From the moment I was chosen by the holy relic

The light, like a spear piercing through a dream, slanted into the room, edging the heavy curtains with a warm gold trim.

Eric slowly opened his eyes, and everything in front of him was a blur of white.

He tried to sit up, but found his body felt as if it had been repeatedly crushed by a storm, every muscle aching as if old injuries had recurred. His breathing was rapid, but his consciousness was gradually clearing.

"I'm alive?"

A whisper escaped from his throat.

He looked down and saw that he was covered with a clean, almost flat white quilt, with a soft mattress beneath him, and his chest was wrapped in neat bandages, with no trace of the bloodstains and wounds from the battle.

He turned his head and looked over. Leah was lying quietly on the next bed, her face pale and her brows slightly furrowed. She was clearly still unconscious.

Her staff leaned against the bedside, her fingers unconsciously curling up, as if she were still forming incantations in her dream.

"She was knocked down too."

Eric murmured to himself, a pang of self-reproach rising in his heart.

He remembered being the first to fall, the poison gnawing at his flesh like a shadow. He thought then that it was all over.

But what about Eileen?

He was startled and threw off the blanket.

Despite the sharp, pulling pain in his side, he gritted his teeth and perked up.

Only he and Leah were in the room; Eileen was nowhere to be seen, nor was her usual ancient staff.

Where is Eileen?

Anxiety washed over me like cold water.

Just then, the door creaked open.

A series of chaotic yet orderly footsteps approached.

Entering were a group of people dressed in fine clothes and with solemn expressions. The first few wore mage robes, ranging in color from dark blue to gray-gold, representing different schools and statuses. They held staffs and magic signs, and their eyes were as sharp as eagles.

Behind him followed a group of young people carrying parchment and holding quill pens, their expressions excited and their steps hurried, like scholars chasing shooting stars.

Finally, there were several armored knights, their shoulders draped with cloaks bearing the emblem of the Kingdom of Ither, their sword hilts gleaming coldly in the sunlight.

In the crowd, Eric suddenly fixed his gaze on a tall and imposing figure.

"Lancelot!"

The young man in silver-blue knight's armor strode forward, his blond hair gleaming like molten gold in the sunlight, his face handsome and his eyes bright. Upon seeing Eric, a smile immediately spread across his lips.

"You really woke up." Lancelot put down his helmet, his tone filled with barely suppressed relief. "You were unconscious for two days, and I almost thought you really wouldn't come back this time."

Eric's lips moved slightly, but before he could speak, the old man in the gray-gold robe at the front spoke first.

"Your Excellency Eric," the old man's voice was aged yet clear, like an ancient bell tolling through the ages, "Congratulations on winning first place in the Thousand Faces Illusion Arena. His Majesty the King will personally bestow honors and rewards upon you at the ceremony tomorrow."

He nodded slightly, and the other monks also paid their respects.

Eric was stunned.

"First place?" he murmured repeatedly, his gaze unconsciously drifting to the still unconscious Leah. "But we... we clearly lost."

As he was puzzled, journalists and scholars carrying parchments swarmed around him.

"May I ask, sir, before you were defeated, did you foresee Senia's weakness?"

"Could you talk about the teamwork you had with your teammates? There are many different opinions about that battle in the black mist."

"Did you and Ms. Irene have a pre-arranged plan? Her magic in defeating Senia was astonishing; what family does she come from?"

"If the team can still win even after you've fallen, does that mean your tactics have transcended individual heroism?"

A barrage of questions came crashing down on Eric, pulling him back to reality from his daze.

He frowned and raised his hand to smother the flames: "Wait a minute—what did you say? Eileen defeated Senia?"

Just then, Lia let out a soft groan on the bed and slowly opened her eyes.

"Eric...you're awake." Her voice was weak and dazed, then she suddenly opened her eyes wide. "Did we...win?"

"It seems so," Eric said with a wry smile, "but I have absolutely no idea what happened."

He turned to the crowd and said, "Don't ask any more questions. I want to say a few words to her."

Although everyone was unwilling, they still took a few steps back under Lancelot's aura.

"You don't remember what happened after that either?" Eric asked in a low voice.

Lia frowned as she recalled, "I remember after you fell, Senia rushed at me. My spell failed, and he struck me in the chest. After that, I don't remember anything."

Eric's gaze darkened: "So, in the end, only Eileen is still standing."

"But where is she?" he muttered to himself, his mind a mixture of doubt and anxiety.

Lancelot approached, a rare hint of awe on his face.

He lowered his head slightly, as if reliving that thrilling scene.

