stay connected with empire

Karl's reaction was immediate. His eyes widened with urgency, the steely determination in them igniting. Without hesitation, his fist burst into a blazing red aura, a promise of raw power aimed squarely at Damian. "Stop him!" Karl bellowed, his voice cracking like a whip.

The field erupted into chaos.

A swarm of 25 pugilist students surged toward Damian, their fury unleashed through flying fists and surging kicks. The first wave dove at him, hands curled into tight fists, their faces painted with fear and desperation. Their strikes carved through the air, each one a frantic attempt to disrupt the spell, to stop it before it was too late.

They all knew. If Damian's incantation reached its conclusion, the outcome would be very problamatic—and not in their favor.

Amidst the onslaught, Damian remained eerily composed. Blow after blow landed, but his chant flowed uninterrupted. His hands traced intricate patterns, drawing the air itself into his orbit. His eyes, reflecting the faint dark blue glow of the forming runic circle, showed no fear—only unwavering purpose. He felt his health bar shrinking with each hit, despite his efforts to evade or absorb the attacks with his battered armor. Yet his focus never wavered. The spell would be completed.

It wasn't one of those lengthy mage incantations; its speed relied entirely on how quickly Damian could draw. And after crafting thousands of runic circles, he was damn right fast.

It was done. Only a sliver of red health remained on his wristband, with three-fourths of it blacked out—but it was enough.

The spell activated, fueled entirely by Damian's remaining mana. He poured every last ounce into it, his mind growing hazy and sluggish as exhaustion and mana deficiency took hold. But it had worked.

The onslaught ceased, replaced by an oppressive, harrowing cold that wrapped around him like a shroud.

It was a spell he had learned from Lucian, though he had modified it, adding a section for lifting the mana restrictions once cast - The more mana he poured into it, the more potent the effect became. By draining himself completely, Damian had expanded its effect to encompass a wide circle, freezing all 25 pugilists—and himself—within its reach.

The only sensation Damian could register was the biting cold, though just before the freeze overtook him, his fading vision caught a glimpse of Karl's face, frozen in absolute shock. That expression alone made it all worth it.

A moment later, Damian froze within his own spell, a faint, victorious smile etched on his face.

****

The Fist of Valor house had finally decided to strike against their Spellborne Legion rivals—especially when the Legion was already in a precarious position.

Of course, It proved to be catastrophic.

Maelor, Lucian, Alex, Sam, Evrin, Grace, and Einar retaliated with indiscriminate ferocity. Others followed their lead, focusing on dealing as much damage as possible to the nearest enemy, ignoring their plight. Despite their greater numbers, the pugilists began dwindling one by one.

They had the numbers, no doubt. But the Spellborne Legion had two second-rankers and several prodigies.

The battle raged on until the monster wave began. Unprotected and reduced to a handful, the pugilist house was decimated by the encroaching monsters. Meanwhile, the Spellborne Legion managed to defend themselves, though their losses were significant with almost all of them running on low mana, and the damage was far worse than in previous waves.

Afterward, hearing no sounds of battle from the Knowledge Keepers' house, Sam and the others made their way there. The land was littered with frozen shards and drenched in water, but no enemies remained.

The last surviving Knowledge Keeper students were swiftly defeated—but not before the remaining Spellborne Legion members triggered hidden exploding traps, losing many people again. Damian was nowhere to be found, nor were the rest of the pugilist students.

In the end, only 12 Spellborne Legion students survived to defend their house through successive monster waves. Yet, without sufficient mana and numbers, they eventually fell one by one.

The exam finally ended.

As Maelor and the others were carried off the grounds by Highsword guards, he forced his eyes to open asked, "Maximus... What happened to those pugilists? And Maximus?"

Though most were too tired and battered to even open their eyes, they strained to listen.

The guard carrying Grace turned back and replied, "The Morph Vialist used an ice spell to freeze everyone—including himself. They all zeroed out."

"Ice spell…" Evrin murmured.

"That bastard!" Alex cursed one last time before slumping into unconsciousness.

Maelor just smiled and shook his head at the absurdity of one man. Finally, he also gave in to the darkness, his mana completely drained.