Thirteenth Prince's Odyssey-Chapter 41: The House Wars - I

The moment every institute individual was waiting for finally arrived: the second day of the month of Victor.

"Good morning, Ironhelm!" a cheerful voice echoed from a polished brass broadcaster set high above the stands of the miniature Colosseum. "And welcome — finally — to the most anticipated magical combat event of the year!"

The Mage staff of the institute now hovered an enchanted lens of floating crystal towards the hosts, zoomed into a high tower overlooking the battlefield. A rotating four-sided glass panel floated above the arena, its large screen visible to the huge crowd of students, parents, teachers, and guests. The entire stadium was adorned with the house flag of the last year's winner and glowing sigils. They cast — Projection. Everyone present was fully engaged in the event.

Seated within the set were two students — dressed in the fine blue-and-gold uniform of the Arthur Royal Institute, one leaning forward with infectious enthusiasm, the other resting calmly with a smile of poised anticipation.

"I'm Elric Fenmoor," the boy said with a playful wink at the camera, brushing a hand through his unruly silver-streaked hair. "Third-year Artificer, Rising star of the News Club, and your lead commentator for this historic showdown!"

"And I'm Myra Caelthorne," the girl added, her voice smooth and confident, her raven-black hair tied neatly in a military braid. "Fourth-year Scholar and Chair of the History Records Committee. I'm here to make sure Elric doesn't get too carried away."

"Today," Elric said, standing with arms wide open, "we welcome you all to the House Wars of the 24th Year, under the glorious 28th Reign of His Majesty, King Elijah Orlean. An event where legends rise and Houses clash, not for land or gold — but for honor, prestige, that beautiful golden banner of supremacy, and for — The Crowning"

Cheers erupted in the arena.

"Twenty-two Houses," Myra continued, scanning her notes with precise diction, "and five different champions in the last five years — Serica, Creed, Blackwood, Clayton, and Freeborn. Each team today has been forged with a blend of brilliance, brute force, and just the right amount of chaos."

"The battlefield?" Elric leaned forward, grinning. "Well, that remains a mystery — for now."

Myra nodded. "The arena may be a forest, a fortress, a volcanic rift — or even a shifting maze. The field will be revealed only after the Paired Lot is on the battlefield. Until then, strategy hangs on chance, not certainty."

Elric turned to the floating lens. "But before destiny rolls her dice, it is our honor to welcome the one man who makes all this possible. A legend not just of our time, but of three generations of magical excellence — Archmage Charles Seyfred, Headmaster of the Arthur Royal Institute."

The crystal orb's focus sharpened on the eastern observation tower, where the Headmaster stood like a bastion carved from ancient stone. Cloaked in starlit azure and silver-threaded robes, Charles Seyfred raised his hand, calm and assured.

The audience clapped in unison.

With a voice that resonated like slow thunder across the colosseum, the Headmaster began:

"In this age of steel and spirit, where magic flows not only through veins but through will, I welcome you to the Twenty-Fourth House Wars of the 28th Reign. Today, you will not only test your strength against each other, but against yourselves.

The arena you face is not your enemy; it is your mirror. It will reveal your doubts, your decisions, and your depth. Some will fight for honor. Some for House pride. Others, for the sheer joy of mastery.

I remind you all — combat here is not war, but a reflection of it. Let your spells fly with purpose. Let your minds remain sharp. And let your hearts remain human.

May your names echo not in victory alone, but in how you fought."

The Headmaster's words settled like mist. He turned, lifting his hand — a crystal halo glowing with shifting hues.

"Now," Myra said, quietly awed, "it's time for the Lot-Drawing Ceremony."

A platform emerged from the center of the arena — a silver disc, levitating a few feet above the ground. Upon it stood a tall obsidian pillar, inscribed with runes, the script glowing faintly.

At its peak hovered a crystalline Sphere of Concord, a magical artifact older than the Institute itself.

Elric narrated as the crowd leaned in: "Each House leader, in order of seniority, will place their House sigil — a carved glyph made from their House's core element — into the pillar's offering slot. The Sphere will absorb the glyph and react, pairing two teams based on resonance and balance. Once all sigils are absorbed, the Sphere will reveal the first pair by projecting its form into the sky. And once both are in the arena, the battleground will be revealed."

One by one, students walked solemnly to the pillar, placing their sigils into the glowing basin, as did Cassandra. The Sphere spun slowly above, humming in response. When the final sigil was placed, the hum grew into a low melodic chime.

Suddenly, the Sphere of Concord shattered into light, and twenty-two radiant beams arced skyward. They twisted, danced, and collided, forming pairs in mid-air with glowing threads of fate.

