Midnight.
The South Garden Arena was silent, save for the soft hum of runes buried in the stone. Moonlight painted the floor in silver streaks. The arena was smaller than the Iron Coliseum—built not for spectacle, but for precision. The kind of place used for duels that weren't officially sanctioned.
Kaelion walked in alone.
No fanfare.
No crowd.
Just a whisper of tension in the air that told him someone was already here.
He didn't have to wait long.
A figure emerged from the far edge of the courtyard, tall and graceful. Dark robes. A mask of etched obsidian covering the upper half of their face. Blade at the hip—no crest on their collar.
Anonymous.
Deliberate.
> [Unregistered Duel Challenge Detected.]
[Objective: Survive. Escape not permitted.]
[Warning: Opponent fighting under cloaked authorization.]
Kaelion's pulse slowed.
They weren't here to test his strength.
They were here to measure his reaction.
The masked figure bowed slightly.
"You could have stayed quiet," the voice said, neither deep nor high—tempered to be forgettable. "But you chose the top 3%. That paints a target."
Kael didn't answer. He slid his right foot back, eyes locked.
No formal salutes. No instructor to officiate.
This was off the books.
The masked fighter moved first.
Fast—too fast for someone still ranked in the F-Class tier.
Their blade was a curved short-saber, designed for misdirection, flickering with faint wind-element glyphs.
Kael ducked under the first arc, feeling the air slice inches above his ear. He countered with a pivot and drove his palm toward their side—but the figure twisted like smoke, escaping the blow entirely.
Trained.
Experienced.
Definitely not F-Class.
> [Estimated Rank: D-Class Mid-Tier or higher.]
> [System: Permission to engage at Void Level – Granted.]
Kaelion's stance shifted.
He exhaled once.
Then vanished.
Void Pulse Step – Echo Trace.
He reappeared behind the assassin mid-swing, and this time his strike connected—a clean, punishing blow to the ribs that sent his attacker skidding across the stone floor.
But they didn't drop.
They caught themselves mid-slide and spun, releasing a burst of razorwind from their blade. Kaelion raised his arm, cloak shredded, skin grazed but intact.
He lunged forward again.
This time, there was no hesitation.
He closed the gap, feinted high, struck low, and chained a backstep into a sweeping kick. The masked fighter barely blocked in time—but Kael was already on the move.
He struck not to kill, but to control.
Precision. Fluidity. Flow.
The kind of movement born from pain, not training manuals.
---
A minute passed.
Two.
And the assassin broke first.
Their foot slipped, breath faltered.
Kaelion took the opening. He drove his elbow into the attacker's shoulder, knocking the blade loose.
The masked figure stumbled. Kaelion caught them by the collar and slammed them into the courtyard pillar behind them.
Stone cracked.
The assassin slumped.
Still breathing. Barely.
He reached out and pulled the mask free.
What he saw made him pause.
The face behind the mask was young—barely older than him. Pale eyes. Narrow jaw. And on the inside of the collar, a seal shimmered briefly in the moonlight.
House Rivenhart.
Of course.
---
Kaelion let the mask drop to the floor.
He didn't say a word.
Didn't gloat. Didn't threaten.
He simply turned away.
> [Duel Ended. Victory Registered: Unofficial.]
[Corebreaker Progression: 26% → 29%.]
[New Skill Acquired – Flow Control (Passive): Improves short-range battlefield reading.]
---
Back in his quarters, Kael sat by the open window, letting the night wind cool the blood on his knuckles.
He wasn't angry.
He wasn't shaken.
Just… aware.
They had sent a wolf.
But wolves bled, too.
And Kaelion was no prey.