The week passed in a blur of blades and lectures.
Zayne had never studied this hard in either of his lives. Between combat drills, theory on mana channels, ethics of contract-based assassination (which seemed ironic to even teach), and mandatory history classes, his body and brain were both being stretched to their limits.
Not that he minded.
Pressure breeds killers and he welcomed it.
Still, he'd noticed something odd about Selene Graves.
Despite being placed in the Combat Class like him, she didn't talk much about her background. She never joined the others for lunch in the mess hall. Always disappeared when classes ended.
Until today.
"Hey," Zayne said, catching her in the courtyard behind the dorms after training. "You've been ducking everyone since day one. What's your deal?"
Selene glanced at him over her shoulder. She was wiping down her twin daggers with a white cloth, eyes calm. "I didn't come here to make friends."
"Sure," Zayne said, stepping closer. "But that doesn't mean I won't find out eventually."
A beat passed before she sighed and sat down on the stone bench. "You're relentless."
He shrugged. "I'm curious."
Selene looked at him, her silver eyes unreadable. "Fine. My full name is Selene Gravesworth. I'm the bastard daughter of Lord Arden Gravesworth, a high councilor in the northern provinces."
Zayne blinked. "Wait. Gravesworth? As in?"
"Yes," she interrupted. "That Gravesworth, the noble who helped draft the mage registration act and backed the execution of rogue spellcasters during the Violet Purge."
Zayne sat beside her, processing. "So… you're what? Hiding?"
"No. He sent me here," Selene muttered. "Told me if I ever wanted to make something of myself, I'd have to 'earn my name.' Which is ironic, since it's his."
There was no bitterness in her tone, just quiet, seething control. Like her emotions were locked behind reinforced doors with a sign that said, Do Not Enter.
Zayne gave a low whistle. "Nobles, huh? They really know how to mess up a kid."
Selene smirked faintly. "You have no idea."
The next morning, excitement buzzed through the academy like lightning.
A large crowd had formed in the main hall. Students pushed and whispered as Headmaster Lurion Valentine stood at the center beside a floating crystal orb projecting student names into the air.
"This is a tradition as old as the academy," he began. "Each year, our newest initiates shall display their combat aptitude in the First Year Trial Tournament."
A wave of murmurs broke out.
"You will face each other in battle," Valentine continued. "First years will be evaluated by second and third year mentors. The best will earn early advancement, private training, and potential sponsorship by noble houses."
Zayne's eyes narrowed. A public test of course as this was their way of sorting the meat from the bones.
He wasn't about to be meat.
"In two day's time," Valentine said, "you will fight in the arena. Prepare accordingly as these matches will be randomized, but all combatants must be prepared to fight in front of their seniors and" he paused, "select outside observers."
Selene turned to him. "You hear that? That means nobles will be watching."
Zayne's mind sharpened And if Velan Drosin is one of them…
He needed to dominate that arena.
He had to.
The following two days were brutal.
Kaelith pushed the assassin track students through live blade drills, full contact sparring, and obstacle courses laced with traps. Zayne felt every bruise and cut, but his endurance had improved thus so had his recovery.
[Passive Skill Evolved: Endurance II]
[New Skill: Combat Sense I]
Zayne wasn't the fastest or strongest yet, but he moved smarter than everyone else. Every faint twitch of his opponent's muscles became a signal. Every step became a setup.
Selene trained too, but in private. Zayne watched her in the dark corner of the courtyard as her style was fast, clean, with no wasted motion. She wielded twin daggers with near perfect timing, using short bursts of mana to accelerate strikes. If Zayne moved like a shadow, Selene fought like a storm. Silent, sudden, deadly.
Tournament Day
The arena stood in the heart of the academy campus as an open roofed coliseum built from enchanted stone that repaired itself after each fight. Students packed the upper tiers, instructors and upperclassmen lining the balconies.
Zayne stepped into the preparation room and stared up at the glowing bracket projected above.
Match 1: Zayne Cain vs. Dalton Renshaw
He recognized the name. Dalton was a second-generation noble who was brash, smug, and a spirit mage who loved setting things on fire just to show off.
As Zayne walked to the gate, he passed Selene, who simply said, "Don't hold back."
He grinned. "I wasn't planning to."
Dalton stood in the arena center, twirling a ball of flame in one hand like it was a toy.
"So they're letting peasants duel us now?" he called, loud enough for the crowd to laugh. "What next? Rats?"
Zayne rolled his shoulders.
The horn blared.
Dalton wasted no time, launching twin fire lances across the stage. Zayne dashed to the side, using Shadow Step to vanish and reappear near the arena wall. Flames scorched the stone where he'd been.
The crowd roared as Zayne focused.
Dalton summoned a burning shield and charged. "You're nothing but a stray mutt!"
Zayne blurred past him.
A flash of steel.
Dalton froze.
His shield crumbled, his shoulder bled from a shallow cut.
Zayne stood behind him, dagger raised. "You talk too much."
Gasps echoed.
The match was over.
[Victory: Zayne Cain - Win by Critical Strike]
[Temporary Rank Advancement: F → D]
[+10 Upgrade Points]
The crowd murmured, louder now. His name was spreading.
He looked up at the noble balcony.
And there, in the shadowed box seats was Lord Velan Drosin who sat watching.
Their eyes met.
And Velan… smiled.