The radiant threads of fate faded, leaving the first pairing shimmering in the air:

House Veyra vs. House Maldran

A thunder of applause rolled across the arena. Students surged to their feet, banners waved, and house crests glowed in approval.

"Here they come," Myra whispered.

From the northern gate, House Veyra strode into the arena with calm precision, formation tight and symmetrical. Leading them was a tall girl clad in flowing azure robes reinforced with chainlight weave. Her silver hair was braided with lapis threads that sparked with mana.

"The leader of House Veyra," Elric announced, his voice amplified across the dome, "Lady Celestine Veyra, daughter of Grand Duke Alistair Veyra of the Sapphire Coast, a name known for naval brilliance and political genius. House Veyra is the ruling house of the western archipelago of greater Ironhelm ."

Myra picked up. "She's currently a fourth-year under the direction of Professor Veylan Graves, Head of Illusion and Mental Arts. Known for her uncanny perception and feint tactics. Veyra has not missed quarterfinals in all their years of participation."

Lady Veyra stepped into the light of the central ring and turned toward the southern gate, where her opponents had just arrived.

The southern gate roared open, flames licking the floor in anticipation. House Maldran marched in, not walked — wearing black and crimson leather with crimson runes carved along their shoulders. The air shimmered faintly around them from residual heat spells.

At their front, a heavily built boy with coal-dark skin and burning amber eyes raised his fist. A massive axe was slung across his back.

"And from House Maldran, the challenger — Darian Maldran, heir of Duke Brynjar Maldran, Warden of the Molten Steps," Elric called out. "The Maldran family is descended from the first forge-mages of Ironhelm, known for their stubbornness, endurance, and dominance in the Fire Tribunals. Darian, a fourth-year, represents Professor Lysander Felix, Head of Rune Crafting and Enchantment."

Myra smiled slightly. "He's more brawn than banter, but don't let that fool you — he topped last year's Rune Crafting Trials."

As both leaders approached the center, the crowd hushed.

Lady Veyra extended her hand.

Darian hesitated for half a second, then clasped hers with a firm grip.

A circle of professors stepped forward, robes flaring. Ten in all, drawn from various departments. Without a word, they channeled mana into the obsidian floor.

A great dome of arcane force expanded from the edges of the ring, blooming upward like a rising tide of glass and light. As it sealed shut overhead, a crystalline sheen settled over its surface.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the Dome of Accord has been cast," Elric announced. "No spell leaves, no interference enters. All that remains is skill and resolve."

Four floating crystal lenses shimmered into being outside the dome, each projecting a full view of the interior onto massive sky-suspended screens over the arena.

Myra and Elric stepped down from the broadcast perch and onto the ceremonial platform for the toss. A single silver coin spun high in the air — half sun sigil for the north gate, half moon for the south.

"House Veyra wins the toss!" Elric called, catching the coin.

Lady Veyra stepped forward without hesitation. "We take advantage."

The hosts went back to the broadcasting set.

Within moments, the orb above the pillar pulsed again, and the ground began to shift.

Gear-locks deep beneath the colosseum turned. The floor trembled.

Massive enchanted panels moved in harmony, rising, falling, reshaping. Water flowed. Stones cracked. Grass was replaced with jagged cliffs. Lightning flashed along the perimeter.

Elric's voice rose, filled with awe.

"The arena transforms into a living history."

"The home battleground for House Veyra is..." Myra's voice caught. "The Lightning Valley."

Gasps echoed around the arena.

Elric's voice dropped into a reverent tone, the rain-speckled projection behind him flickering with simulated lightning.

"Fought over a hundred years ago," he said breathlessly, "between the Valtorian garrisons and the Ironhelm warfront, Lightning Valley was considered an impossible front. Endless rain, uneven cliffs, flash floods, and storms so vicious they'd fry a mage mid-cast. It took five years of relentless siege to push Valtoria back and claim the valley — a victory Ironhelm historians call a triumph written in water and fire."

Myra nodded, her voice calm but crisp.

"Now part of Ironhelm's territory, Lightning Valley is more than just scarred land. It's a symbol of cost, of sacrifice, of unmatched perseverance. But for those unfamiliar with its topography, here's what makes it so deadly..."

The projection shifted to a wider tactical view of the simulated terrain.

"Valtoria holds the defensive advantage," Myra explained. "They're positioned on higher ground, fortified trenches built into staggered tiers of shale and jagged rock. From those ridges, their spellcasters have a downward angle over the entire incline — a lethal vantage point. Destruction-class spells reach the lower side with greater speed and accuracy, while the Ironhelm side must battle their way up, exposed."

