After the bracket appeared, the three of them stayed behind on the training field.
The other teams had already started drifting away — some confident, some arguing, some already sizing each other up. Z, Jaxson, and Lena remained where they were, staring at the glowing names still hanging in the air.
Jaxson was the first to speak.
'Alright,' he said, rubbing the back of his neck. 'We should decide this now. No point dancing around it.'
He looked at the list again.
'Viktor's strong. Heavy, durable, the type who tries to outlast you. I'll take him.'
Lena's gaze settled on Lucy's name. Her expression didn't change, but something in her posture hardened.
'I'll take Lucy,' she said quietly. 'Her chains are dangerous up close. I can work around that.'
That left Thiago.
Z stared at the name longer than he needed to. He still remembered the last time they fought — how cleanly Thiago had beaten him, how every strike of the staff had felt calculated and inevitable. The loss had been a harsh reality check.
'I'll take Thiago,' Z said.
Jaxson glanced at him. 'Personal?'
'Something like that.'
He gave a short nod. 'Good. Use it.'
Lena looked between the two of them. 'Then it's decided. See you guys.'
She turned and walked away, her figure quickly fading from sight.
Z turned to leave as well, but Jaxson placed a hand on his shoulder.
'Hey.'
Z looked at him. 'What?'
'I know you and that Lucy girl are close,' Jaxson said, his voice lower than usual. 'But you can't feel sorry for anyone here. Don't forget that.'
With that, he walked off, stopping briefly to speak with a Shade on guard duty.
The walk back to the inn felt longer than usual.
Z's thoughts kept returning to the same place.
Tomorrow he would face Thiago again.
And somewhere in the same arena, Lena would be facing Lucy.
He didn't know which thought unsettled him more.
When he reached his room, he closed the door quietly and sat on the edge of the bed without lighting the lantern. The darkness settled around him. He laid Amaterasu across his lap, running his hands along the length of the sheath. He had already grown fond of the sword — to the point where he no longer felt comfortable going anywhere without it.
Tomorrow, he would be using it to fight Thiago. Someone he had to beat if he wanted to take even one step closer to the Grail Selection Contest.
He sat there for a long time, staring at nothing.
Eventually, exhaustion caught up with him. He lay back without undressing and let sleep take him.
The next morning, Z jolted himself out of bed.
He ate a light breakfast — plain bread and a cup of weak tea — just enough to keep his stomach from turning on him later. He didn't have much of an appetite. The weight of the day ahead sat too heavily in his chest.
Then he made his way toward the Grand Combat Arena.
Even from a distance, he could feel the difference in the air. The usual quiet of the early Vatican morning had been replaced by a low, rising hum of voices. When he finally reached the main streets, the scale of it hit him.
The Grand Combat Arena was a massive colossal circular structure of white stone and black metal. Tiered seating rose high into the air, already packed with spectators. He could see the few distinct colors and emblems of the other domains mixed among the Vatican crowd. Moby Dick's deep blue and silver. Kush's gold and sand-colored robes. Outside, children ran excitedly, dragging their parents to get entry into the arena.
A special elevated section on the arena was reserved for the Ministry. Z spotted the dark robes of several Evangelists and, at the very front, Father James himself, seated with his usual unreadable expression. Beside him sat representatives from the other domains, their presence alone a reminder of how much was at stake.
Z walked slowly, taking in the atmosphere. Eventually he got to the contestant's gate and descended into the preparation chambers beneath the arena.
The underground halls were cooler and quieter, lit by soft blue lanterns. The atmosphere was thick with tension. Most of the eighteen candidates stood in small groups or alone, some checking their gear, others simply staring at the floor. He saw Mo being briefed by Eve and Lucy staring intently at her Sai. The only real noise came from Tyson, who was laughing too loudly and swinging his scythe around like he was already in the middle of a fight. A few people glared at him. He didn't seem to care.
Z found Jax and Lena near a wall, their expression were grim.
