After finishing up in the gym's private room, I made my way to the library to return the borrowed books. The upper floors were eerily quiet—almost hauntingly so.
Rows of towering shelves stood like silent sentinels, the air thick with the scent of parchment and dust. Most students preferred the open courtyards or their dorms for studying, leaving this place to the few who liked the company of ghosts and knowledge.
I re-shelved each tome carefully, fingers brushing against the spine of one that caught my attention: Warding and Counter-Pressure.
A tempting read… but not for today.
As I left, my terminal chimed—a soft tone, followed by a notification.
[1st Year Tournament Schedule.]
> Day 1 (Thursday, 9:00 AM) – Bracket: Ranks 51–110
Day 2 (Friday) – Winner advances to face Ranks 21–50
Day 3 (Saturday) – Champion faces the Top 20 (Division: Elite)
I scrolled through the roster, noting the top rankers' names.
A few stood out—Raul Desmond, Natasha, and Nadia Lane. Then, further down the list, I caught Lyla Desmond. I couldn't help but wonder if she and Raul were related—distant kin, maybe, or siblings like the Lane twins.
Each name carried weight; each represented a wall I had to break through. They weren't just rivals—they were obstacles between me and the strength I needed.
Because even if I wasn't the Champion, I still planned on helping Rowen win his battles—the ones he couldn't win before.
To do that, I had to become stronger than anyone here. Losing wasn't an option.
And if I did lose… then I'd surpass them all before I left this academy.
After a light dinner, I turned in early. My thoughts replayed strategies, movements, and possible matchups until sleep finally pulled me under.
Morning came too soon.
I woke at 08:00, refreshed and clear-headed.
After a shower and breakfast, I checked my [Status] to see how far I have come.
Status Window
Rank: Alpha – LV 1
Name: William Laurel – Age 16
Titles: [???], [Bookworm]
Unique Skill: Perception
Skills: Immersion, Dodge, Swift Movement
Mana Skills: Mana Circulation, Mana Control, Mana Sense, Harmonic Resonance,
Spells: Lux, Lux Fracta, Lux Heaste
Arts: [Silent Current] , Basic Dagger Mastery, Basic Bow Mastery, Basic Hand-to-Hand Combat
Affinity: Light
MP: 190 / 190
Stats:
STR –14
AGI –15
STA –15
CON –13
MAN–19
I studied the display for a moment.
Every stat had climbed—except mana. That one could only grow through leveling or consuming elixirs, and my pool was already high for my rank. Even so, seeing those small increases felt satisfying. Each number wasn't just progress—it was proof that the long hours of training and exhaustion were finally paying off. A quiet reassurance that I was moving forward, step by step.
The stadium loomed like a fortress of steel and spellwork.
Five dueling platforms gleamed under sunlight, each warded with enchantments that shimmered faintly across their borders. Spectator tiers rose in concentric arcs, already crowded with eager cadets and faculty observers.
The matches began sharp at nine.
Rank 110 versus 109.
Then 108.
Then 107.
Each fight was quick, efficient, and brutal. Students used every advantage—close combat, elemental bursts, or sheer endurance. Magic appeared only in brief flashes, mostly as enhancements or defensive tricks. Efficiency was the rule.
One name echoed louder than the rest: Tobey Cruise.
His fists cracked like thunder. His Unique Skill – Berserk let him ignore pain, trading it for rising strength with each blow.
He tore through opponents until he reached Rank 63—where he met Lyla Desmond.
Her calm unnerved the crowd.
An amber-like barrier surrounded her, rippling faintly with every strike.
Tobey's onslaught left hairline fractures spidering across its surface.
He grinned, scenting victory.
Then—silence.
Her barrier dissolved—not shattered, but dispersed into dust.
Tobey lunged.
The ground erupted. Earthen spikes shot upward, halting him mid-charge.
Before his momentum broke, Lyla vanished and reappeared behind him, her hand pressed gently to his back.
A pulse of light—and a shockwave sent him flying across the ring.
"Accumulation and release," I murmured under my breath.
Not just defense—absorption. She stored his kinetic energy and redirected it.
Clever. Dangerous. Efficient.
The day raged on. Over sixty matches. Blades clashed. Fire roared. Ozone filled the air. The healers barely rested.
By 2 PM, the victor was declared: Jeremy Lord—Fire Elementalist, Chain Arts Specialist, and Gravity Manipulator.
Three systems. One man.
His battlefield control was near perfect. Chains curved through the air like molten serpents, their paths altered by subtle gravity shifts, while his flames followed unnatural trajectories that turned defense into futility.
Watching him, I felt something unfamiliar.
Not envy. Not fear.
Clarity.
A few months ago, I would've doubted myself.
Now, I only saw the gaps—and how to close them.
After the tournament, I grabbed a late lunch, replaying fights in my head.
Most relied too heavily on Unique Skills or weapon forms.
Few integrated mana skills and elemental spells beyond surface-level enhancement.
It made sense.
At the Alpha Stage, mana capacity was a limiting factor.
Prolonged spellwork drained reserves too quickly to be sustainable.
But there were ways around that.
Two, specifically.
1. Leveling and Stat Allocation – raising Mana Stat.
2. Elixirs and Essences – rare, alchemical solutions that permanently expanded mana vessels.
The top ranks likely had access to both.
Which meant tomorrow's matches wouldn't be kind.
Every private training room was booked solid, so I took to the open field behind the arena. The breeze was cool, carrying faint echoes of clashing steel from inside.
Perfect.
I began with Veiled Stride.
Since acquiring Swift Movement, the difference was night and day.
Before, I had to think about each step—measure the balance between speed and silence. Now it flowed naturally, my movements slipping between perception gaps like smoke.
I circled a practice doll, my steps blurring into after images.
Its head turned the wrong way just as I appeared behind it.
> Drift Fang – Executed.
The doll collapsed.
I opened my status window and a new entry appeared in Arts [Veiled Stride]
A faint smile crossed my face. Progress, tangible and earned.
Next came a test of control.
I raised my hand, gathering mana at my palm until it shimmered and fractured like crystal.
Flash
A sound like breaking glass filled the air. A burst of refracted light exploded outward, twisting vision and bending color. Even standing within the radius, my senses warped—the perfect tool to disorient casters and break line-of-sight focus.
Over and over, I practiced.
Cast. Drain. Circulate. Cast again.
Hours blurred into light and motion until the familiar chime echoed.
A new entry appeared amoung spells. [Lux Fracta]
I lowered my hand, chest heaving. My mana was spent, muscles aching.
The horizon was painted in gold, the campus washed in twilight hues.
By the time I reached my dorm, exhaustion set in like a weight.
I barely managed to fall onto my bed before sleep took me—dreams carrying flickers of light, shadow, and the distant roar of tomorrow's battle.