Melchior slowly opens his eyes, feeling quite chilly.

"Damn it all… I should've just carried my coat."

Once his hazel eyes are fully opened, to his horror he realizes that his lower torso is encased in ice. He struggles to get out, but the pale ice restrains him completely.

'Shit! Was I sent late because of my resistance to magic?!'

His eyes dart around, surveying his surroundings.

He seems to be in the middle of a massive lake filled with submerged, half destroyed ships. It's as if an armada of ships fell from the sky, crashing into the lake.

However instead of being filled with water, half the lake is frozen over. Layers of cold mist cover the water. Storming, gray clouds cover the sky and thunderclaps echo throughout the lake.

Scattered across the lake are other students trapped in the clutches of the frost, all struggling to escape. The ice seems to be alive as it creeps further up their bodies like a cold, coiling serpent.

Melchior quickly pats his stomach, feeling for his heartspud. Luckily, there seems to be no damage to the bulb, where most of the liquid is contained.

In the distance Melchior spots a lady skating across the ice with white fur-coated boots. She uses the lake, turning the field of ice into massive waves of sharp icicles, launching them towards her enemy.

A man with unruly brown hair laughs as he hovers in the air, as if standing on an invisible platform. He clutches a wild, roaring spear of blue thunder, sending it towards the woman.

"Hah! Seraphina!" His voice booms throughout the lake. "To think that the third and second ranked would fight already! If I beat you, come with me to dinner after the exams!"

"Uncouth as ever, Cedric Valens! How many more times must I reject your advances?!"

"Until you accept! Go forth, Grand Harpoons!"

The pair clash, sending waves of frost and thunder across the lake.

Melchior watches the battle unfold, his heart pounding in his chest. He knows he can't afford to be caught in the middle of their chaos. The ice tightens around him, and he winces, his breath hitching as he tries to think.

Suddenly, the ground beneath him jolts violently as Cedric Valens' spear crashes into the ice near Seraphina, creating a tremor that dislodges Melchior from his icy prison. He struggles to his feet, making a mental note to stay low and avoid drawing attention. His gaze fixes on the skirmish between Seraphina and Cedric, calculating his chances of slipping past them unnoticed.

"Cedric, you're reckless!"

Pushing himself out of the ice, Melchior stretches his legs out. The frosty mist covers most of the battlefield, providing meager cover from the two powerhouses.

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He frees his wooden suitcase from the ice clutches as well before inspecting it closer for any damage.

Melchior kneels down as he unlocks his suitcase. Above piles of clothes is a longsword wrapped in dark and gold linen cloth.

To fit in his suitcase, some of the sword is plunged into the shadows, courtesy of his brother. He couldn't bear Absinthe holding onto his sword in the event they would get split up… like right now.

He unveils the blade, revealing a black blade with slight gold accents, the same color scheme as the cloth that had covered it. The edge of the blade has slight protrusions in it, like thorns that follow the sword's curve.

The corners of his lips twist upwards as he feels the weight of the sword in his hands.

He begins moving away from the furious fight between Seraphina and Cedric, hoping to not get stuck in it further.

Melchior glides silently through the frosty mist, his gaze sharp and cautious. The clash of steel and the howling winds make it difficult to discern exactly where Seraphina and Cedric are engaged in their fierce duel. He holds his sword tightly, the chill of the air biting at his skin, but providing a strange clarity to his thoughts.

The path through the mist is treacherous, but he moves with a precision learned from years of rigorous training. The shouts and grunts of combat echo around him, a constant reminder of the peril he navigates. Every step he takes is deliberate, his senses straining to identify any threats lurking within the frozen fog.

His steps suddenly cease as he realizes that even more students are stuck in the ice, their heartspuds becoming extremely vulnerable. The idea of fleeing the battlefield becomes a grandiose waste.

Just as he finishes his thought, he locks onto some yells nearby.

Melchior slowly walks atop the ice towards the voice's source.

Feeling the cold mist on his hands, he blows into them one at a time to warm them up.

He approaches one of the many sunken ships. This one in particular is snapped in half, revealing the cargohold and the source of the shouting.

Passing by crushed debris and wooden crates, he eventually stands before a young man with curly black hair and notices his left leg fully stuck in Seraphina's ice. Melchior also notices the tattoos on his arms… Invoker of Thalor the Storm God.

It seems that their studying wasn't for nothing at least.

He looks up at Melchior with a desperate expression.

"H-Hey, you! Please help me out! I can't be eliminated on the first day like this! Look, my name is Simon Kravitz, you might have heard of the Kravitz family! I'm a noble, I'll pay you generously if you get me out of here! Everytime I try to break the ice, it regenerates to keep me trapped here!"

Simon shudders as Melchior's gaze falls on his neck, the location of the bulb of his heartspud. It sticks out like a sore thumb.

"Sorry, I can't afford to stop here."

Melchior holds out his sword, stepping closer to the noble.

"S-Stay back!"

Simon clasps his hands together, and quickly says a short prayer. Melchior notices a bright blue light forming at his hands, so in reaction he activates his eyes.

Once again, the irises of his eyes break apart.

As a result, the tattoos on Simon's arms lose their glow, and the blue light vanishes.

"Why… Why are your eyes like that? What kind of Invocation Magic is that? Who the hell are you?!"

Melchior's braids rustle gently as a breeze blows away some of the cold mist, giving him a better look at Simon's terrified face. Despite his vision being hazy, Melchior notices his trembling hands and eyes.

It feels like slaughtering a helpless lamb, a solemn thing that won't go to waste.

"A magic user's greatest nightmare."

He thrusts his sword forward, piercing the heartspud's core, and hoisting it away from Simon's neck.

The moment the heartspud leaves his body, a golden light instantly envelops him and Simon vanishes. All that's left of the noble is traces of yellow light and the heartspud.

Before he can waste any more of its juices, Melchior brings the heartspud to his own, attached to his torso.

He lifts his shirt and allows the heartspud to drink the red juices.

The bulb in Melchior's hand shrivels up, and he then tosses it aside, straightening out his shirt.