Jax was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, twin swords already strapped to his back. Lena stood a few steps away, quiet as always, her silver-gray eyes scanning the room.
'Hey,' Jax said when he saw him. 'You look like you slept about as well as I did.'
'Didn't sleep much,' Z admitted.
Lena gave a small nod in greeting but said nothing.
They stood in silence for a moment before Jax tilted his head toward a pair of figures across the chamber chatting with Chrome.
'You see those two?' he muttered. 'The tall one in the gold-trimmed cloak is Alistair Munro. Kush's top candidate. People are saying he's the strongest of their generation. And the one next to him — the quiet guy with the dark blue coat — that's Johan Quinn from Moby Dick. Prodigy. They say he already has a Sage-level technique.'
Z glanced over. Alistair Munro looked every bit the desert prince — tall, composed, with sharp features and an air of quiet arrogance. Johan Quinn was leaner, almost unassuming at first glance, but the way the air seemed to subtly bend around him made the hair on the back of Z's neck rise.
'They're just watching for now,' Lena said softly. 'But they're evaluating everyone.'
Z scoffed, 'I bet they think we're pushovers. Must feel good to be born with talent.'
Before Jax could reply, a deep, triumphant fanfare exploded through the entire arena.
The walls themselves seemed to vibrate with the sound. Cheers erupted from the stands above, loud enough to reach even the underground chambers. A powerful, clear voice followed, amplified by Miasma.
'Honored guests of the Vatican, representatives of Moby Dick and Kush, and members of the Ministry — welcome!'
The announcer's voice rang out with practiced grandeur.
'Today marks the beginning of the Vatican's Grail Selection Preliminaries! These trials will determine the six candidates who will represent our domain in the Neutral Dimension contest!'
A fresh wave of cheers rolled through the stands.
'Present among us today is His Excellency, Father James, along with the honored Ministry of the Vatican. We also welcome the distinguished representatives from our sister domains, Moby Dick and Kush!'
More applause.
'And now… the moment you have all been waiting for. Contestants of the Vatican — step forward and prepare yourselves. The first matches of the Preliminaries are about to begin!'
Cheers and hollers exploded through the arena.
The announcer's voice rang out clearly across the entire arena, amplified by Miasma.
'Before we begin, allow me to state the rules of the Preliminaries!'
The crowd quieted slightly.
'Matches will continue until one fighter is knocked unconscious or surrenders. Sacred Gears are fully permitted. Our best medics are on standby to heal any and all sustained wounds. However, any intentional attempt to kill an opponent will result in immediate disqualification.'
A murmur of understanding passed through the stands.
'Additionally,' the announcer continued, 'only the winning team of each match will be allowed to advance two of its members to the next stage of competition. The losing team will be eliminated from priority selection. Then, the two individuals from the winning team will be chosen based on their performance and will be chosen by the Ministry themselves!'
The weight of those words settled over the contestants below.
'Now then… the first match of the Vatican Preliminaries!'
A dramatic pause.
'Team 1 versus Team 6!'
Cheers erupted from the stands.
'For the opening bout of the day… representing Team 1 — Selene Nyx!'
'And representing Team 6 — Orion Vale!'
The crowd roared as the two names were called.
In the underground preparation chamber, a large glowing projection activated on the far wall, showing a clear view of the arena above. Z, Jax, and Lena stood among the other waiting candidates, watching the fight about to begin.
Selene and Orion emerged from opposite tunnels into the vast circular arena. The barrier sealed behind them with a low hum. Sunlight poured down from the open sky above, illuminating the white stone floor.
Selene walked forward with quiet, measured steps, her Sacred Gear -- a dark Sickle -- already in hand. Orion moved with calm precision, a bow of pure condensed Miasma forming in his grip as he walked.
They stopped a short distance apart and faced each other.
The announcer's voice boomed once more.
'Fighters… prepare yourselves.'
Selene's silver-gray eyes narrowed. Orion raised his bow slightly.
'Begin!'
In the same instant, both activated their Divine Abilities.
