The flash of light receded a few moments later, settling down the anticipation of every person's heart. Their vision began to adjust to the disappearance of the blinding light.

However, as they opened their eyes, they couldn't see a thing!

A massive cloud of mist had blanketed the entire arena, stretching even further beyond the outer walls of the arena. It was as if they were dwelling on a soft cloud. The audience grew confused and some were startled. The fog was cold, bringing a sense of anxiousness as well. The people began to murmur. The noise resounding all over the arena.

Thud!

The sound of a body falling heavily on the ground entered Moulin's ears. There was a groan and then a heartless silence.

The youth ignored it. He lifted his hand to withdraw the fog spreading beyond the audience's seats towards his hand. There was a slight cold but he wasn't bothered. The people witness the fog around them, concealing their view of the arena stage, was withdrawn towards the arena.

The fog gathered around Moulin's pale hand as though a void was sucking it in, solidifying into a large ball of ice floating above Moulin's pale palm.

The fog receded and the view of the arena was gradually revealed. On the other hand, the dark snow cloud swirling above the stage had also diminished. The warm light of the sun bathes one's form, bringing comfort and fading away the bitter anticipation in their hearts.

The fog vanished and what was left was the ball of ice hovering above Moulin's hand. His silver hair swayed with the warm breeze around him. Once again, he manipulated his mana, and the ball of ice thawed and disappeared. Moulin released a chilly breath. His eyes narrowed with joy.

In front of the people's eyes, the full view of the arena stage was revealed. Their eyes widened, others clutched their seats, and some gaped, stunned. Although there was excitement bubbling, waiting to burst out, they were silent.

What welcomed their stunned gazes was the shine of the smooth frozen ground as though it was accurately sliced clean in perfection. Like a white mirror reflecting the walls, the big blue sky from above, and most of all the lone figure standing at the center of the frozen floor.

"White ice and snow... " Muttered the Elder Guild Lord. Yes, the ice was completely white. Pure and harmless it was. As though a single tiny smudge of mud would ruin it all. How extraordinary...

His gaze shifted toward's the candidate's elder brother, Emlen Fraunces. The Elder Lord gazed at him in deep thought. He recalled Emlen's ice was the color of the clouds in the sky. White with a tinge of blue, refreshing yet deadly. How strange... The third young master's ice doesn't seem to be similar to the symbolic ice of the Fraunces family...

From the openmouthed silence of the audience, a roar of cheers and applause suddenly noises in the air! What a sight! This candidate is completely phenomenal!

Moulin raised his gaze, roaming over the hundreds of raised arms. The cheering cries of the people filled his spirit with confidence and the tantalizing fill of victory but none was shown on his face. His silvery eyes gleamed under the warm sunlight and the white ice under his feet made him look like a white deity of the wintery north. When he lowered his gaze upon on his feet, the body of the unconscious fire maeruthan laid with a faint bluish-grey skin. It was the outcome of the wave of mana released by the ice crystal the moment it shattered. It caused Jax's inner flow of mana to be stunned, turning lethargic. The disruption of mana can also affect one's, internal soul.

Moulin's little trick had only stunned the man into unconsciousness, no harm was permanently done. It was Moulin's little trump card.

Moulin kicked the sword beside his feet and began to make his way towards the balcony of the Elder Lord's seat. His steps were unhurried and his walk was imposing.

Moulin kept a straight face as he stopped his face and stood quietly. Silver eyes lifted and waiting.

The Elder Lord smiled faintly and raised his brass staff. The hanging rings of his staff jingled as it was raised. "The 16th standing, Moulin Sills Fraunces!"

Cheers rang in the air and the people rose from their seats. It was loud, filled with excitement.

Emlen lowered his gaze upon his little brother. Truly, Moulin had grown up. It pains him to realize this but it brought a sense of pride as well. Moulin is a powerful and kind person. He can be childishly sweet and elegantly solemn. However, as Moulin stood in the arena with his head raised and eyes burning with determination he was a force not be trifled with. Like the unyielding giant waves of the seas mercilessly surging through the lands.

Emlen smiled faintly after a helpless sigh. Moulin was growing up and he, his elder brother, was unwilling. Sometimes he wished for Moulin to stay little so he could coddle him as much as he wants. However, seeing his little brother emerging victorious, it was a dazzling sight to see. Emlen felt proud, joy filling his heart. His brother was like a breathtaking diamond under the sun.

The rectangular part of the wall from below The Elder Council's balcony was withdrawn. The center separated into two stone doors, opening for the victor's entrance.

Moulin blinked.

