My Soul card is a Reaper-Chapter 1055: The Interclan Tournament (Part-6)

Haruki's feet slipped.

Renji stumbled sideways.

Daichi's balance broke.

Even Shiro, who had remained centered, was forced to drop his stance and brace himself.

And in that single heartbeat of instability…

The Kuru Clan moved.

Not all of them.

Just one.

Arya.

The archer.

He didn't step forward dramatically. He didn't shout. He didn't chant long incantations like the legends of Kuru were famous for. He simply raised his bow calmly, his eyes narrowing as if the battlefield had already slowed down for him.

The string drew back.

A single arrow formed, glowing pale blue.

And the moment he released it, the arrow split midair.

One became five.

Five became twenty.

Twenty became dozens.

The arrows multiplied like reflections in a shattered mirror, streaking across the battlefield with sharp whistling sounds, and instead of targeting the Minamoto rookies directly, they struck the ground around them.

One.

Two.

Three.

Dozens.

Each arrow embedded into stone with a crisp, icy sound, and the moment they landed, frost erupted outward like blooming flowers made of death. White mist rolled across the battlefield, freezing the air itself, and within seconds, the entire ground beneath the Minamoto rookies turned into a crystalline sheet.

The temperature dropped violently.

Breath became visible.

And then the ice rose.

Not simple frost.

Not ordinary frozen water.

It climbed up their legs like living chains, wrapped around their knees, their waists, their arms, their shoulders, and before any of them could properly erupt their mana to break free, the ice sealed their bodies completely.

Five statues stood where five swordsmen had been.

Haruki's eyes were still open.

Renji's blade was still halfway raised.

Takumi's jaw was clenched.

Shiro's hands were still forming a technique.

Daichi's feet were still angled to dash.

They were frozen mid-action, trapped like insects inside a block of crystal.

The arena fell silent.

Not because people didn't understand what happened.

But because it happened too quickly.

Thirty seconds passed.

Then forty.

Then fifty.

The Minamoto rookies tried to break free.

Their auras flared inside the ice, pulses of Rank-5 energy erupting repeatedly, trying to shatter the frozen prison from within. The ice trembled faintly, cracks appearing for a moment, but every time the cracks formed, the frost immediately swallowed them again, repairing itself as if it had a will.

The Minamoto rookies were strong.

They were not weak.

Yet they couldn't move.

They couldn't even breathe properly.

One full minute passed.

And the match was already over.

On the balcony, Shuichi's plus one, Saeri, leaned forward with her brows furrowed, her voice filled with disbelief.

"What's going on?" she demanded. "Why aren't our rookies breaking through that ice with mana eruption?"

Shuichi's face had hardened into something grim, his fingers tightening against the armrest. His eyes remained fixed on the battlefield below, but the calm confidence he carried earlier was gone.

"They can't," Shuichi said quietly.

Saeri stared. "What do you mean they can't?"

Before Shuichi could answer further, Azzy spoke calmly, his voice carrying an almost teacher-like clarity.

"Ice slows down the functions in the body," Azzy said. "It slows blood circulation, nerve response, and even the flow of mana. Most people can break through normal ice by erupting soul energy, but this ice isn't normal."

His gaze flickered toward Arya, who still stood with his bow lowered, calm as if he had only performed a simple warm-up.

"That ice contains divinity," Azzy continued. "And divinity doesn't just strengthen the effectiveness of an attack. It suppresses mortals."

The words settled heavily.

Divinity.

A concept that most rookies never even touched.

A concept that many Rank-6 and Rank-7 masters still struggled to understand.

Parikshit's expression remained composed, but there was unmistakable pride in his eyes as he leaned forward slightly.

"It is my grandnephew," Parikshit said calmly. "Arya."

Several clan heads turned toward him.

Parikshit continued, voice steady. "Arya is one of the few individuals in our clan of the current generation who can unleash divine arrows purely through his soul skills."

Shuichi's eyes narrowed.

Parikshit turned his gaze toward Shuichi and spoke with quiet finality.

"You have lost this battle, Lord Shuichi."

Down on the battlefield, the referee stepped forward, inspected the frozen rookies briefly, then raised his hand.

The announcement echoed across the arena.