Elric pointed toward the edge of the map, where mist blurred the horizon.

"And behind the Valtorian line lies the Seanne River, cutting straight through the valley like a guillotine. If the defending line is pushed back too far —" he paused dramatically, "— they risk falling from the cliffs and being swallowed by the torrent. In the real war, that cliff was over forty stories high. In today's simulation, it's been reduced to around twelve to thirteen floors — just enough to remain dangerous, but survivable with expert coordination."

"The incline of the plains has been shortened too," Myra added. "In reality, it would take days to traverse even if you are not under fire. Today's arena ensures the tactical essence is preserved without exhausting the participants. Every hazard has been scaled — but the balance between offense and defense remains intact."

Elric gestured to the screens, where rain danced across the cliffs in gleaming rivulets.

"And don't forget — visibility is minimal, footing is unstable, and spellcasting is a gamble with all that static in the air. You can't just power through Lightning Valley. You survive it with grit, control, and strategy."

Myra leaned in again, eyes shining with excitement.

"A perfect simulation... and a perfect storm. Let's see which house earns its place in history today."

Lightning cracked inside the dome, synchronized perfectly with the illusory sky. Raindrops began to fall, soaking the terrain. free𝑤ebnovel.com

"House Maldran looks stunned," Elric noted. "Have they never trained in simulated storm combat? If their preparation isn't airtight, this match may tip to Veyra before the first blow lands."

Myra leaned forward. "Still, House Maldran from last year is known for adapting under pressure. Let's not count them out too quickly."

Both houses took position inside the dome within a few breaths.

A long, low horn blew across the colosseum.

A pause. Breath held.

"Let the war begin!"

The crowd erupted.

The colosseum roared as the horn faded.

Then — silence.

The four floating crystal lenses scanned the battlefield, drifting slowly across the dome... but found no movement.

For a few heartbeats, the projected screens showed only the rain-slick cliffs, flooded trenches, and the soft roll of thunder through the mist.

The commentators filled the tension.

"Both teams are holding position," Elric noted. "This is unexpected. No opening gambit, no probing spells. Just stillness."

Myra nodded. "They're feeling each other out. Caution is smart — Lightning Valley is a punishing arena. One misstep and it's over."

"Let's talk stats while we wait," Elric suggested, his voice even. "House Veyra enters with 28 members, Maldran with 25. A slightly smaller team for Maldran, but don't let that fool you — they've cut dead weight. Quality over quantity."

"Each team has seven sixth-years, all of them in the Specialist realm," Myra added, scanning her notes. "And the real wildcard? Kael Haworth, Veyra's sixth-year triple elementalist — Lightning, Water, and Ice. He's a walking storm, and could redefine the battlefield."

"House Veyra represents Ironhelm in this match," Elric explained, pointing to the visual layout, "which means House Maldran was assigned the Valtorian side — with the high ground and natural defense."

"That makes Veyra's choice puzzling," Myra said, frowning. "They took home advantage... and still picked the Ironhelm side — the lower terrain. I know we won, but Valtorians held the cliffs in the real war. That was the fortified position. Why give up the advantage in a one-hour battle?"

"I'm wondering that too," Elric mused. "Maybe Lady Veyra wants to create history and rewrite it."

"A bold strategy," Myra said, eyes narrowing. "Or a trap."

"Hold on... oh!" Elric leaned forward. "I see movement!"

"Finally!" Myra gasped. "The Ironhelm camp — that's Veyra's side—they're making a move!"

From the projection, orange light burst through the stormy gloom. Flames snaked along the valley floor, boiling rainwater into steam.

"That's Maldran's side igniting — no, wait!" Elric's eyes widened. "Lightning has just struck near the Valtorian trenchline!"

"There it is!" Myra shouted. "Kael Veyra — I told you — his arc-pattern just pierced through the rain! That's a calculated strike — high-speed channeling through the mist!"

"Wait... what?!" Elric's voice cracked. "How did they reach the Valtorian cliffs already? We didn't see any approach — nothing on the projections!"

"I hope we get a lens confirmation," Myra murmured. "This makes no sense — "

The screen flickered. A slowed rewind of the magical feed played.

The audience gasped.

The image showed five Veyra House students scaling the slick, deadly cliff wall, bare of any enchantments. No glowing boots. No shimmering shields. Just raw grip, soaked stone, and absolute silence. Their forms blended with the rain and rock, concealed only by the storm itself.