'Divine Ability: ABSENT VERSE!' Selene yelled.
'Divine Ability: CHRONOS DEBT!' Orion Vale yelled.
In an instant, Selene vanished. Her presence collapsed in on itself. Orion's eyes narrowed. He didn't panic. He raised his bow and slowly turned, tracking the subtle disturbances in the air.
A faint ripple passed along the left side of the arena.
Orion loosed an arrow of pure Miasma. It cut through the air without a sound. The arrow missed by a hair's breadth as Selene reappeared behind him, sickle already descending in a vicious arc.
Orion twisted at the last possible moment. The sickle sliced across his shoulder, drawing a thin line of blood. He gritted his teeth and kicked off the ground, creating distance. His Divine Ability: Chronos Debt, allows him to temporarily steal a few seconds of an opponent's "future movement", forcing the opponent to perform an action early or use those stolen seconds himself to react sooner. However, it's use drained significant Miasma, limiting its use.
Selene didn't give him time to breathe. She dissipated again, her Miasma output shrinking. Orion could barely sense her despite knowing she had significantly more Miasma than him.
He fired three arrows in rapid succession, not at where she was, but at where he anticipated her to be.
One of them forced her to reappear earlier than she wanted. She clicked her tongue and lunged again, sickle flashing.
This time Orion was ready.
Stealing a fraction of a second from her incoming strike, Selene's body jerked forward half a step too early, ruining the angle of her attack. Orion used the stolen time to sidestep and fire an arrow point-blank into her side. The pure Miasma arrow punched through her guard and slammed into her ribs, sending her skidding backward.
Selene wiped blood from the corner of her mouth, eyes cold. She had more raw power, and both of them knew it. She stopped trying to end it quickly and began wearing him down.
She entered Absent Verse again, but this time she stayed hidden longer. The arena grew quiet. Orion's breathing slowed as he tried to sense her. Sweat ran down his temple. Every second she remained undetected made her harder to track.
Then she struck from three different angles in under two seconds — a feint from the left, a real slash from above, and a low cut aimed at his legs. Orion blocked the first with his bow, twisted away from the second, but the third caught his calf. Blood sprayed across the stone floor.
He stumbled.
Selene pressed harder. Her sickle became a blur of silver and black. Each time Orion tried to create space, she closed it. Each time he tried to fire, she forced him to abandon the shot. Her superior Miasma reserves let her maintain Absent Verse longer and recover faster between bursts.
Orion was being pushed to the edge.
Blood ran down his leg. His breathing was ragged. Another clean hit and he would lose.
He forced himself to stay calm.
When Selene next vanished, Orion didn't try to find her. Instead, he closed his eyes and focused entirely on the flow of time around him. The moment he felt the faintest shift — the exact instant she committed to an attack — he activated Chronos Debt at full strength.
He stole nearly two full seconds from her.
Selene's body lurched forward against her will, her sickle already mid-swing. Orion used those two stolen seconds to move behind her, draw his bow to full power, and release a dense, spiraling arrow of pure Miasma straight into her back.
The impact was brutal.
Selene was thrown forward, coughing blood as she hit the ground hard. She tried to rise, sickle still in hand, but Orion was already there. He pressed the tip of another Miasma arrow against the back of her neck.
Silence.
Selene remained on one knee, breathing heavily. After a long moment, she lowered her weapon.
'…I yield.'
Orion stepped back, lowering his bow. His own body was trembling from blood loss and exhaustion. He had won, but only barely.
Selene looked up at him, her eyes sharp even in defeat.
'You used my own momentum against me,' she said quietly.
Orion gave a tired, humorless smile. 'You had more power. I just had better timing. And honestly, if that attack hadn't worked I would have lost.'
The barrier around the arena slowly dissolved.
The announcer's voice boomed across the arena.
'Victory goes to Orion Vale of Team 6!'
The crowd erupted in cheers and applause. Some shouted Orion's name. Others simply roared in excitement at the high-level display of skill.
