Melchior, his senses heightened, navigates the treacherous, frosty mist. He remains vigilant, scanning for potential threats in the chaos of the Practical Entrance Exam. The din of clashing steel and howling winds fills the air. The icy landscape is a maze of sunken ships, their hulls shattered and entwined.
Sensing movement, Melchior turns on his heel while almost slipping on the ice. He points his sword towards a young man with golden hair. The man raises his hands, and Melchior notices a heartspud in his left palm.
"Who are you?" Melchior asks, his eyes still trained on the student.
"Rouge Aradhana. Someone who had the same idea to profit from Lady Seraphina and Cedric's battle. Why don't we team up? With this many students taking the test, it'll be almost impossible to win alone."
"Not interested." As Melchior activates his eyes, he flicks his clock earring, causing it to start ticking.
With every tick, he takes a step closer to Rouge.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Ring!
Rouge holds his palm to the sky, trying to activate whatever Invocation magic he has- Melchior still can't figure it out.
He thrust his sword towards Rouge, but he parried it with his own blade. His golden eyebrows flutter as he ponders what went wrong.
Rouge chuckles softly, backing away. "That's a pretty unique power. In fact, I don't think I've ever heard of an invocation like that."
Ring!
Hearing the high-pitched jingling in his ear, Melchior picks up the pace. It's only the second ring, so he has enough time for… six more to his estimations.
Melchior pushes off the ice, sliding and gathering momentum as he cuts horizontally. Rouge blocks, but is sent backwards, skimming on the ice, and rams into the inside of the ship's hull, spraying wood and broken nails amongst a smokescreen of dust.
Melchior holds a handkerchief to his nose as the dust permeates throughout the hold.
His heart beats faster as he loses sight of Rouge.
He can sense that Rouge isn't being suppressed by his magic anymore, and he becomes slowly frustrated as he begins running out of time.
Ring!
As his earring cries out for the third time, a ray of light breaks through layers of the ship, smashing into Melchior.
"Invoker of Sol…" Melchior groans as he makes his way through the hole Rouge burst out of earlier.
"Sunflare!"
A blinding light causes his vision to wane, and in the next moment a kick sends him skidding away on the ice.
Rouge reveals himself again, not caring that his magic will become sealed. His movements are similar to Seraphina as he effortlessly slides across the ice. Around his body is a warm glow of light, and his feet in particular melt grooves the blue verglas like a train on an aetherRail.
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His shining sword becomes even brighter now, like a long torch that blazes in the stormy, frozen lake, furiously fighting against Melchior's own abilities.
Outside of the ship, Melchior continues to hear the drumbeats of thunder and the crashing of glaciers in the distance.
Compared to Seraphina and Cedric's fight on the scale of demigods, Melchior grits his teeth as his own feels like child's play.
He glances and notices Cedric laughing as the winds around the lake violently pick up. The flapping of the destroyed armada's flags and sails sound like cursed applause.
"How about this Seraphina?! Gaze upon the fury of Thalor! Unpredictable and wonderfully impulsive Lord of Storms, tear everything apart!"
In the distance, Seraphina grits her teeth and shouts back. "You fool, that's dangerous! There are other students here as well!"
In that second, Melchior's eyes widen as a massive, swirling column of dust, air, and debris is summoned, standing like the arm of a furious wind god.
A tornado.
As the light from his Sol Invoker opponent's body begins to fade and their blades inch closer and closer, Melchior notices a stray ship that was ripped from the ice being sent towards Rouge. But his golden eyes are so focused on Melchior that he doesn't notice the hulking mass of wood, not even the wind vortex.
Melchior has no idea how well Alma is watching them, but he cannot by any means allow it to smash into Rouge.
Rouge gazes in surprise as Melchior stops just before his own pristine sword, dashing towards his left. Just a meter away is a ship's deck, hiding thousands of kilograms of wood behind it.
Tick.
Melchior clutches the hilt of his black blade and grits his teeth. He recalls the movements and style their father passed down to him.
"Salinger Style: Solemn March of Serenesa!"
Ring!
His earring cries out for the sixth time, as his blade cleaves the ship in half, sending two halves of wood boulders across the ice, shattering it like small asteroids falling from the sky.
...
Long ago, Serenesa the "Witch", was a wondrous healer, but was betrayed out of fear and jealousy of her Unorthodox Invocation. She marched throughout the city, bound in the chains of the Solscourge Inquisition to her execution.
As she knelt on the executioner block, she whispered her final incantation, a curse, not out of malice but of sorrow and betrayal.
The executioner, unaware of her curse, delivered the fatal blow- a single powerful slash that cleaved her head from head from her shoulders.
His father, Arthur, witnessed this cruelty himself, and modeled the sword art after the emotions he felt that dark day- the sorrow of Serenesa and the tragic force of the slash.
Perhaps he believed that he could take upon her curse to bring forth justice.
...
Melchior remembers all the stories his father told him during those late nights. He resonates deeply with each story, allowing him to draw out every bit of power.
Rouge watches in surprise as his eyes move between the two sliced parts of the broken ship.
Melchior's eyes begin to seep with blood as it rolls down his cheeks like crimson waterfalls.
The watch earring on his right ear ceases its ticks as Melchior scrambles for his pocket, procuring a small vial with clear liquid inside.
He drops the liquid onto his eyes, feeling a sense of relief.
Rouge approaches Melchior and whispers a quick prayer. Suddenly, he feels a ray of light washing over his body, subsiding his fatigue. The strain on his eyes and muscles feels lesser now.
"Thank you for saving me," Rouge says as he holds out his hand.
"Thanks for… whatever you're doing to me with your magic," Melchior replies, shaking it.
Now out of his battle trance, his senses come alive, and the roaring shouts of the tornado causes him to wince. The tornado upends the water, ice, and ships, wrecking devastation across the battlefield.
"Let's have a truce for now, and get out of here," Melchior suggests, dusting off his trousers.
"Agreed."
Melchior extends a hand to Rouge, helping the other Invoker to his feet. A tense silence hangs in the air as they regard each other, two skilled warriors who have only just barely avoided a deadly clash.
"I'm Melchior," he offers, breaking the silence.
"Rouge Aradhana, Invoker of Sol," Rouge introduces again.