26. Bite Down and Bleed the Cold Out

The heavy iron gates closed behind Arion with a loud clang, sealing out the deafening roar of the colosseum.

When he strolled back into the sprawling underground waiting room, the atmosphere was completely different. The first-year noble students, who had been loudly boasting just ten minutes ago, were now completely silent.

Arion ignored them. He walked straight past the terrified aristocrats, heading directly for the snack table. He picked up a blueberry pastry, took a bite, and nodded approvingly.

"Finally," Arion mumbled. "Something with flavor."

The magically amplified bell rang through the room. The glowing projection board on the wall spun rapidly. The older professors on the balcony seemed to have realized that throwing more students at Arion was just going to destroy their entire curriculum, so they finally let the randomizer work properly.

The golden letters locked into place, flashing Exousia's name right next to the other student. Arion didn't even bother to read it.

Exousia let out a sharp, focused breath. The intense, burning frustration that had been clouding her eyes vanished instantly, replaced by absolute, cold combat focus.

"Watch closely," Exousia said, her voice dropping into a fierce, competitive whisper. "I am going to show you what absolute, flawless discipline looks like."

With a flick of her dark ponytail, she turned and marched down the tunnel toward the blinding sunlight of the arena.

Arion took another bite of his pastry and leaned casually against the stone archway of the tunnel entrance, giving him a perfect view of the flat sand arena. A second later, Sebastian slid over, leaning against the opposite side of the archway with his massive leather notebook flipped open.

"Excellent," Sebastian muttered.

Out on the sand, Exousia stood fifty feet away from her opponent, a tall student boy draped in pristine blue aristocratic robes.

The arena proctor raised his flag. "Begin!"

The unnamed student instantly dropped into a wide stance, throwing his hands forward. He began frantically tracing a blue magic circle in the air. "Sto ónoma tou theoú tou neroú..." (In the name of the God of Water...)

Arion chewed his pastry slowly, resting his chin in his hand.

Why do they always stand so far apart? Arion thought, watching the student loudly shout his ancient phrasing. He's spending all his breath yelling. And he's standing completely still.

"A standard aquatic dispersal chant," Sebastian noted, not even looking up as he scribbled.

She wasn't standing still. The moment the flag dropped, she dashed forward, closing the fifty-foot gap with terrifying speed.

Okay, Arion thought, mildly impressed. She actually knows how to close the distance.

As she sprinted, Exousia’s hands were a blur. She didn't trace a massive circle in the air; she traced a strongly compacted, brilliant orange magic circle right in the palm of her hand.

"Sto ónoma tou theoú tis fotiás!" (In the name of the God of Fire!) Exousia chanted. She didn't yell. Her voice was sharp, rapid, and incredibly precise, cutting through the combat noise like a knife.

The opposing student panicked as she closed the distance. He rushed his final words. "...tha sou diatáxo to kýma!" (...I command the wave!)

A massive, surging wall of heavy water erupted from the blue magic circle, crashing toward Exousia like a localized tsunami.

"Too slow," Arion mumbled through a mouthful of blueberry filling.

Exousia didn't even slow down. She planted her front foot into the sand, sliding slightly as she aimed her glowing palm directly at the incoming tidal wave.

"...tha sou diatáxo ti fotiá!" (...I command the fire!) Exousia shouted, perfectly executing the twelfth word of her binding contract.

A concentrated, blinding beam of pure, white-hot fire erupted from her palm. It wasn't a messy explosion or a wild fireball. It was a perfectly disciplined, tightly bound pillar of absolute heat.

The white fire slammed into the center of the tidal wave.

FWOOSH!

The entire arena instantly filled with a deafening hiss as thousands of gallons of water were flash-vaporized in a fraction of a second. A massive cloud of thick, boiling steam blanketed the sand, completely obscuring the audience's view.

From the tunnel entrance, Sebastian clicked his pocket watch. "A four-point-two second cast time!" he announced, his quill moving frantically.

Through the thick curtain of steam, the noble boy coughed violently, blindly waving his arms.

Exousia stepped out of the fog right in front of him.