They had forsaken magical aid — a deliberate choice to avoid triggering the Mana Hypersense spell, a vanguard enchantment used by Maldran to detect even the faintest use of mana.

They climbed unaided, under the cover of lightning and fog, relying solely on physical grit and timing.

"Oh heavens," Elric said, stunned. "That's... that's brilliant. No enchantments. Nothing to set off Mana Hypersense. They climbed the eastern cliff — the same deadly ascent the Helms failed to take in the original war — but they succeeded. This has never been done before."

"And it worked," Myra whispered. "To the audience: if any of them had fallen, even touched the water below, they'd be considered out. One misstep would have spelled instant disqualification."

"Do we have casualties?" Elric asked. "That climb... surely someone fell."

"Not yet confirmed," Myra replied. "But something's happening — look at the Valtorian camp now!"

The projections shifted. Flashes of spellfire exploded among the Valtorian trenches. Chaos. Students from House Maldran scrambled into defensive formation. Alarms echoed within the dome, triggered by detection glyphs.

"It's begun," Elric breathed. "They're in combat now."

The lenses zoomed to one corner of the field. A crack of thunder. Lightning arced sideways — and in that flash, two figures became visible.

A sixth-year Veyra House water-dancer, her form flowing like a stream, versus a Maldran fire-channeler, anchored and aggressive.

"Top-tier duel, upper left quadrant!" Myra barked. "That's Ilyra Neros of Veyra vs. Bastian Forger of Maldran. Two sixth-years. Both Specialists. Both lethal."

"Ilyra's technique is all fluid evasion," Elric said, breath catching. "Look at her — she's redirecting fire through steam vents! She's reading Bastian like a scroll!"

"But Bastian's holding ground — his stance is pure iron. Maldran students don't retreat."

The screen projection panned out.

Chaos was erupting in all corners. Spells screamed across trenches. Mist turned golden with light. Cries of war of duelists filled the dome.

"Oh, and there's Kael again — on the upper ridge — channeling a Triple Lightning Bolt into a defensive dome! That's an advanced spell! That shouldn't even be — wait, is that Professor Veylan's original technique?"

"He's modified it," Myra whispered. "This... he's terrifying."

"And yet — Maldran's responding!" Elric shouted. "Three of their brawlers just smashed through Veyra's forward line. They're not backing down!"

"They never do," Myra smiled. "The real war has begun."

The battlefield had split — two distinct fronts now burned across Lightning Valley. One, the original Valtorian ridge, still held by a handful of dug-in Maldran defenders. The other, newly opened, was the eastern flank, where Veyra's cliff-climbers had torn a gap behind enemy lines. It wasn't just a novelty anymore — it was a turning point.

The projection shimmered with spell-light as battle markers shifted.

"We're looking at a full bifurcation," Elric said, his voice straining to keep pace. "Two fronts. Maldran has to divide their forces. They can't reinforce both ends."

"And the novelty alone may score House Veyra huge points," Myra added, eyes wide. "This isn't just smart. It's historic."

Outside the dome, seated in the arena's participant gallery, Cassandra and Liam watched the storm unfold with narrowed eyes.

Cassandra nudged him in the ribs, her smirk sharp.

"Imagine if that were us instead of Maldran. Our precious eight-person team would've been vaporized in the first assault."

Liam didn't respond immediately. His gaze was locked on the projection, jaw tense.

"I don't know," he said softly, the words drawn out like they cost him something.

Cassandra tilted her head, catching the reluctance in his tone. She glanced around — the arena gallery was filled with standby teams, nobles, and faculty. Anyone of them could end up as their opponent in future events.

"Well," she murmured, casually flicking a strand of hair over her shoulder, "it would be answered... if we were in there."

They fell silent, watching.

Inside the dome, Maldran's defenses began to crack. The assault from behind — previously dismissed as a mere distraction — had shifted the battle's rhythm. Now, Veyra students from both sides pressed in on the Valtorian trenches.

With fifteen minutes remaining, the commentators' tone shifted.

"It's only a matter of time," Myra said. "The question now: will Veyra win by points... or by total elimination?"

Elric pointed at the new visual markers.

"Look at this pattern! Every skirmish House Veyra initiates favors them. In the southern slope, fire-channelers from Maldran were just overwhelmed by a trio of water-wielders. Same on the upper ridge— lightning versus earth. Veyra's teams are perfectly matched against Maldran's weaknesses."

"That can't be a coincidence," Myra said. "What's the likelihood of those kinds of perfect pairings — without prior information?"

Elric leaned back, stunned.

"Unless Lady Veyra knew. Knew everything. Not just who they'd fight, but how. Their elemental affinities, their formations, their habits."

