While Areth spent hours inside the arena, wholly absorbed in magical training, a crowd had gathered outside.
Everyone on the island had learned that Lord Areth had entered the arena twice within a short span of time and had explicitly forbidden anyone from watching. They all remembered the devastation he had left behind on his previous visit, the damage etched into the arena floor and its barriers. Each of them wondered what kind of magic their exalted lord was practicing now.
"Ah… I wonder what Lord Areth is doing in there right now," sighed the blue-haired maid.
"Probably testing new spells we couldn't even imagine," Alya replied.
"I wonder what it looks like… An explosion spell, maybe? Or something else entirely?"
"…Or perhaps something completely new," the third maid whispered. "Last time, the arena stones melted. Melted, Alya. They didn't crack. They dissolved. Those stones were laid by Lord Areth himself. They're absurdly durable and resistant to all kinds of magic. Until now, only the Crimson Terror, Morvethra, had ever managed to melt the arena's stone."
A subtle shiver rippled through the crowd. Several people glanced instinctively toward the arena gates. The massive iron doors stood silent, yet the mana seeping through them weighed heavily on the air. It pressed against their chests like an invisible force, making it difficult to breathe.
Alya pressed her lips together. She knew Lord Areth well, or at least she thought she did. The changes in him lately were impossible to miss. His gaze had grown deeper, his movements more deliberate. It was as if he weighed several possibilities at once before every step, then chose the most efficient path.
Without realizing it, Alya's fingers twisted the edge of her apron. The mana emanating from within the arena felt unlike any spell she knew. It wasn't wild or overflowing. Instead, it carried a sense of restrained order. Like a storm held in chains, waiting to be unleashed.
"This is taking too long…" murmured the maid beside her. "If it were an explosion, we would have heard it by now."
Alya slowly shook her head. "Maybe he isn't detonating it… Maybe he's trying to control the explosion," she said thoughtfully.
At that moment, a deep, heavy hum rose from within the arena. Calling it a sound felt inaccurate. It was more like a vibration, a resonance where stone, air, and mana echoed together.
It wasn't overwhelming. It didn't shake the earth.
If anything, it was… weak.
The servants exchanged glances, trying to comprehend why a spell cast by a godlike being such as Lord Areth would produce such a low-level vibration.
Whispers spread through the crowd. Surprise, even a hint of disappointment, colored their voices. Such a suppressed, almost timid mana reaction was not what anyone expected from Lord Areth.
"…Is that it?" someone muttered. "Just that much?"
Alya flinched inwardly. She turned her head slowly, fixing her gaze on the speaker.
"No," she said quietly, but firmly. "That's exactly the point... Lord Areth is a genius! Instead of a loud, ostentatious spell, he's forcing his mana into something concealed yet lethal. If he succeeds, he could cast a small but devastating spell directly into someone's eye or another vulnerable spot without anyone noticing."
Her voice grew animated, her excitement spilling out unchecked.
"And by doing so, he could bypass barriers designed to resist high-tier magic using nothing but resonance, striking the target directly. If he hides his mana well enough, no one would even realize he attacked. He could assassinate someone silently and efficiently in the middle of a crowd."
A chill settled over the listeners. Several people swallowed hard. The earlier disappointment gave way to a delayed realization.
"So…" one of the guards said quietly, his voice lower than ever before, "that weak vibration we're feeling…"
"It's not weak," Alya corrected. "It's precise."
The hum from the arena continued, unchanging in frequency. Flat, persistent, unwavering. It neither rose nor fell, and that constancy made it deeply unsettling. Powerful spells screamed. This one whispered.
"When Morvethra melted the arena," the third maid said slowly, "everyone felt it. People talked about it for days."
Alya nodded. "Yes. Because that power overflowed. Lord Areth's doesn't. It doesn't spread. It doesn't dissipate. It stays exactly where it is."
Someone in the crowd took a few unconscious steps away from the arena doors. "That's… more dangerous."
Alya didn't answer, but her silence was agreement.
Her eyes were closed now. She couldn't see the mana inside the arena, but she could feel it. Layered, tightly woven, locked onto a single target, ignoring everything else.
Then, suddenly, the vibration stopped.
Everyone in the crowd jolted at once. The abrupt silence felt like a heart forgetting to beat.