Before he could even attempt to draw a defensive magic circle, she smoothly swept her leg, kicking his feet out from under him. As he fell backward, she pressed her palm directly against his chest, a fresh, glowing orange magic circle already hovering over his uniform.

The steam began to clear, revealing the scene to the five thousand cheering spectators.

The student was flat on his back, staring up in sheer terror at the glowing fire circle inches from his nose. Exousia stood over him, her posture flawless, not a single drop of sweat on her brow.

"Surrender," Exousia demanded quietly.

"I-I surrender!" the boy shrieked, raising his hands.

"Match over! Winner... Exousia Ignis!" the proctor shouted.

The stadium erupted. Up on the Faculty Balcony, the older professors were clapping politely, nodding in approval at her textbook execution of the twelve-word rules.

Down in the tunnel, Arion swallowed the last piece of his pastry.

"Well," Arion admitted quietly, dusting the crumbs off his jacket. "Loud. And a little flashy. But she’s definitely not bad."

Sebastian snapped his notebook shut, his blue eyes gleaming with excitement. "A flawless display of traditional theory! And now... oh, heavens. It is my turn."

The projection board spun again, flashing a brilliant, blinding gold.

It displayed Sebastian's name, right next to another overly-long aristocratic title belonging to a different upper-class noble. Arion didn't bother reading that one, either.

Sebastian let out a breathless, slightly manic laugh. He adjusted the collar of his uniform,and stepped out into the blinding sunlight of the arena.

Arion crossed his arms, leaning comfortably against the stone archway.

Exousia walked back into the cool shade of the waiting tunnel, her breathing perfectly controlled. She took her spot next to Arion, crossing her arms as she stared out at the sunlit arena.

Out on the sand, Sebastian stood facing his opponent.

His opponent was a thick-set, sneering noble boy whose uniform was heavily adorned with silver aristocratic crests. The boy cracked his knuckles, looking at Sebastian’s slender frame and the massive leather notebook tucked under his arm with absolute disdain.

"Top scores on paper mean absolutely nothing in the sand, Ambrose," the opposing noble scoffed loudly.

Sebastian didn't answer. He didn't even look at the boy's face.

Instead, Sebastian was staring intently at the dry sand beneath the boy’s boots, feeling the arid breeze. "The air is completely dry... barely a drop of moisture in the sand," he muttered to himself, a manic excitement building in his chest. "Perfect. The cold won't have anything to latch onto but me."

The proctor raised his glowing flag. "Begin!"

The noble boy immediately slammed his foot into the ground, pulling his arms back. He traced a heavy, glowing yellow magic circle in the air.

"Sto ónoma tou theoú tis gis..." (In the name of the God of Earth...) the noble chanted, his voice deep and booming. He was drawing up a standard, highly reliable terrestrial offense. "...tha sou diatáxo to vlíma!" (...I command the projectile!)

A massive, jagged boulder the size of a carriage tore itself out of the arena floor. It hovered in the air for a fraction of a second before rocketing directly toward Sebastian at terrifying speed.

Down in the tunnel, Exousia tensed. "He isn't moving. He won't have time to form an ice barrier!"

Arion didn't say anything. His golden eyes were fixed entirely on Sebastian's right hand.

Out in the arena, Sebastian slipped his pocket watch into his vest. He remembered Arion's warning from the courtyard weeks ago: The words of binding are a safety net. Don't jump without one unless you've already hit the ground a few thousand times. Sebastian hadn't hit the ground. He had hit the chalkboard.

He didn't speak. He didn't recite a single ancient word to politely ask for power from the Goddess of Ice.

Instead, Sebastian raised his right hand and violently slashed his index finger through the air.

A glowing, pale-blue magic circle tore itself open in front of his palm.

Without the twelve-word spoken contract to act as a cage, the magic circle instantly began to run wild. The temperature around Sebastian plummeted to absolute zero, the raw elemental backlash desperately seeking to freeze its caster from the inside out.

"He's skipping the chant?!" Exousia gasped in horror, leaning forward. "He's going to kill himself! His pathways will freeze and shatter!"

Arion remembered the courtyard. He remembered the volatile violet mass that nearly took Sebastian's arm off.

