NOVEL WEB Chapter 11: Pride on Display
Chapter 11: Pride on Display
A tense hush fell over the grand observation hall as dozens of hovering orbs flickered with new scenes from the battlefield. Nobles, scholars, and military commanders crowded around them, each seeking to catch a glimpse of the most promising contenders. Conversations hushed and swelled in waves as one remarkable feat after another appeared on the screens of arcane light.
At the far end of the hall, a small group of high-ranking officers and aristocrats stood slightly apart, their garments marked with emblems of status. In the center of their gathering was Lord Evander Stormcrest, a man whose mere presence commanded respect. Tall and broad-shouldered, he wore polished armor inlaid with silver filigree. His dark hair was streaked with the faintest traces of gray, and a scar across his right cheek spoke of a past spent on many battlefields. Yet, at this moment, his intense gaze was fixed on the orb before him.
Within that orb, Zarek Stormcrest—his son—stalked through the ruins of a shattered fortress. Jet-black hair fell across Zarek's forehead, nearly concealing the icy determination in his eyes. He radiated a certain arrogance, a confidence that bordered on recklessness. Two battered opponents lay unconscious behind him, and he scarcely spared them a glance as he advanced into the deeper shadows of the crumbling stronghold.
"He's grown more efficient since the last trial," Evander remarked quietly, arms folded across his chest. Pride underlined every syllable. "His movements are sharper. No wasted strikes."
A captain standing nearby cleared his throat. "Indeed, my lord. He exhibits tremendous potential. Many believe he may rival even the top contender—"
Evander's gaze snapped sideways, silencing the captain with a single glare. "He will surpass her," he said, voice cold. "He must."
The others exchanged nervous glances. None dared voice their doubt openly, though they all knew to whom he referred: the silver-haired girl whose effortless victories had captured the attention of every spectator in the hall. Some quietly suspected that no one could touch her level of skill, but to say so in front of Evander Stormcrest would be unwise.
Below, on the battlefield, Zarek moved with lethal grace, the flicker of mana enhancing his reflexes. He approached a partially collapsed gate, its ancient wood scorched by arcane flames. Within the twisted wreckage, three recruits stood guard, having formed a temporary alliance to block passage through the fortress's inner sanctum. All three wore tattered armor, desperation etched into their faces.
Zarek slowed, sizing them up. A faint smirk curled his lips.
"You've got two options," he said, his tone almost bored. "Move—or be moved."
One of the recruits, a woman with a deep cut across her brow, snarled in defiance. She hurled a lance of crackling ice at him. Zarek's eyes flashed with mana, and in an instant, he stepped aside, letting the projectile slam into the rubble behind him. The next moment, he lunged forward in a burst of speed. His sword, wreathed in a faint electric glow, lashed out in a single, precise arc.
Sparks illuminated the dim corridor. The ice-wielder's weapon shattered. She staggered back, eyes wide, her guard shattered. Before she could mount a defense, Zarek's second strike crashed down, knocking her senseless to the ground. The remaining two recruits advanced in tandem, trying to flank him, but his reflexes proved too sharp. One tried to entangle him with earthen vines, while the other hurled a volley of mana-infused daggers. Zarek sidestepped, letting the vines catch the daggers mid-flight. In the split second of confusion, he delivered a ruthless kick that sent the earth-user sprawling.
A swirl of mana lit the corridor as the final recruit attempted a desperate fire spell. Zarek let the flames wash over him, mana shielding flaring around his body. He grunted at the impact—such a defense still taxed his reserves—but he didn't falter. With a flick of his blade, he dispelled the flames, lunged forward, and slammed his opponent into the wall with enough force to knock him unconscious.
"Pathetic," he muttered, wiping a streak of soot from his cheek. Without another word, he strode deeper into the fortress, leaving three more broken bodies in his wake.
In the observation hall, Evander Stormcrest watched every move with a quiet, searing pride. His son was strong, undeniably so, but the father's eyes narrowed. Zarek had a tendency toward showy aggression—if he met a cunning opponent or someone with even greater speed, that arrogance could be his downfall.
A general standing near Evander cleared his throat. "He's powerful, my lord, but he does take risks. That style leaves openings."
Evander nodded slowly, acknowledging the point. "True. His pride pushes him beyond caution. But that same pride fuels his ambition."
A hush fell as one of the orbs flickered to the silver-haired girl again. She stood on a rocky plateau, dispatching two heavily armored recruits in the blink of an eye. Her motions were fluid, her face devoid of emotion, her silver hair catching the dim light like threads of moonlight. She moved on without a backward glance, leaving the defeated to groan in pain.
Evander's jaw tightened. The watchers exchanged glances, sensing the tension. Here were two prodigies—the cold, silver-haired girl who dispatched foes like a phantom, and the proud, relentless Zarek Stormcrest. One was a glacial storm, the other a crackling tempest of raw power. Inevitably, they would clash.
"She stands in his way," Evander murmured. "But so long as he remembers his training… he can overcome her. He will overcome her."
No one dared respond. The father's words sounded more like a vow than a statement.
Below, Zarek pushed onward, every victory fueling his confidence. In the back of his mind, he carried a single goal: to prove himself, not just to the academy or the onlookers, but to his father. The knowledge that Evander Stormcrest was watching him—judging him—stirred both pride and resentment. He refused to remain second. He would claim the top, even if he had to crush that silver-haired girl to do it.
In the observation hall, the orbs cycled through countless battles and fleeting alliances. Some combatants fell, others soared to new heights of power. But inevitably, the conversation always returned to two figures: the frigid and untouchable first-place girl, and the ruthless young heir to House Stormcrest. Their stories, though unfolding on the same battlefield, seemed destined to collide.
Evander turned away from the orb, his cloak swirling around him. A distant roar from another display made a few heads turn, but he was lost in his own thoughts. He knew that this trial was only the beginning. If Zarek couldn't surpass her now, how would he ever stand above the true monsters lurking beyond the academy's walls?
"Be bold, my son," he whispered, voice barely audible above the crackle of magic in the air. "Show them your storm."
Those words lingered in the hall, echoing with quiet determination. The watchers soon turned their attention to other battles, but a sense of anticipation hung in the air. Everyone knew that, eventually, the unstoppable force of Zarek Stormcrest would meet the immovable will of the silver-haired girl. And when that happened, the very foundations of this trial might tremble.