The Grand Novice Tournament wasn't just a simple contest—it was a proving ground for the strongest students, a test of skill, endurance, and strategy. Winning meant prestige, access to restricted knowledge, and recognition by the Academy's higher ranks.
But for me, it was more than that.
It was a stepping stone toward something greater.
I didn't care about fame. I cared about getting stronger, learning more, and finding answers.
The whispers in my dreams, the visions, the Aberrations—none of it would wait for me to be ready.
If I wanted to control my fate, I had to start now.
The Grand Arena
I stood in the underground waiting hall of the Grand Arena, adjusting the wraps around my wrists. The air was thick with tension, a mixture of excitement and nerves from the other competitors. Around me, dozens of students waited for their names to be called, their eyes filled with either confidence or barely concealed fear.
Some muttered quiet incantations, others practiced movements, their weapons glinting under the flickering mana lights.
Above us, the crowd roared, their energy surging through the stone walls, shaking the floor beneath my boots. The entire Academy had come to witness the tournament, and from the sound of it, they were ready for blood.
A loud voice boomed from above.
"First match of the tournament!"
The hall fell silent.
I exhaled slowly, pushing my nerves down as the voice continued.
"Sylas of Aldermist vs. Renic Farrow of House Farrow!"
The moment my name was called, a hush spread through the crowd.
Some of the competitors turned to stare at me. A few whispered among themselves. I wasn't a noble, nor was I from a prestigious battle family. I was just some village kid from nowhere.
I could feel their doubt.
Let them doubt me.
I stepped forward, muscles coiled with anticipation. This was my first step toward proving them all wrong.
The First Match: Sylas vs. Renic Farrow
As I walked through the stone tunnel leading to the arena, the roar of the audience grew deafening. The moment I stepped into the sunlight, the sheer size of the coliseum stole my breath.
The Grand Arena was vast—a massive circle of polished stone, surrounded by towering walls and packed stands. Thousands of spectators watched eagerly, banners fluttering in the high winds.
Across the field, Renic Farrow stood waiting.
He was taller than me, lean yet muscular, with deep brown eyes and a confidence that only years of experience could give. His hands gripped a long steel spear, its shaft polished to perfection. He spun it once, the motion practiced and effortless.
A weapon like that gave him reach, speed, and flexibility. It would be a problem if I let him control the pace.
I won't let him.
The proctor, an older instructor dressed in simple robes, stepped forward between us.
"You both know the rules," he said, his voice calm but firm. "No lethal attacks. First to surrender, be knocked out, or forced out of bounds loses."
Renic twirled his spear again, smirking. "I'll make this quick for you, village boy."
I smiled slightly. "I was about to say the same to you."
The proctor raised his hand.
"Begin!"
The Dance of Battle
Renic moved first, and he was fast.
The moment the match started, he lunged forward, his spear a silver blur as it stabbed toward my ribs.
I twisted just in time, narrowly avoiding the strike as the spear whistled past my side, slicing through the air where I had been standing a moment ago.
He's quick.
Renic didn't pause. The second I dodged, he pivoted on his heel, using the momentum to swing his spear in a wide arc, aiming for my legs.
I barely leapt over it, landing just as he spun and thrust his spear forward again, aiming for my chest.
This time, I didn't dodge.
I moved inward, stepping toward him rather than away. Spears had range, but once inside that range, they became a liability.
Renic's eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by my sudden advance.
Before he could adjust, I knocked his spear upward with my forearm, breaking his stance for just a second—
And in that second, I struck.
I drove my elbow into his ribs, forcing the air from his lungs. He grunted, stumbling back, but his recovery was immediate.
Good reflexes.
He jumped back, resetting his stance, but his expression had changed. He wasn't mocking me anymore.
I smirked. "Still think this is going to be quick?"
Renic exhaled sharply, his grip tightening. "You're better than I expected."
"Thanks," I said, shifting my stance. "You're still going to lose."
His eyes darkened. "We'll see."
Breaking the Spear
Renic changed tactics.
Instead of attacking directly, he began circling me, using his superior reach to keep me on the defensive. Every time I tried to close the gap, his spear lashed out, forcing me to dodge or deflect.
He was forcing me into his pace, his rhythm.
I needed to disrupt it.
I let him think I was getting slower, more exhausted—letting my dodges become less sharp, my movements slightly sluggish.
Then, when he stabbed forward again, I acted.
I sidestepped sharply, letting his spear graze past me, then grabbed the shaft with both hands.
His eyes widened in panic.
I twisted hard, yanking it off balance and pulling him forward. Before he could react, I drove my knee into his stomach, then wrenched the spear from his hands and tossed it across the arena.
Renic staggered, gasping for breath, now completely unarmed.
I cracked my knuckles. "Still want to keep going?"
His face twisted with frustration, but he clenched his fists and charged.
The Final Blow
Renic swung wildly, his fists coated in raw mana, trying to turn the fight into a brawl.
I dodged each strike with ease, weaving around his attacks until I saw my opening.
The moment he overextended, I slipped behind him, hooked my leg behind his, and swept him off his feet.
He hit the ground hard, groaning.
Before he could rise, I pressed my foot against his chest, keeping him pinned.
The proctor raised his hand. "Match over! Winner—Sylas!"
The crowd erupted into cheers, the stands shaking with excitement.
Renic let out a heavy sigh, staring up at me. Then, to my surprise, he grinned slightly.
"You're good," he admitted breathlessly. "But don't get cocky. The next fights won't be this easy."
I smirked. "I'd be disappointed if they were."
I offered him a hand, and after a moment, he took it.
As I walked off the battlefield, I caught sight of Darian Voss, watching from the stands, his golden hair gleaming under the sunlight.
His lips curled into a smirk.
I knew exactly what he was thinking.
He was waiting for me in the semifinals.
And I couldn't wait to shut him up.