"That would mean..." Myra's voice dropped, half-fearful. "That she acquired information on every house. Not just Maldran. Everyone."

A chill entered the commentary box.

"Or worse," Elric said, a beat of awe in his voice. "She didn't need to. What if she figured it out mid-match? From the moment the horn blew... she watched... calculated... and deployed her forces with surgical precision."

Myra blinked. "That's some crazy awareness."

"That's not just strategy," Elric whispered. "That's warfare."

"Have mercy..."

The crowd, oblivious to the commentators' growing dread, roared as another Maldran shield wall fell to an ice burst sweeping from Kael's hand.

Cassandra crossed her arms, her brows furrowed as she leaned toward Liam.

"You've met her, haven't you?" she asked quietly. "Lady Veyra?"

Liam nodded slowly.

"Once," he said. "Just once. She didn't say a word."

"She didn't have to, did she?"

Liam exhaled.

"No," he said. "She didn't."

The arena had gone still.

Commentators Elric and Myra sat slack-jawed, the screens shimmering with the final phase of the battle. Their voices — once lively and animated — were now hoarse, as if the tactics alone had drained their energy.

"I swear..." Elric muttered, wiping his brow. "I've watched battle sims, real war duels, and House War finals. But I've never seen someone command the field like that. I feel like I'm fighting to keep up."

"You swore the last time in finals, too, jokes aside, she is playing a different game," Myra said, eyes wide. "The rest of us are playing checkers, and Lady Veyra's building a labyrinth."

In the center of the chaos, beneath a dwindling storm cloud and steam-slick ridges, Lady Veyra stood before Darian Maldran.

Two of her students held him at both arms, shoulders heaving, dirt and burns etched across his uniform. The banners of Maldran, charred and trampled, fluttered faintly behind him.

She raised her voice — not with malice, not with arrogance — but with a queen's command.

"Your commander has been captured," Lady Veyra declared. Her voice echoed across the dome. "Surrender, or lose him."

Gasps rippled through the arena.

"That's it!" Elric jolted forward. "She's not after elimination — she wants a surrender! That's the highest-scoring condition in House Wars history!"

"She couldn't take out the whole opposing force in five minutes," Myra agreed. "So she cornered the leadership instead. Heavens, she wants the numbers, not the blood."

Darian's eyes flicked to the hourglass, suspended high in the dome, grains of enchanted sand sliding down like the heartbeat of fate.

So little time left.

His lip curled.

"Never."

Lady Veyra tilted her head slightly — perhaps in disappointment, perhaps in contempt — and stepped forward.

With a smooth motion, she thrust her blade forward, aimed for Darian's heart.

And in a blink —

The field exploded in golden light.

Darian vanished in a flash of petals, and in his place: nothing.

His captors staggered. The crowd screamed.

"Oh — gods! That's a Death Mirage!" Elric cried. "The first one this year — first match, first kill!"

"That's the staff's intervention!" Myra clarified quickly. "Certain faculties — unseen — monitor the whole battlefield. When a death is imminent, they remove the student instantly. The illusion takes over. It's the line we're forbidden to cross."

"They let the students go to any lengths to simulate war, but they draw the line at irreversible action. We just saw Lady Veyra cross that line."

Then — silence. A faint hiss of wind. And the last grain of sand dropped.

The match was over.

A single bell sounded across the dome.

Veyra stood victorious.

"Darian never surrendered," Elric said, catching his breath. "So Veyra wins by commander death — that's the third-highest point category."

"Surrender gives points for discipline, strategic mercy, and battlefield control," Myra added. "Slaughter — total annihilation—is flashy, but viewed as a failure in leadership. Think like a king, not a butcher."

Elric slumped. "I mean, I'd still go for the slaughter, personally."

"And that's why you'll never be a leader," Myra quipped, rolling her eyes.

Outside, the crowd in the arena gallery was on their feet.

Cassandra whistled.

"Well, I guess she meant it when she said she'd end it clean."

Liam only nodded, still staring at the fading golden shimmer where Darian once stood.

At last, the dome's main display flickered. The twenty-judge staff had tallied the final score out of four hundred. Staff from both participating Houses stood still, no longer able to influence the outcome.

The screen blazed... and the numbers appeared.

329 – 76

House Veyra triumphs.

The crowd erupted. Cheering. Stomping. Thunderous applause. Even students from rival houses stood in awe.

"A flawless operation," Myra whispered. "Every skirmish, every angle, every moment."

"And all of it," Elric said, "planned by a woman whom we didn't even see until the final moment."