The battlefield had become a living, breathing war zone.
The artificial biomes made every fight unpredictable—frozen tundras where even the breath of a fighter could give away their position, dense jungles that swallowed the unwary whole, craggy mountains with loose rocks and deadly falls, and volcanic wastelands where heat shimmered off the ground like a mirage.
Sixty competitors remained. Thirty would advance.
The tournament had become a bloodbath.
Kalem, still dragging his heavy metal crate, had chosen observation over reckless combat. His eyes weren't on the fighters—but on the terrain itself. Something about the arena felt… unnatural. The magic used to create these artificial biomes was layered with too much complexity, as if the enchantments were constantly shifting, adjusting—watching.
But that was a problem for later.
Because at that moment—
A storm of flames erupted across the battlefield.
In the volcanic wasteland, Nara was chaos incarnate.
She didn't need weapons.
She was the weapon.
A massive horned drake—a beast twice her size, its black scales resistant to blades—snarled and lunged.
Most would have dodged. Nara did the opposite.
She charged forward, fist cocked back.
With a roar, she punched the drake's skull mid-lunge. The impact shattered the earth beneath them. The shockwave sent smaller creatures flying.
The drake staggered, its thick skull cracking from the sheer force.
The gathered fighters stared in disbelief.
She turned her gaze toward them, flexing her fingers, flames licking across her knuckles.
"Alright," she grinned, rolling her shoulders. "Who's next?"
Two warriors instantly fled.
The others weren't as smart.
A spear-wielding knight charged first. Nara ducked under the thrust, caught the spear with one hand, and used it to flip the knight over her shoulder—slamming him so hard into the ground that his armor dented inward.
Another mage hurled an ice spell—a freezing spear meant to immobilize her.
Nara didn't even flinch.
She punched the spell midair, shattering it to pieces, before closing the distance in a single leap and delivering a flaming heel kick to the mage's ribs.
A sickening crack filled the air as the mage collapsed, groaning.
The last remaining fighter in her area—a rogue—watched the carnage, weighing his options.
He made the right choice.
He ran.
Nara grinned wider.
The flames around her dimmed slightly as she exhaled.
"That's more like it."
From the noble stands, the spectacle unfolded beneath the watchful eyes of lords, merchants, and powerful figures.
Lord Mathias Evernwood, seated with his daughter Lyra, observed the fights with a keen gaze.
"A brute," one noble scoffed as he watched Nara crush her opponents. "No finesse. No strategy."
"Are you blind?" Lord Evernwood replied, his voice calm but sharp. "That 'brute' just dismantled three trained fighters and a monster without breaking a sweat. If she had a noble house behind her, you'd be tripping over yourself to sign her as a knight."
The other noble gritted his teeth, unwilling to admit it.
Across the stands, other conversations whispered through the air.
"Blackthorn is even more terrifying than we thought. He's fighting like a rabid beast."
"Seraphine du Rozaire's shadow magic is unsettling. The way she—" The speaker shuddered. "—it's like she enjoys toying with them."
"That ilvaar hunter… Jhaeros, was it? He's hunting fighters like it's a sport."
"That wolf is also ferocious."
"What about Kalem?"
At that, multiple nobles fell silent.
Kalem's name had spread fast.
"That boy…" one noble murmured. "He's hardly fought at all. Just observing."
"He's waiting."
"He's planning."
"That's what makes him the most dangerous."
A Brewing Conflict: Old Rivalries & New Targets
Beyond simple competition, hidden tensions between certain competitors began to surface.
For some, this was personal.
Rendar Blackthorn hated Kaelaine Voss.
Their families had been bitter enemies for generations. The Voss family had once controlled the largest mercenary guild, but after years of sabotage, the Blackthorn family crushed them, seizing control of their assets.
Kaelaine fought with speed and skill—a stark contrast to Rendar's brute force approach. They had crossed paths before, and Rendar had vowed to humiliate her in the tournament.
The moment he spotted her in the tundra, he grinned.
"I've been waiting for this," he muttered, cracking his knuckles.
Seraphine du Rozaire's family had once served under House Evernwood before a betrayal split them apart.
For Lyra, watching Seraphine from the noble stands was uncomfortable. She knew the du Rozaire family was dangerous, but seeing Seraphine effortlessly dismantle her enemies with shadow magic made her feel… uneasy.
She glanced at her father.
"Seraphine is strong," she admitted. "Too strong."
Her father nodded. "We'll see where her ambitions lead her."
Ariselle wasn't here for fame.
She was here for data.
Her cursed blade, a weapon that devoured magic, wasn't just powerful—it was unstable. She needed to test its limits, and what better way than against the best fighters in the academy?
Her gaze flickered toward Kalem.
He hadn't fought yet. He was planning something.
Good.
She hoped he would last until the final rounds.
She wanted to see if her sword could devour his inventions too.
Jhaeros moved like a shadow, his feline grace carrying him through the battlefield with calculated precision.
His Ilvaar instincts, heightened by years of training, made him a ghost in the chaos—silent, swift, and deadly.
Velka prowled beside him, a massive presence of muscle and fur, her eyes glowing with predatory focus.
Together, they were an apex hunting pair.
They didn't rush headfirst into battle. Instead, Jhaeros and Velka struck in moments of vulnerability—an opening left by a distracted opponent, a beast turning to engage another target. Their attacks were efficient, each strike precise and measured, designed to eliminate a threat with minimal effort.
The second round was far from over.
As the battlefield continued to shift, new monsters emerged, deadlier than before.
Kalem, now fully armored, stopped dragging his crate.
He knelt down, placing a hand on the ground.
The magical energy beneath the battlefield fluctuated unnaturally.
His eyes narrowed.
"Something's wrong," he muttered.
Because while the other fighters saw monsters and opponents
Kalem saw a battlefield that wasn't meant to last.
And if his theory was correct…
The real danger hadn't even started yet.