"The Minamoto Clan is unable to continue. Kuru Clan wins the rookie team battle!"

A wave of surprise ran through the rookies watching from the stands, many of them stiffening in disbelief. Some whispered to each other, some swallowed nervously, and some stared at Arya with widened eyes as if they had just witnessed a monster wearing a teenager's face.

A match that should have lasted ten minutes…

Ended in under one.

Shuichi's jaw tightened, but to his credit, he didn't argue. He didn't protest. He didn't embarrass himself by pretending it was unfair.

Instead, he lifted his hand.

The Rank-7 skill card floated out from his palm and drifted toward Parikshit like a surrendered trophy.

Parikshit caught it smoothly.

The blue-edged card glimmered in his fingers, the image of flaming orbs pulsing faintly as if still alive.

Parikshit smiled, calm and satisfied.

"Thank you," he said.

Then his gaze sharpened, not cruel, but challenging.

"And now," Parikshit continued, "for the senior division."

He leaned back slightly, the skill card resting between his fingers like a coin of victory.

"What would you like to bet this time, Lord Shuichi?"

Shuichi's eyes narrowed.

The humiliation of losing so quickly still burned.

But the tournament had only begun.

And now…

The real warriors would step onto the battlefield.

Shuichi didn't answer Parikshit's question immediately.

For a moment, he simply sat there, his gaze fixed on the battlefield below as if the humiliation of the rookie match had not disappeared yet. His fingers rested against the armrest, tapping once, twice, slowly, with the rhythm of a man who was deciding whether to be polite… or whether to remind everyone why the Minamoto Clan had survived countless eras of bloodshed.

Then Shuichi finally moved.

He stood.

And with a calm motion, he reached behind him and drew out a katana.

The blade slid from its sheath with a sound that wasn't loud, yet somehow it felt sharp enough to slice the air. The moment the weapon was revealed, the sunlight reflected off its surface, and the entire balcony fell into a brief silence.

Because the blade was black.

Not a dark steel shade.

Not shadowed metal.

It was true black, the kind of black that swallowed light rather than reflecting it, as if the sword itself was forged from night.

Parikshit's eyes narrowed sharply, and he leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping into a whisper.

"Adamantine…"

Shuichi's lips curved faintly.

"Not just adamantine," Shuichi replied, voice calm but filled with quiet pride.

He loosened his grip.

And the katana… floated.

The black blade lifted itself into the air, hovering above Shuichi's palm without support, and a strange, eerie glow seeped from it, thin blue lines crawling along its surface like veins. The sword hummed faintly, a sound so subtle that it felt more like pressure in the skull than something heard by the ears.

Then the blade trembled.

A bluish spirit poured out from it, as if smoke had suddenly gained life.

It spiraled upward, forming the outline of a humanoid figure, translucent, elegant, almost playful. Its hair floated as if underwater, and its eyes were glowing points of pale blue. It drifted forward like a genie emerging from a lamp, then clasped its hands politely and bowed.

"Hello," the spirit said cheerfully. "I'm Zee."

The moment those words echoed, several clan heads straightened.

Interest flashed across their faces.

Not because the spirit spoke.

But because it spoke clearly.

With personality.

With intelligence.

Not like a beast.

Not like a mindless weapon.

Like a true Arcana Spirit.

Shuichi rested his hand against his sheath again, his expression calm as he addressed the balcony.

"This," Shuichi said, "is an artificial Arcana Spirit created by the Minamoto Clan."

A murmur spread among the leaders.

Artificial.

Man-made.

Those words alone carried danger.

Shuichi continued, his voice steady. "We developed it after years of research, refinement, and failure. It is platinum-grade."

At once, the atmosphere shifted.

Even those who had been bored now leaned forward slightly.

The Dragon Clan leader's eyes narrowed with interest.

The Moon Clan leader's gaze sharpened.

Even the Elven King, who rarely showed obvious emotion, looked faintly intrigued.

Because platinum-grade Arcana Spirits were rare even in nature.

Creating one?

That was a different kind of achievement.

Zee floated around the blade lazily, as if showing off, humming softly like a satisfied child.

Parikshit stared at the sword-spirit combination for a long moment, his expression unreadable.