Chapter 41: Contest of power is about to begin

Chapter 41: Chapter 41: Contest of power is about to begin

"This is a childish contest, I agree. But you have to indulge me, Singerian," said Fahai, his foot settling lightly upon the island’s soil.

"I live only to please you, sire."

The true reason for her name "Singer" was h because of her voice so soft and pure, One could easily believe she had been born to weave song rather than to become a sniper.

"But if I may ask... who will I be competing against?"

"I do not know. Yet if I were forced to choose, she will bring a good deeder whose technique rivals yours completely. Even so, I know you will defeat her and make my name proud."

"You know it," Singer answered, a quiet laugh in her throat.

....

Deep in the woods behind the Martell mansion, the air was cool and shaded. The trees belonged to House Martell; only those of high standing were permitted to go there. Old man Martell sat with Liues, Josephine, Glaudu, and Perious—the highest-ranking good deeders under the Starry Group Commission. They occupied a long row of chairs beneath the canopy. Light filtered through the leaves in soft gold. Conversation drifted easily. Josephine with her long blue hair gleaming, lifted her wineglass with a bright smile.

Then suddenly it felt like the world stopped.

An aura descended like a living weight. It did not merely press upon the air—it claimed it. The birds fell silent. The leaves ceased their rustling. Even the wine in the glasses went still.

Martell was the first to rise, face draining of color.From between the old trunks a figure emerged.

She looked no older than nineteen. Short green hair framed a face of cold,fragile beauty. Elven ears rose delicate and sharp. Her eyes were pure emerald, and they carried the quiet arrogance of someone who had never once been forced to look up at another living being. The aura that rolled from her was not the flaring power of a fifth-wave good deeder. It was deeper, denser, and stronger—something that made the very ground seem afraid of her. Layla of the ten virtues.

She stopped a short distance from the table, arms loosely crossed, expression faintly irritated, as though the entire gathering were an inconvenience she had already grown tired of.

"To what do we owe this pleasure... Lady Lay—"

"I told you to kill Morgan Liues," she said. Her voice was soft, almost bored. "And you failed."

Martell’s chair scraped violently as he stood. "I sent Ru—"

"He failed." Layla’s gaze did not waver. "And what did I tell you would happen with each failure?"

Josephine surged to her feet, blue hair whipping behind her. "How dare you!"

Binding Technique flared to life around her palm, a circle of dense energy already forming.

"Josephine, no!" Martell shouted, he stretched his arm to grab her but it was too late.

Layla’s expression barely changed. She lifted one hand and flicked her wrist as though brushing away a fly.

But that causal act tore open the world itself.

A single, vast current of air exploded outward. Trees older than the mansion itself were ripped from the earth by their roots and hurled into the sky. Soil, leaves, and shattered wood became a screaming storm. The forest that had stood for generations simply ceased to exist in a radius of hundreds of meters—yet every living person remained exactly where they stood, untouched by the gale, as if the wind itself had been ordered to spare them.

The silence that followed was absolute.

Josephine stood frozen, face bloodless, the half-formed binding circle collapsing around her fingers. Sweat poured down her temples. Her legs trembled. For the first time in her life she understood the difference between strength and true dominion.

Liues could not even rise. Breathing itself felt like a risk.

Martell bowed his head so low his forehead nearly touched the ruined ground. "Have mercy. They are only foolish children."

Layla had already turned away. "Find Morgan Liues and end him. That was the only task I gave House Martell. I believed you capable. Clearly I was mistaken."

She paused, turned glancing back over her shoulder. One finger rose, almost lazily, and pointed at Josephine.

A thread of air sharper than any blade shot out acrossed the distance in an instant.

It punched through Josephine’s abdomen with a wet, brutal sound. Blood erupted from her mouth as the force hurled her backward, carving a long trench through the torn earth. She landed hard, gasping, one hand pressed uselessly over the wound. She had poured every drop of power into blocking that simple strike—and still it had pierced her.

Layla walked into the ruined woods without looking back.

---

The following day, the tournament of power gathered upon an endless sea of dunes. No grass, no shade. Only pale sand stretching to every horizon beneath a hard blue sky.

The Virtues arrived one after another.

Layla walked alone toward the single enormous rock that rose from the heart of the desert. It was the size of a small mountain, weathered and old. Fahai stood at a distance with Singer a half-step behind him. The remaining Virtues watched in silence.

Layla did not pause to gather power. She did not speak an incantation. She simply raised one hand and drew a single, clean line through the air.

The mountain split.

A perfect vertical cut opened from peak to base with a sound like the tearing of silk. Dust and stone fragments hung suspended for a heartbeat, then fell away. What remained was a vast, flat circular platform of polished stone, edges sharp as cut glass.

Layla closed her fingers into a fist and pulled upward.

The entire platform rose.

It lifted from the desert floor without strain, without tremor, as though it was never plunged into the earth. Sand poured from its underside in long, glittering curtains. It slowly climb Higher and higher until it hung suspended far above the dunes, a floating arena of impossible weight, casting a vast circular shadow across the sand below.

Singer’s head remained bowed, yet sweat beaded along her hairline. At the capital she was considered one of the strongest. Here, But here before this casual display, she felt like an ant standing at the foot of a god.

Sophy, standing close to her lady, could not contain the bright, almost giddy smile that broke across her face. She snapped her red fan open with a soft *click*.

"She cut the mountain into a perfect arena with one motion... then lifted it into the sky as if it weighed nothing. My master is the best."

Every Virtue possessed a trusted right hand. Fahai had Singer. Layla had Sophy—the motion manipulator who had broken through the deified door and received endless mana as reward. Blond hair, short and neat with traditional red fan inscribed with old characters. The fact that she worships Lady Layla cannot go unnoticed.

Once the platform floated steady in the sky, the Virtues withdrew to a respectful distance.

Lady Grace settled into a majestic flying chair some way off, watching the arena with calm eyes. Beside her sat Elfaria, her most trusted right hand

"Who do you think will win, Lady Grace?" Elfaria asked quietly.

"Singer," Grace answered without hesitation.

Elfaria was shocked. By all means does Sophy has the upper hand."But milady... Sophy holds every advantage—"

The great horns sounded across the desert. Rolling over the dunes like thunder.

The battle had begun.