But Sebastian wasn't panicking. His blue eyes were wide, manic, and intensely focused.

"Bite down and bleed the cold out!" Sebastian hissed, his teeth actively chattering as he fought to control the chaotic, shrieking mana. "Push it to the skin!"

Sebastian forced his hand forward, physically shoving the unstable ice circle right into the path of the incoming boulder.

KRACK-KSHHH!

A highly concentrated, hyper-pressurized beam of absolute freezing energy erupted from the unstable circle.

It wasn't a smooth, elegant release like traditional magic. It sounded like a glacier snapping in half. The freezing pulse slammed into the massive boulder midair. The carriage-sized rock instantly turned bright, frosty white, the trapped moisture inside expanding so violently that the entire boulder shattered into a million harmless pieces of snow and gravel that rained down across the arena.

The recoil was massive.

The sheer kickback of the chantless ice spell violently ripped the entire right sleeve off of Sebastian's uniform jacket. He was thrown backward, his boots skidding through the sand for a full ten feet before he finally dug his heels in and stopped.

The arena fell dead silent. The snow stopped raining down.

Sebastian stood there, breathing heavily. His bare right arm was covered in a thick layer of white frost, the skin underneath a dangerous, bruising purple from the extreme cold, and his fingers were trembling uncontrollably.

But his hand was still attached.

Down in the tunnel, Arion's eyes were slightly wide. He slowly lowered the half-eaten blueberry pastry from his mouth.

He actually did it, Arion thought, a wave of genuine, profound awe washing over him.

"Impossible," the opposing noble whispered, staring at his shattered boulder, then at the frostbitten, vibrating arm of the blonde boy. "You... you didn't chant..."

Sebastian slowly raised his trembling, icy arm. He pushed his messy blonde hair out of his manic, wildly grinning face.

"The professors teach us that the twelve words are a contract with the gods," Sebastian declared, a thick cloud of white mist escaping his smiling lips. "But I've just learned that if you calculate the exact cost and pay the toll in your own flesh... the gods are surprisingly willing to renegotiate."

The noble boy took a terrified step backward. "You're insane!"

Before the noble could even attempt to draw another circle, Sebastian flicked his left wrist. Having prepared a small, traditional spell while the dust settled, a simple, localized gust of wind swept the noble's legs out from under him, dropping him flat on his back in the sand.

"Match over!" the proctor shouted, completely bewildered. "Winner... Sebastian Ambrose!"

Up on the balcony, the older professors were in absolute uproar. Two students had just completely defied standard incantation theory.

Sebastian jogged back into the waiting tunnel. His right arm was still coated in frost, his hand twitching violently, and his uniform was ruined.

He looked absolutely ecstatic.

"Did you see it?!" Sebastian called out as he jogged toward them, fumbling awkwardly to open his massive leather notebook with his good hand. "I traded a twelve-word chant for a layer of superficial frost, and it—"

He stumbled.

It was a tiny misstep. To Exousia, it just looked like he tripped on a hidden divot in the sand. She chuckled softly, waiting for him to reach the archway.

But Arion didn’t chuckle.

Arion’s golden eyes narrowed. The quiet awe he had felt a moment ago instantly vanished, replaced by a sharp, cold spike of absolute alarm.

Exousia didn't see it. The screaming crowd didn't see it. The furious professors on the balcony didn't see it. But Arion, who lived and breathed in the abyss of raw, unshaped mana, saw it perfectly.

The thick trail of freezing white vapor pouring off Sebastian's bare skin wasn't dissipating. It was actively generating. The pale, deadly frost was rapidly creeping up past his shoulder, moving directly toward his neck.

Sebastian was still smiling, but as he took another step, Arion noticed his lips were turning a dangerous, dead shade of blue. His jaw was locked tight, his teeth chattering so violently he couldn't finish his sentence.

He didn't close it, Arion realized, the blood running cold in his own veins.

Sebastian had figured out how to kick the door open without a key. He had successfully forced the raw mana out. But he had absolutely no idea how to turn it off. The twelfth word of a traditional chant didn't just fire the spell—it safely closed the caster's internal circuit.