The morning sun had already risen high above the Academy's stone towers, its golden light washing over the expansive training fields where the first round of one-on-one combat duels were already underway. The arena vibrated with eager chatter, ringing steel, and the occasional flash of magic.
Number 654 was not yet seen.
"Contestant number 654, Kaidën Valtorin," the announcer called again, his voice echoing over the field through a magical amplifier. "Please report to Duel Platform 3 immediately."
The crowd glanced around, muttering in wonder. On the platform, a broad-shouldered young man was tapping his foot impatiently. His name was Varric Slade—solid as a wall, with a spiked hammer over his shoulder and a scowl etched on his face. He had been waiting for over twenty minutes.
One of the judges—a level 7 martial arts expert with deep-set eyes and a stern expression—sighed and leaned forward.
"This is the third call. Where is this boy?"
