Kael was almost outside the arena when the medics rushed over and took Aric from him. Once they confirmed that Aric was stable, Kael let out a quiet breath, thanked them, and turned back toward the arena, heading for the preparation room.

  The moment he stepped inside, a slow clap echoed through the room.

  Kael’s eyes scanned the room until they landed on the source: Liam. He was sitting comfortably. Smirking. He applauded mockingly.

  "Silence," Professor Jade snapped, her tone slicing through the room as she turned toward Kael. "Student Kael, You were instructed to return here immediately after your victory. Not to wander off."

  Kael met her gaze. “I’m sorry, Prof—"

  "I was about to remove you from the evaluation altogether," she said sharply, "but since we need the correct number of contestants for the next round, this will serve as your only warning. Do it again, and you’re out. Understood?”

  “Yes, Professor,” Kael replied promptly, though his eyes were already scanning the competitors, assessing who was left.

  "The final match of the first round is currently underway," Professor Jade continued as if reading his thoughts. "Once it concludes, the second round will begin."

  Kael nodded and walked toward his seat, his gaze drifting over every face in the room as he sat down.

  The room had thinned out. Only eight students remained—the best fighters the academy had to offer.

  Kael dropped into his seat and forced his breathing to calm. I screwed up, he thought bitterly. He hadn’t been himself that morning. Because of that, he couldn’t remember who had fought after him or who his opponent would be now. This alone irritated him; his mind was usually sharper.

  Silence pressed in around them. The only sound was the low whispering of Liam and his closest friend. It was too quiet for Kael to make out any words. He simply closed his eyes and waited for the final match to end, the second round to begin, and his racing thoughts to stop.

  Eventually, the door opened. Serena stepped inside, victorious. The first round had officially come to an end.

  Professor Jade rose from her seat, her gaze sweeping across the ten remaining contenders.

  "Congratulations," she said, her voice firm yet genuinely pleased. "You have passed the first round and earned the right to fight in the second. It will only grow harder and more dangerous from here, but the rewards are worth it. So give it everything you have."

  Her eyes landed on Cassandra.

  "The first two winners of the previous round will begin. May the strongest prevail.”

  Cassandra and Tulien, someone Kael had barely spoken to in all their time here, stood and headed for the arena entrance.

  Kael didn’t bother watching them go. Instead, his attention shifted back to the room, to the faces of the remaining fighters. Each one was a possible obstacle. Each one a reminder of what and who he would soon have to face.

  Liam can’t be my opponent; that much I know, Kael thought, his gaze sweeping across the remaining students. Worst case, I’ll get Samuel or Taro. They were both nearly on Liam’s level, strong enough to overwhelm Kael, even if he relied on his ability.

  And that risk isn’t worth taking.

  His eyes drifted to the other five students: two boys and three girls. I might stand a chance against them, he reasoned, but it wouldn't be easy.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Kael was so focused on assessing his odds that he didn’t notice Cassandra’s return. She stepped through the door with her usual effortless composure, having added another decisive victory to her name. But beneath her calm exterior, a hint of vulnerability lingered. The events of yesterday still haunted her.

  Kael wasn’t surprised by her strength anymore. He simply leaned back against the wall and forced his thoughts to be silent. There was no sense in overthinking; soon enough, the blade would decide.

  The next two matches unfolded quickly and mercilessly. Liam and Samuel easily crushed their opponents, strutting back into the preparation room with triumphant looks, fully confident that the final round would be theirs.

  Kael ignored their smugness, as usual, until his focus snapped at the sound of Professor Jade’s sharp voice:

  "Kael and Taro, your turn."

  Fate isn't smiling on me today, Kael thought bitterly as he rose to his feet. This fight could end badly, and he knew it.

  He and Taro stepped into the corridor. The noble walked ahead with relaxed confidence dripping from every movement. Kael followed a few paces behind, his jaw set and his resolve burning hotter with every step.

  The arena roared the moment they appeared beneath the open sky. Voices clashed, some cheering on Kael, others laughing at his impending defeat.

  High in the stands, Lia and Zaros exchanged uneasy glances. They knew exactly who Taro was: a noble raised on tailored lessons and sharpened steel.

  Kael and Taro approached the center of the arena, then took a measured step back and turned to face the Vice-Headmaster.

  A disapproving glare. No words. Just a curt nod.

  The signal:

  Steel, sand, and silence.

  Their gazes locked: calm, cold, and calculating. But something flickered behind Taro’s eyes that Kael couldn’t name.

  He pushed the thought away.

  Kael lunged, feinting to the right with his blade extended. The perfect setup. The moment Taro blocked, Kael would slip around him and take control. It was a move Zaros had drilled into him countless times.

  But Taro didn’t block.

  He vanished.

  Before Kael could react, cold steel knifed under his guard, hooked his blade, and jerked him straight into the brutal arc of Taro's strike.

  Kael’s back erupted in agony. Heat flooded through his spine as blood soaked the fabric of his robes, turning the red darker. His vision blurred from the pain, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to turn.

  Taro stood still, his sword lowered, watching Kael struggle as though it were a pleasant distraction.

  “Pain suits your face,” Taro said, amusement curling into a smug grin.

  Kael clenched his fingers around the hilt of his sword. "Shut up," he spat, and charged again. Every lesson Zaros had ever drilled into him surged through his muscles.

  It didn't matter.

  Taro was ready for anything.

  He brushed aside, sidestepped, or deflected each of Kael's strikes with insulting ease. Each time, Taro responded with a precise, shallow, clean, controlled slash. Enough to hurt. Enough to humiliate.

  Kael bit down on every cry and kept moving. He refused to bow.

  Again. And again. And again.

  But he never came close.

  Minutes dragged on like hours, and Kael’s breaths turned ragged. Thin cuts lined his arms, legs, and ribs. They were a map of failure carved into his flesh. Blood clung to him like a second skin.

  Up in the stands, Lia covered her eyes, unable to watch her friend being carved apart for entertainment any longer.

  Zaros’s stare remained fixed on the sand. His jaw was tight, and his expression was clouded with something darker and sharper than fear.

  Kael’s thoughts were slow and heavy; his instincts were fading into raw stubbornness. He pushed off the ground one last time, his sword raised, determined to land at least one meaningful strike.

  But before he could reach Taro, he simply let his weapon fall.

  The clatter of steel on stone echoed across the arena.

  Taro lifted his head toward the tribune. "I surrender," he announced loudly enough for every spectator to hear.

  A stunned silence washed over the arena, and confusion rippled like a shockwave. He had controlled the battle. He could have finished Kael at any time.

  Kael stopped a hand’s breadth from Taro’s chest. His chest heaved and blood dripped onto the sand.

  "...Why?" His voice was low and cold. He knew that mercy wasn't in Taro's nature.

  Taro glanced at him, his lips twisting into a vicious smirk.

  "Greetings from Liam," he murmured. It was too soft for the crowd to hear, but it still managed to carve into Kael’s bones. "He said that I may wound you, but breaking you is his privilege. So congratulations on advancing.” He mockingly dipped his head. “Don’t disappoint him.”

  Then, without sparing a single glance at the enraged crowd and bewildered expressions around him, he turned and walked away.

  Kael stood rooted to the ground, his sword hanging loosely from his trembling hand. His fighting spirit was shattered.

  Even when the vice headmaster finally announced the winner, Kael barely heard it. He moved only because his legs carried him, one uneven step at a time, toward the exit.

  Each breath scorched his ribs. Every cut burned. The cheers and whispers blurred into a background haze.