Becoming the Wind-Chapter 27 - 26 She Joins

"Such a shame that the girl named Yurelia is inexperienced in handling illusions," Professor Rosalia remarked, adjusting her monocle.

Headmaster Hareth stroked his beard. "Quite rare... Are you interested in her as well?"

"Not particularly... I simply pity her talent. Didn’t little Alev teach her how to counter illusions?" Professor Rosalia looked gently toward the school and smiled.

This made the headmaster blush—a sight that did not suit his aged face. "Ahem... perhaps so."

At the noble family spectator stand, Count Vellmarin sneezed violently, causing a bit of mucus to dribble from his nose. ’Who’s talking about me?’ he wondered. A guard quickly wiped it off with a cloth woven from Spirit Queen Spider thread.

The gazes of the other noble family heads were full of envy and irritation. ’As expected of the richest noble... is he doing this on purpose?!’ That was roughly the sentiment running through their minds.

Marquis Arwyndel puffed out his chest, laughing loudly. "Trying to show off to hide your daughter’s defeat?"

Count Vellmarin, having just finished wiping his nose, responded casually. "We were the same once—lost at first, but followed it with consecutive victories."

Marquis Arwyndel and Count Vellmarin were once classmates at Lumenvale Academy, always competing for the top spot. In the entrance exam, the marquis had bested Vellmarin.

Marquis Arwyndel was taken as a student by the vice headmaster, while Count Vellmarin was mentored by Professor Rosalia, who still taught back then.

Despite his Spirit being of little help in combat, Count Vellmarin—driven by the greedy blood of a merchant and an obsession with winning—conducted intense research and training with Professor Rosalia to counter illusion spirits.

In the midterm exam, Count Vellmarin narrowly defeated the marquis. Since then, they were dubbed eternal rivals by their peers. Vellmarin went on to win every duel thereafter.

Feeling threatened, the vice headmaster resorted to dirty tactics during the graduation exam, allowing the marquis to win their final duel. The headmaster at the time noticed and launched a personal investigation. No one knows what happened, but the next day, the vice headmaster resigned.

Even today, neither Marquis Arwyndel nor Count Vellmarin knows that their final duel had been rigged.

After graduation, the academy was left without a vice headmaster, and Professor Rosalia stepped away from teaching to become the librarian.

Still, the rivalry between Arwyndel and Vellmarin did not end. They would duel whenever the chance arose, and Count Vellmarin continued to emerge victorious.

The marquis recalled those days, veins bulging from his neck in frustration.

"Oh ho, are we about to witness another duel between eternal rivals?"

"Perhaps soon we’ll see them clash like old times."

The noble heads stirred with excitement, encouraging the impending fight.

But...

"Enough," Prince Caelsen spoke gently, yet his voice carried undeniable pressure. "I’ve heard your stories enough times. You certainly have fond memories... But for now, let us focus on the children’s exams."

"Prince Caelsen is right," they all agreed in unison. Count Vellmarin only smiled faintly.

Meanwhile, Reyhan floated above, observing everything like a football spectator.

Sylphia remained seated, expressionless, as if holding something back. Yet both her legs were trembling so hard they made noise, drawing attention from other participants.

A nearby boy nervously tried to speak. "U-um... are you alright?" He cautiously reached a hand toward Sylphia.

In less than a second, Sylphia turned her head. "WHAT!!" Her beautiful face remained calm, yet her aura radiated like a goddess of death.

"N-nope! Never mind," the poor boy recoiled, terrified before even fighting.

Sylphia returned her gaze to the arena. ’Father, will Yurelia be okay?’

Reyhan replied calmly, "She’ll be fine. Besides, you can always pay her back if she loses."

’Yes. I’ll repay it 100—no, 1000 times over!’

"No no, not that much," Reyhan panicked.

This time, Sylphia’s teeth trembled, the sound reaching the audience stands.

A sharp-chinned, cross-eyed, flat-nosed youth tilted his head. "Did you guys hear that? Sounded like cavalry was coming..." But with the roaring crowd, no one heard him.