He glanced behind him, realizing that he couldn't just leave the arena like this, frozen. His brows furrowed and he raised his hand. With the will of its wielder, the layer of thick ice on the ground thawed. Melting into the solid ground as faint smokes rose in the air.

Once the ground was as dry as it was before, Moulin took a last glance at the body lying on the ground. Moulin swallowed his concern and turned away before he would do something he will regret later. He stepped into the passage without looking back.

The sound of cheers and applause faded out as the stone doors closed shut.

Click

Clack

Click

The sound of heels clicking on the smooth floor resounded in the halls. The second young master of the Fraunces family, accompanied by his guard, walked towards the resting room of the victor candidates worriedly. One could see how deep his concern was as his steps grew faster and the way his frown deepened as he got closer towards the doors.

Not bothering to fix his expression, he entered the room without care.

The smell of sweat entered his nose and he scrunched his face in annoyance. His brother was resting here? How could he rest with this smell?!

Although the room was very spacious and open for the tall windows were wide open, Emlen could not settle with the smell within the area. About thirty candidates were occupying the room, some were trying to get familiar with other victors while some chose to be alone. Emlen had caught the attention of a few but he didn't spare a glance at them as he walked towards another hallway by his right seeing that his little brother wasn't in that area.

What if he was wounded or injured and he missed to notice it? Emlen grew anxious in his heart. His forehead creased slightly.

He entered the isolated part of the resting room and saw a familiar figure by the open window. Emlen's steps paused. His heartbeat slowed in relief.

Sitting on the bench by the window was the oblivious silver-haired youth sleeping his arms crossed and his head leaning back on the wall behind him. The gentle beams of the warm sun, bathe the slender form of the tired Moulin like a layer of golden blessings of the gods. His long lashes were thick and long that it had shadows on his smooth rosy skin.

Seeing him sleeping so silently made Emlen unwilling to wake him. He must be exhausted, Emlen thought. A helpless smile graced the elder brother's lips.

Moulin's calm expression broke slightly as his brows knitted in discomfort. Emlen ordered the guard to not allow any people to go near the room before he stepped closer as quietly as he could towards his sleeping little brother.

Emlen smiled warmly as he stroked Moulin's silver hair gently like he always does to Moulin.

His strong lovely little brother was growing up. It was a bit depressing for Emlen but he could do nothing. With a sigh, he sat down next to Moulin and stared at his sleeping countenance.

He'll let him sleep a little longer...

"Marvelous!..."

The Phioric Guild Lord could not restrain her delight. She clapped her hands as she gazed at her water mirror with glee.

"Be mindful of the volume of your voice, Lady. You are not the only person in the room" Maiel sneered at Ilona's fascinated expression.

"Shut it." Ilona rolled her eyes. Her raven lashes fluttered as she blinked. "This young man is a treasure! I would drown in despair if he wouldn't choose my guild."

Maiel raised an eyebrow. "How exaggerated. Just for a mere candidate."

"Don't deny yourself, Maiel. I know you've got your eyes on him too." Ilona grinned.

Silence descended around the Lord of Trylle. Indeed, he finds the young man promising. Aphrodite or not, he would become an outstanding addition to his guild. He lowered his head as he thought of some flattering words to influence the little Aphrodite to his side.

Ilona caught his determined look and grew anxious in her heart. She wasn't wrong. Maiel was planning something to sway the youth to his side. She could not just sit idly!

A certain Hercullian Lord stood up from his seat.

The surrounding grew as silent as the night. They could feel the heavy aura enveloping them as the Lord's golden eyes swept across each of the rest of the lords.

Hadrian turned to walk away from his chair. His steps echoed in the silent room as he walked to leave the room. No one made a move to remind him that the Trials had not yet ended not did one made a single sound as he exited the room in silence.

Varick lifted the curtain for his lord as the two of them left the viewing hall.

Whispers instantly noised at the moment the Leonile Lord and his right-hand man had left. They were curious as to why the Lord would suddenly leave without watching the end of the trials.

Was he not interested in the rest of the remaining candidates?

Did the 16th match not entertain him?

Had someone offended him?

"Silence... "

A deep voice spoke amidst the mutterings and murmurs. At the command of the voice, none dared to make a sound. Even the two powerful Lords, Ilona and Maiel, ceased their banter, resuming to await the next match.

Lord Ordan sat in his seat with dim eyes. His expression was calm and dignified but no one could notice the apprehension in his mind. His eyes glanced at the throne of the Leonile seat that was left empty.

The sight of silver hair dancing in the warm breeze and the victorious smile on lush lips entered his mind.

His eyes narrowed.