Both fighters turned and walked back toward the tunnels leading to the preparation chambers beneath the arena. Medics applied first aid to their wounds before allowing them back into the chambers. Selene's steps were steady despite the loss. Orion walked with a slight limp, but his expression remained composed.
When they entered the underground chamber, the atmosphere shifted.
Orion's teammates — Freya Storm and Nero Blackthorn — immediately approached him. Freya clapped him on the shoulder with a sharp grin.
'Clean win,' she said. 'You made it look harder than it needed to be, but a win's a win.'
Nero gave a quiet nod of approval.
Across the chamber, Eve and Mo were already at Selene's side.
'You did well,' Mo said, trying to sound encouraging. 'He was tough.'
Selene wiped a streak of blood from her lip and gave a small nod. 'I was outmaneuvered. Nothing more.'
Eve stood beside her, arms crossed. Her expression was calm, but there was a sharper edge to her eyes now — a quiet, burning determination that hadn't been there before.
'I'll make sure Team 1 doesn't fall here,' Eve said quietly.
Before anyone else could speak, the announcer's voice returned, louder than before.
'Next bout!'
The projection on the wall shifted, showing the empty center of the arena once more.
'Representing Team 1… Eve Dragonheart!'
A wave of murmurs and interest passed through the stands above.
'Daughter of the previous Sage, Mike Dragonheart! Will she be able to follow in her father's legendary footsteps… or will the weight of that name prove too heavy?'
Z stared at Eve as he heard this. Eve didn't look back.
The crowd reacted with a mix of anticipation and curiosity.
'And her opponent… representing Team 6… Freya Storm!'
Eve stepped forward without hesitation. Freya pushed off the wall with a confident smirk, rolling her shoulders as sparks of wind and lightning already danced faintly around her fingers.
The two women walked out into the bright arena from opposite tunnels. The barrier sealed behind them with a deep hum.
They stopped a short distance apart and faced each other.
Eve's meteorite daggers were already in her hands. Freya's eyes gleamed with battle-hunger, her Sacred gear -- a yellow and black staff hummed with power.
The announcer's voice rang out one final time.
'Fighters… prepare yourselves.'
Both women tensed.
'Begin!'
Freya slammed the butt of her staff into the ground.
'DIVINE ABILITY: Dark Tempest!'
The atmosphere in the arena shifted violently.
The air grew heavy and electric. Dark clouds of condensed Miasma spiraled upward from Freya's position, swirling into a localized black storm. Violent winds whipped across the white stone floor, and black lightning crackled through the clouds like living veins. The temperature dropped. The light itself seemed to dim under the weight of the storm.
Eve's eyes narrowed. She didn't wait.
She exploded forward in a blur, meteorite daggers gleaming. Freya swung her staff and sent a thick bolt of black lightning toward her. Eve twisted sharply to the side, the bolt scorched past her ribs without landing cleanly, and continued closing the distance.
Freya swept her staff horizontally. A crescent of compressed wind and lightning tore toward Eve. Eve dropped low and slid beneath it, the attack passing over her head in a violent crackle. She came up inside Freya's range and slashed. Freya barely managed to interpose her staff, the impact ringing loudly as metal met metal. The force still pushed her back two steps.
Eve pressed in with a rapid series of cuts. Freya blocked the first two with her staff, redirected the third with a burst of wind, and only took a shallow graze across her upper arm. She retaliated with a point-blank lightning thrust. Eve leaned back just enough for the tip of the bolt to miss her throat by a finger's width, then spun and aimed for Freya's side. Freya twisted away, the dagger cutting only cloth.
In the preparation chamber, Z watched closely.
Her timing has improved, he thought. She's not forcing every attack anymore.
Freya expanded the Dark Tempest outward, turning the center of the arena into a swirling cage of black lightning and violent wind. Bolts began hammering down in irregular patterns. Eve was forced to constantly change direction, weaving between strikes. She dodged one, redirected another with a dagger, and took only a glancing burn across her shoulder from a third.
