On the fourth arena, like the Northern Lights, a fiercely bright cold current spilled in all directions, and a gigantic pure white ice blade, measuring seven or eight meters long, broke through layers of shadows. It seemed to rise rapidly from the ancient ice frost sealing, intertwining countless horrifying sharp cold auras, directly slicing the vast space of the arena into shattered fragments...
....
A moment later.
Ronan turned calmly, stepping down from the arena under the gaze of someone half-kneeling on the ground, covered in ice frost, their body trembling uncontrollably under their magic robe.
Compared to when he first entered, the number of eyes on Ronan now had multiplied several times.
The competitions on the other three arenas were still not finished, yet soft disturbances and murmurs had already started among the spectators.
"Magic Ring.." "Ronan.." "The genius who once defeated Igor of the Sajiers Family..."