"Must be my imagination," he shrugged, then joined in the cheering.

Meanwhile, inside the fog where Yurelia was still fighting...

"Surprised I’m still stronger even after you’ve activated your skill, Yurelia?" Velissa’s voice echoed from every direction.

’H-how does she know?’ Yurelia thought, continuing to dodge attacks.

"You think I came unprepared? After the cafeteria, I researched every participant in stages 8 and 9. I know almost all the Spirit Skills and fighting styles... except one... VERIN!!"

Her voice vanished briefly, then roared back like thunder. "A COMMONER WHO STOLE THE PUBLIC’S ATTENTION! WHO DARED KICK ME AND GAINED PRINCE DANIEL’S NOTICE?! I’LL KILL HER!!"

"But later," she resumed calmly. "First, I’ll destroy... her friend."

Exhausted, Yurelia backed away from Velissa’s shadows. Her body ached, right hand clutching her sword, left holding her injured elbow. She ignored her opponent’s rants, focusing on battle.

’Weird... They surrounded me at first, but once half were gone, they just stood there, like protecting something,’ she observed.

’For now, I’m safe since I severed some chains they used. Their attack range is reduced,’ Yurelia paused, eyes scanning each shadow.

"Ah... I think I understand," she whispered.

She knelt, grabbing an almost invisible thread by her left shoe, wrapping part of it around her left hand and tying the other end to her sword’s hilt.

"Valanther."

"I should’ve used this earlier—Weigh Authenticity." Valanther spun around her, enlarged, then slammed into the ground, releasing a shockwave that judged the authenticity of all elements present.

Velissa felt a strange frequency brush her body like a bubble touching skin. ’She did something... no matter. The result won’t change.’

After weighing, Yurelia’s body glowed gold... as did a small dead tree behind Velissa’s shadows.

Yurelia smiled. "Let’s begin again," she said steadily.

She spun her sword and sprinted forward.

Two sword users charged her, three others prepared chains.

Yurelia hurled her spinning sword toward the right opponent. He barely deflected it, but it veered left, striking the other and dissolving him into mist.

She yanked the thread, spinning it around her, reversing her motion for another throw.

She now controlled the flying sword like an extension of herself, weaving it through shadows and guiding it toward the small tree.

As it neared, the tree leapt aside, but the sword grazed it.

The tree turned into Velissa, her cheek scratched. "What?!" she gasped.

The fog lifted. Shadows vanished into mist.

Yurelia smiled, panting heavily. No wounds. No stone cuts. Just her own torn clothing.

She unraveled the thread, dropped her weapon, and dashed toward Velissa barehanded.

Panicked, Velissa shielded her face. "W-wait!"

Just as Yurelia was about to land her punch...

"Just kidding. Ghalmur—Saliva Poison."

The ugly black frog appeared on her left, lashing out its tongue like a perverted old man, halting Yurelia’s punch.

She collapsed, unmoving.

Velissa stepped forward, fixing her hair, lips curled, eyes wide, nostrils flaring—a sign of fury.

She kicked Yurelia’s gut repeatedly. "This poison paralyzes you... and you dared to scratch my cheek?! I’ll destroy you now!"

Yurelia’s determined eyes showed she hadn’t given up. The referee couldn’t stop the match. Rules dictated that a match ends only when one gives up or can no longer fight.

The referee offered a cue, worried. "Participant Yurelia, blink once to forfeit."

He waited, but she didn’t blink.

Even Count Vellmarin couldn’t intervene—it was the rule.

Then, a long spear with a blade half its length flew toward Velissa.

She dodged, retreating. The spear froze the arena under her, locking her feet, but Yurelia’s area remained dry. Even the referee’s left leg was frozen, the other unaffected.

Sylphia stood, leapt high, and landed on the spear’s shaft with one foot. Her other leg bent, arms crossed, chin raised slightly, eyes looking down with disdain.

"Stop. I’ll fight you now," she declared. Each word exhaled snowy mist.