“After you fell,” he began, his voice low but like an ancient narrative, “Senia laughed. He laughed like a gambler who thought he had won all his bets. He stood beside you, as if admiring a sculpture of a loser.”

"He knew very well that Eileen alone could no longer sustain such a large-scale wind magic—no one was there to protect her. So he released the black mist again, completely engulfing the arena in darkness."

Lancelot closed his eyes, as if the scene was still before his eyes.

"Everyone thought it was over. Really, the entire arena was deathly silent. Even we veterans in the stands felt that the game was over. No help, no light, no chance of winning—who could possibly emerge from that darkness?"

Leah gently bit her lip, while Eric held his breath.

Lancelot's tone suddenly changed, and a rare excitement appeared in his eyes.

"But as the black mist slowly dissipated, everyone thought they would see her fall."

Unexpectedly, the one lying on the ground was Senia.

"What?!" Leah exclaimed in shock.

Eric's eyes widened suddenly, almost as if he had misheard.

“That’s right.” Lancelot nodded. “He was kneeling in the center of the ring, his face pale, his eyes filled with terror, as if he had seen something he himself couldn’t believe. His hands were trembling, and his weapon had fallen to the ground. And Eileen was standing right in front of him.”

He gestured lightly with his hand, as if depicting that scene.

She stood motionless, her long hair fluttering slightly in the remaining black mist, her cloak held aloft by wind magic, like a flag that wouldn't fall in a raging fire. She held no staff, and her eyes were eerily calm. The faint glow of fire magic lingered on her body, like the rising sun.

He added in a low voice, almost a murmur:

"She is not like an elf, but more like a being from legend—calm, silent, yet capable of swallowing all darkness."

Eric and Leah exchanged a glance, both seeing shock and admiration in each other's eyes.

"Senya surrendered on the spot," Lancelot continued. "Without waiting for the referee's verdict, without uttering a single word of protest, she simply bowed her head and admitted defeat, her voice as soft as a defeated dog."

"As for Eileen—" He looked out the window, his eyes filled with complex emotions, "she just glanced down at him, then turned and left. She didn't even bother to claim the victory."

After a moment of silence, Leah murmured, "How did she do that? We don't even know what magic she used at the end."

"Nobody knows," Lancelot shook his head. "Even the observers outside the ring couldn't see it clearly. All they knew was that a flash of light appeared in the black mist, red like blood and bright like lightning, and then Senia fell down."

"Where is she?" Eric finally spoke, his tone slightly hurried.

"She refused everyone's advances," Lancelot sighed. "She said she didn't want to be surrounded by bards or receive any praise. She told everyone to come directly to you and give all the glory to you and Leah."

"She's so strange." Leah frowned, but her tone was full of admiration.

"Maybe she's just shy?" Lancelot smiled and shrugged. "She didn't give a reason, but I can tell she's not someone who likes being in the spotlight."

Eric felt a mix of emotions after hearing this.

He took a deep breath, shook his head with a wry smile.

"I've always underestimated her. Her strength is something we simply can't comprehend."

He recalled the moment he collapsed, the toxins surging through his body, and Senia looking down at him like the Grim Reaper; that feeling of helplessness still lingers to this day.

And Eileen, after that, single-handedly turned the tide.

Leah nodded slightly: "I used to think she was just cold, but I never imagined that such a terrifying power was hidden in her silence."

As the two were talking, the bard and the reporter surrounded them once again.

"Your Excellency, may I ask which school of magic Miss Eileen possesses? Has she received any special training?"

"Were your tactics rehearsed in advance?"

"Is Miss Eileen's background related to an ancient family? There are rumors that she is the heir of a lost bloodline."

Will you guys continue as a team in the future? This trio is a miracle!

"If we were to write an epic poem about you and title it 'Martyrdom for Light,' would you mind?"

Problems came flooding in.

Eric maintained a polite smile on his face, but inwardly he was already groaning.

Lia's eyes were glazed over, and she almost fell asleep several times.

Lancelot watched with great interest, showing no intention of helping out.

Even as night fell and the azure sky sank behind the distant mountains, the interviewers were still reluctant to leave.

"Everyone," Eric finally stood up, his still-recovering body straining, his tone resolute, "I'm not fully healed, and there's a ceremony tomorrow, so I need to rest."

No sooner had he finished speaking than Lancelot stepped forward, dispersing the crowd with his undeniable aura: "You've been questioning him for five hours now, it's time to let him go."

The crowd retreated dejectedly, repeatedly turning back to shout:

"Don't forget the Dawn Bell Awards ceremony tomorrow! We need to finish writing the final poem there!"

Finally, the room became quiet again.