She found a brief opening and dashed in again. Freya met her with a heavy downward swing of the staff. Eve crossed her daggers and blocked, boots sliding backward across the stone from the force. Sparks and black lightning flared at the point of contact. Eve disengaged just before Freya could release another bolt at point-blank range.
Both fighters reset, breathing harder now.
Eve circled, looking for a new angle. Freya kept the storm tight around herself, using it as both shield and weapon. When Eve next attacked, Freya sent a wave of wind to disrupt her footing. Eve adjusted mid-step, leaped over the gust, and came down with both daggers. Freya blocked one and narrowly twisted away from the second, taking a thin cut along her collarbone instead of a deep wound.
They exchanged a long series of attacks and defenses.
Eve's speed forced Freya to stay reactive. Freya's lightning and wind kept Eve from committing fully. Several of Eve's most dangerous thrusts were turned aside by the staff or blown off-course by sudden bursts of wind. Several of Freya's strongest bolts were avoided by the narrowest of margins as Eve twisted, ducked, or used her daggers to deflect the edge of the attack.
Blood still began to flow.
A lightning graze opened a burn across Eve's ribs. A successful dagger cut finally landed cleanly across Freya's thigh. Eve took a sharp wind blast to the side that left her momentarily breathless. Freya received a shallow but painful slash across her forearm when she was a fraction too slow to block.
The fight stretched on, both women accumulating damage without either being able to land a decisive blow.
Z's eyes stayed locked on the projection.
She's reading Freya's rhythm now… She's improved more than I thought.
Eventually the toll became visible. Freya's output began to flicker from overuse. Eve's movements, while still sharp, had lost a fraction of their earlier explosiveness due to accumulating burns and cuts.
Eve suddenly changed pace.
She stopped trying to overwhelm and began feinting more, forcing Freya to commit her staff in the wrong direction. On the third feint, Freya swung to block an attack that never came. Eve slipped inside the opening and drove one dagger toward her torso.
Freya managed to twist, turning what would have been a deep stab into a serious but non-critical cut along her side. In the same motion she released a desperate, close-range black lightning discharge. Eve crossed her daggers and partially blocked it, but the residual current still burned across her arms and chest, forcing a pained grimace.
Both fighters broke apart again, visibly worsening.
Blood dripped steadily onto the white stone from multiple wounds on each of them. Their breathing was heavy and uneven.
Freya raised her staff high, gathering the remaining of her energy into one final, massive black lightning strike. The clouds above her swirled violently.
Eve moved before the attack could fully form.
She sprinted through the collapsing edges of the storm, dodging the last irregular bolts by the narrowest margins. The final lightning strike crashed down with tremendous force. Eve slid low beneath it, the heat singing the ends of her hair and scorching the ground behind her.
She came up inside Freya's guard and, this time, both daggers found their mark — deep in Freya's torso.
Freya's eyes widened. A choked breath left her lungs. The storm above flickered once and then collapsed completely as her concentration shattered.
She tried to stay standing. Her legs trembled. Blood poured from the wounds.
Then her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed to the arena floor, unconscious.
For a brief moment the stadium was silent.
Then the announcer's voice rang out.
'Victory goes to Eve Dragonheart of Team 1!'
The crowd erupted.
Eve remained standing over Freya, daggers still in hand, her own body covered in burns, cuts, and blood. She swayed once but forced herself to stay upright as medics rushed into the arena.
In the preparation chamber, Z slowly let out a breath.
For a scary second, he thought that she would lose.
Medics entered the arena immediately. They carefully lifted Eve and the unconscious Freya onto separate stretchers and escorted them out through a side tunnel leading directly to the arena's medical bay. The crowd continued to murmur as the two heavily injured fighters disappeared from view.
Down in the preparation chamber, the projection shifted, showing workers and specialized Shades already moving onto the ruined arena floor. Large sections of the white stone had been cracked and scorched by Freya's lightning. Blackened scars and deep gouges covered the center of the battlefield.
