At the Upper Gallery.Where the only two who had seen everything—even through the blinding light—sat in silence.From this elevated vantage point, nothing had escaped their eyes.Even when the cyan brilliance had swallowed the world below and turned the Grand Sanctuary into a second sun, these two figures had seen everything clearly, as if the light itself bent away from their sight.They watched the aftermath unfold.Oasis was already outside the gigantic battlefield, his figure calm and composed as he headed toward the resting area within the Grand Sanctuary.His steps were unhurried, his posture steady, as if he had not just concluded a duel that shook the very foundations of the arena.At the same time, the guards did not waste even a heartbeat.They surged forward in disciplined coordination, descending toward the destroyed battlefield.They moved directly to Elanor, checking her condition with practiced efficiency before they carefully lifted her from the elevated slab of earth.

In one of the InfirmariesInside the infirmary where Elanor Bal lay resting, the air was calm and softly lit by pale mana lamps embedded into the walls.The scent of refined herbs and mana incense lingered gently, soothing the senses.Elanor lay unconscious on a wide bed, her body wrapped in clean robes.Though she had been battered moments ago, her complexion had already regained color, no longer pale or drained.Her breathing was steady, slow, and rhythmic.Beside her stood two women of her age, her personal escorts—Inose and Uku—both dressed in matching combat attire now partially loosened, their expressions tense yet relieved.Their eyes never strayed far from Elanor’s face.Standing near the bedside was Eclipse Bal, his posture upright and composed, his hands clasped behind his back.Though calm on the surface, the faint tension in his shoulders betrayed lingering worry.The physician attending Elanor was human.Physically, she appeared to be a young woman, her hair tied neatly b

After a few minutes in the upper gallery, as below in the gigantic battlefield the last of the repairs were still in motion—Great slabs of stone were being lifted back into place by earth cultivators, fractured ground knitting itself together under controlled formations,while residual mana still shimmered faintly in the air.The once-devastated battlefield was slowly regaining its shape, though the scars of the duel were impossible to erase completely.Cracks remained like veins across the stone floor, silent reminders of the overwhelming power that had been unleashed moments ago.The barrier pylons hummed softly as they stabilized,their runes glowing faintly while attendants and formation masters moved with urgency,sweat on their brows as they worked to restore order.“I think the way you are speaking about it now makes sense,” Marcellia Valmorra said, her gaze calm yet thoughtful as she turned slightly toward Amon. “It is the most logical way to carry it out.”Devi Pogoda nodded

A breath-long pause settled over the upper gallery the moment Antonov’s words fell.It was subtle, almost imperceptible, yet it rippled outward like a stone dropped into still water.“Mm.”Amon raised a single brow.His posture did not change, yet the space around him did.The relaxed ease he had worn until now folded inward, replaced by a restrained pressure—as if a breath he had been holding was finally allowed to circulate, not released, but redirected.His gaze sharpened and fixed itself squarely on Antonov.“Why is that, Young Master Antonov?” Amon asked.His voice remained calm, measured, even gentle—but the presence behind it shifted.It was not oppressive, not overt, yet it pierced straight through Antonov, testing him, weighing him, stripping away pretense.Antonov felt it immediately.The pressure brushed against his senses like a cold current beneath still water.His breathing hitched for a fraction of a second before he forced himself to inhale deeply, grounding his spirit

He paused for a brief moment after taking a single step forward.Then, with measured grace, Lukan Maser inclined his head in a slight bow of respect.Only after that did he proceed.As he moved, he felt it—clearly, unmistakably.From both sides of the path ahead surged vast, ancient presences—overwhelming and profound.It was as if the great names standing side by side had deliberately released their aura at that precise moment.It was not an attack, nor suppression, but a silent trial—an unspoken test of bearing.The air thickened.Invisible pressure rolled toward him like a tide, brushing against his skin, pressing against his bones, testing the steadiness of his spirit.Each presence carried years—no, decades—of authority, bloodshed, victories, and command.These were people who had stood above regions, whose names alone could silence cities.Yet Lukan did not falter even once.His steps remained calm and measured.His posture stayed straight, dignified.His expression did not chan