The arena doors opened.
The mana that spilled outward dissolved instantly, and the crushing pressure vanished. The crowd drew deep breaths, as if an invisible hand had been lifted from their chests. A few people staggered back, momentarily losing their balance.
Lord Areth stood at the threshold.
There were no burn marks on him, no signs of battle or exertion. On the contrary, he looked almost unnervingly composed. Even the edges of his cloak were perfectly neat. Only his eyes seemed different, slightly deeper, slightly colder, carrying the traces of hours of intense calculation.
When he saw the crowd, his brows lifted faintly. It wasn't true surprise. It was more like the reflex of someone encountering an unexpected variable.
"…What's going on here?" he asked.
His voice wasn't loud. It wasn't commanding.
And yet, the moment he finished speaking, absolute silence fell over the arena entrance. No one even dared to breathe.
Alya stepped forward, bowing instinctively. "My lord," she said, her voice steady but respectful. "We were simply… curious. About what kind of magic you were practicing inside the arena."
Areth's gaze passed over Alya for a brief moment. In that instant, she felt as if every thought in her mind was being weighed one by one.
His eyes lingered on her a little longer. The look wasn't harsh or threatening. It was like a scale, measuring, evaluating, silently reaching a conclusion. Then his brows knit slightly.
Alya… was excited.
That alone was strange. Normally, Alya never revealed her emotions and never spoke without filtering her words. Now, her breathing was quickened, her fingers unconsciously clasped together.
Areth noticed.
"Speak." he said after a brief pause.
That permission shattered the dam inside her.
"My lord," she said, her voice unexpectedly vibrant, "the vibration from the arena was so low that no one could understand it at first. But the frequency never changed. That isn't suppression of mana. It's stabilization."
Several people stared at her in shock. Speaking in such technical terms was highly unusual for her.
"If I'm not mistaken," she continued, her words accelerating, "instead of dispersing mana over a wide area, you've locked it onto a single axis. You're synchronizing the resonance not with the environment, but directly with the target. That's why the barriers don't react. The attack doesn't strain them. It passes through them."
Areth's eyes widened slightly.
A genuine moment of surprise.
"…Go on," he said.
Alya swallowed, but didn't stop. "With this method," she said, "mana leakage drops to nearly zero. Detection spells, warning runes, even reflexive defenses wouldn't react. Because there's no fluctuation that could be defined as an 'attack.'"
She hesitated, then added despite herself:
"This… is considered theoretically impossible. But you're attempting it in practice. Am I wrong?"
The silence deepened.
Areth was looking at Alya, but he no longer saw the crowd. He remembered her original design parameters: cold, calculating, yet possessed of an irrepressible hunger for magic.
"So that's why she's like this," he thought.
Her theory was elegant and brilliant.
There was only one problem.
In reality, Areth had done nothing more than cast a simple fireball spell. No more, no less. He was inexperienced, newly learning magic, and the fact that he had grasped the fundamentals of spellcasting within a few hours was impressive in its own right.
But for a great Lord like Areth to admit he had merely cast a basic fire spell would have been humiliating.
He remained silent for several seconds.
That silence carried the same weight as the pressure that had filled the arena earlier. No one moved. Even Alya seemed to be holding her breath, only now realizing that she might have overstepped.
"Well done, Alya," Areth said at last. "You've surprised me by figuring it out so quickly. As the first person I ever created, you've made me proud once again."
The tension over the crowd loosened instantly, as if everyone had released a breath they hadn't realized they were holding. It was exactly the kind of statement expected from Lord Areth: simple, measured, perfectly placed.
Alya, meanwhile, froze.
"The first person I ever created…"
The words echoed in her ears. Heat rushed to her cheeks. Normally, color rarely rose to her face, but now she realized she was blushing all the way to the tips of her ears. She lowered her gaze instinctively, gripping her apron even tighter.
"M-My lord…" she tried to say, but the words caught in her throat. She wasn't prepared for such open praise, especially in front of so many people.
Areth saw it.
And in that moment, the quiet sense of relief that washed over him felt more real than the hours of mental struggle he had endured in the arena.
They believed it... All of them.
The invisible weight on Areth's shoulders lightened, just a little.