Arthur looked up around him. The roar of the stadium really was completely different when he actually stood at the center, the sound pressing in from all sides.
"From Valemarch Academy, Garron Kyre!" the announcer's voice boomed.
In front of him, his opponent took the stage. A solidly built boy with a grim expression from Valemarch, Garron Kyre, looked at him with tense, focused eyes.
Arthur reached for the plain longsword at his hip. He wasn't foolish enough to reveal he had a spatial artifact by pulling a weapon from thin air, so he had his new sword safely sheathed at his waist.
His opponent, meanwhile, had brought out a heavy-looking woodsman's axe, its polished head gleaming menacingly under the arena lights.
The starting gong echoed through Arthur's ears, and the next instant, Garron moved. With a surprising burst of speed for his build, he covered the distance in seconds, his axe already swinging down in a powerful, mana-enhanced arc aimed at Arthur's head.
But, as the axe came crashing down, Arthur didn't move. He didn't even bring his sword up to block. The axe seemed to cut clean through him.
Garron's face was struck with visible shock. He'd felt absolutely no resistance, no impact.
In front of him, Arthur's figure suddenly seemed to fade, wavering like heat haze before vanishing as if it had never existed, baffling him further.
Then, before Garron could even process the disappearance, he felt a sharp, cold wind cut at the back of his neck.
"I would suggest you don't move," Arthur's voice came coolly from directly behind him, the tip of his plain sword resting lightly against Garron's throat.
"H-how did you get there?" Garron stammered, his eyes wide with disbelief, still trying to understand what had just happened. He hadn't even seen Arthur move.
Arthur shrugged as he glanced at the judge, who looked just as shocked as Garron. But the judge, a seasoned instructor, quickly recovered his composure and stepped forward.
"Winner, Arthur Greymark from Everglen Academy!"
Arthur could hear scattered, polite applause, just as he had expected. He wasn't a part of one of the more famous noble houses, nor a known prodigy. No one in this vast crowd was rooting for him.
Calmly sheathing his sword, he gave a slight nod to his stunned opponent and then turned to leave the arena stage, his expression unreadable.
Meanwhile, in the VIP area overlooking the arena, the mood was different.
"That kid! Surprising!" one of the older dignitaries, a portly merchant lord, exclaimed. "Is he a high-grade Apprentice Knight already? To be fast enough to create such an after-image is promising indeed. Good footwork."
"Haha! We at Everglen teach our students well, Lord Valerius," the Everglen Headmaster, a usually stoic man, laughed heartily, a proud gleam in his eyes. He conveniently omitted the fact that Arthur had been training almost entirely on his own for the past month.
Maelon Virestone watched Arthur depart the platform, a flicker of something unreadable in his ancient eyes, but he said nothing.
The tournament continued at a brisk pace. The initial rounds were designed to quickly whittle down the eighty or so initial combatants. More fought, some with surprising grit, others falling quickly to slightly more skilled or powerful opponents.
Then, the announcer's voice took on a more excited tone. "And now, a name many of you have been waiting for! From the esteemed Valewyn family, the pride of Blackstone Academy, the Apprentice Rook, Alaric Valewyn!"
A thunderous roar erupted from the Blackstone section of the stands, and a significant portion of the general crowd joined in. Alaric strode onto the platform with an arrogant smirk, his pitch-black hair glinting. He carried a massive greatsword strapped to his back, its dark metal seeming to absorb the light.
His opponent was a nervous-looking Knight from Highcrest, an Apprentice Knight, but Arthur could tell from his wavering mana aura that he was likely only low-grade. The Knight's sword mark seemed dull compared to the vibrant, almost aggressive energy radiating from Alaric's Rook tower symbol.
The gong sounded.
The Highcrest Knight, perhaps hoping to seize an early initiative against a superior opponent, charged forward, his own longsword raised, a decent surge of mana coating the blade.
Alaric didn't even bother to draw his greatsword. He simply watched the Knight approach, a disdainful curl to his lip. Just as the Knight's sword was about to reach him, Alaric moved. It wasn't a flashy display of speed like Arthur's after-image, but a short, brutal explosion of power.
His right hand, wreathed in a dense, oppressive black aura, shot out. He didn't punch. He simply… pushed.
The air itself seemed to ripple. The Highcrest Knight, despite his momentum and mana-enhanced strike, was stopped dead in his tracks as if he'd run into an invisible wall.
Then, with a choked gasp, he was violently thrown backward, tumbling end over end through the air before crashing heavily near the edge of the platform, his sword clattering away. He lay there, groaning, clearly out of the fight.
Alaric hadn't even taken a step. He just lowered his hand, the black aura dissipating, and scoffed.
"Winner, Alaric Valewyn!" the announcer declared, his voice tinged with awe.
The crowd went wild. This was the kind of dominance they had come to see from a Rook.
"Raw power, and oppressive mana," Arthur thought, his expression calm. "He didn't even need a technique, just overwhelmed him."
The preliminary rounds continued like this for several hours. There were eighty participants in total from the four academies who had qualified from the survival training or through internal academy selections.
The fights were a mix – some were quick, brutal displays of power disparity, like Alaric's. Others were more drawn-out affairs between evenly matched opponents, showcasing different skills and tactics.
Arthur saw nimble Augmenters outmaneuvering stronger foes, clever Conjurers using the environment to their advantage, and stoic Knights relying on solid defense and precise counter-attacks.
He saw a few other Apprentice Knights win their matches, some struggling more than others.
Seraphina Vayne also had another match, but her opponent had conceded before the match even began.
Slowly, the numbers dwindled. Eighty became sixty. Sixty became forty. The sun climbed high in the sky, then began its slow descent. The energy of the crowd, however, remained undiminished, fueled by the constant action and the promise of even greater clashes to come.
Finally, as dusk began to settle, casting long shadows across the arena, the announcer stepped forward once more, a wide grin on his face.
"Ladies and gentlemen! After a day of incredible battles, our preliminary rounds have concluded! Thirty-two remarkable young talents have proven their mettle and will advance to the next stage of the Imperial Fate Academy selection tournament!"
A cheer went up. The names of the thirty-two victors flashed onto the giant ranking board, Arthur's among them, along with Alaric, Seraphina, Orion (who had won his own match), and other familiar and unfamiliar names.
"These thirty-two champions will return here tomorrow morning!" the announcer continued. "Where they will draw lots to determine their opponents for the first round of the main tournament bracket! Prepare yourselves for even more spectacular displays of power and skill! Thank you for joining us today!"
The crowd roared its approval one last time as the dignitaries on the platform rose. Maelon Virestone gave a single, enigmatic nod before turning to depart with the headmasters.
Arthur found Orion in the throng of departing students.
"Made it through, huh?" Orion grinned, though he looked tired.
"You too," Arthur replied. "Good fight."
"Thanks." Orion wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. "Tomorrow's going to be something else, though. Drawing lots… we could end up facing anyone."
Arthur nodded. The real test was about to begin.