The announcer's voice returned, calmer now.
'Ladies and gentlemen, please remain patient while the arena is restored. The final bout of this match will begin shortly.'
Z stood near the edge of the chamber, still watching the projection. After a moment, he walked over to where Mo was leaning against a pillar, arms crossed.
Mo glanced at him as he approached.
'She pushed Eve further than I expected,' Z said quietly.
Mo exhaled through his nose. 'Yeah. Freya's no joke.'
Z looked at him. 'How was she able to keep up that kind of output for so long?'
Mo was silent for a second before answering.
'Her family descends from Konstantin,' he said. 'One of the direct bloodlines. That's why, among all the Shades, her family is born with massive Miasma reserves and natural talent. Even compared to other high-ranking families, they're abnormal.'
Z processed that in silence.
After a moment, he asked, 'What's your plan for going up against Nero Blackthorn?'
Mo opened his mouth to reply—
But the announcer's voice suddenly cut through the chamber again, loud and clear.
'The arena has been restored! Now, the final bout of the first match!'
The projection switched back to the center of the arena.
'Representing Team 1… Mo Eclipos!'
'And representing Team 6… Nero Blackthorn!'
Mo closed his mouth and pushed off the pillar. He turned to Z and held out his fist.
Z bumped it.
'Wish me luck,' Mo said with a small, tight grin.
Then he turned and walked toward the tunnel leading up to the arena, his back straight and his expression focused.
Z watched him go, the weight of the next fight already settling in the air.
The announcer's voice rang out across the restored arena.
'Final bout of the first match! Mo Eclipos of Team 1 versus Nero Blackthorn of Team 6! Fighters… begin!'
Mo immediately dropped into a stance. DIVINE ABILITY: Blood Knight!
Large volumes of blood seeped from the pores of Mo's palm until it began forming what appeared to be a sword.
Nero, however, did nothing.
He simply stood there, his Sacred Gear still sheathed at his side, his expression unreadable.
Mo frowned and lunged forward, blade cutting through the air—
Only for Nero to calmly raise both arms.
'I yield.'
The words were clear and deliberate.
For a moment, the entire arena went silent.
Then the crowd erupted into confused murmurs and scattered shouts of disbelief. In the preparation chamber below, Orion Vale's eyes widened slightly, genuine shock crossing his face.
Mo skidded to a stop just in front of Nero, blade still raised.
'What the hell are you doing?' he demanded.
Nero leaned in slightly, his voice low enough that only Mo could hear.
'I sold the match,' he said quietly. 'A guy from the lower districts promised me a fortune if I surrendered in the final bout. But hey, you get it right? You would've done the same thing if it meant getting yourself and your family out of that place.' He paused, before increasing the sound of his voice. 'I have no interest in becoming the Sage. I'm not throwing my life away for a title. No one here is going to beat Grey. You know that as well as I do.'
Mo's face twisted with anger. He grabbed Nero by the front of his shirt and pulled him forward, fist already tightening—
'That's enough.'
Father James's voice cut through the tension like a blade. He had risen from his seat in the Ministry section and now stood at the edge of the elevated platform, looking down into the arena.
'Stand down, Mo Eclipos,' Father James said coldly. 'Or you will be disqualified.'
Mo froze, jaw clenched, still gripping Nero's shirt. After a long, tense second, he shoved him back and stepped away.
Father James gestured for the announcer to approach. He leaned in and whispered something into the man's ear. The announcer's expression shifted slightly before he straightened and raised his voice once more.
'Attention, everyone! By the verdict of the Ministry… Nero Blackthorn's surrender is formally accepted as a loss for Team 6. Therefore, Team 1 is declared the winner of the first match!'
The crowd, after a brief hesitation, broke into cheers and applause. Some sounded more relieved than excited. Others simply celebrated the conclusion of an unexpectedly strange bout.
In the preparation chamber, Z watched the projection in silence, the weight of Nero's words lingering in the air even though he hadn't heard them.
Team 1 had advanced.