The silence in the Western Amphitheater wasn't broken until Kael had fully disappeared into the dark tunnel leading to the waiting rooms. Suddenly, the arena erupted with a sound akin to a collapsing glacier. It wasn't cheers of excitement; it was a cacophony of absolute chaos, confusion, and utter disbelief.
Up in the VIP pavilion, Grand Elder Thorne's face transitioned from haughty arrogance to a mask of pure, black fury. He gripped his diamond-encrusted staff so tightly that the prominent veins on his wrinkled hands threatened to burst.
"What in the hell just happened?" Thorne snarled in a low, lethal tone, directing his venom at the Elder of the Wind Blade Faction, who was trembling violently beside him. "Didn't you assure me that your disciple Gaelen was a peerless genius? How is it possible that he was crushed in a single strike by a lowly servant who doesn't even possess a visible mana aura?!"
"M-My Lord," the Wind Elder stammered, cold sweat pouring down his forehead. "There was no technique involved! He merely struck him... with sheer, brute force. That servant's black sword must be unnaturally heavy. It's nothing but a cheap trick!"
From the shadowy corner of the pavilion, a rough, hoarse laugh cut through the tension.
Orik swung his booted feet off the balcony railing and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand after taking a massive gulp of his cheap wine. "A cheap trick?" Orik echoed with a sarcastic drawl, his single good eye glinting with mischief. "The boy didn't use a single drop of magic, whereas your precious disciple was dancing around like a mana-fevered peacock. The flaw isn't in the boy's hammer... the flaw is in how fragile your glass is."
Thorne snapped his head toward Orik, his gaze dripping with poison. "Do not celebrate prematurely, Orik. Brute force might work against fools, but in the later rounds, he will be roasted alive. Your disciple will not walk out of this tournament on his own two feet."
Orik merely offered a faint, unbothered smile and returned his attention to his flask. Behind him, Lyra continued to watch the arena, but her sharp mind was rapidly analyzing what she had just witnessed. Dead Iron, she deduced brilliantly. He forged a blade that absorbs mana to conceal the Azura energy. That boy isn't just a monster... he's a monster with a terrifyingly tactical mind.
Meanwhile, in the damp, stone-paved waiting corridors beneath the amphitheater, Kael walked calmly through the sea of participants. As he passed by Darius's group, the lackeys instinctively took two steps backward, clearing a wide path for him. Even Darius himself, who was practically radiating furious heat, didn't utter a single word. He simply glared at the floor until Kael had walked past.
Finding a quiet, isolated corner, Kael sat down on a stone bench and rested his "Nameless" sword against the wall. He closed his eyes and began to regulate his breathing, actively trying to pacify the Azura core in his chest, which was throbbing with eager anticipation after the brief clash.
"Dead Iron to absorb the opponent's mana, and Star Steel to perfectly distribute the kinetic shockwave. An absolutely brilliant composition, but incredibly expensive."
Kael's eyes snapped open, and his muscles tensed instantly, ready to spring into lethal action.
Standing a mere two meters away from him, casually leaning against the stone wall, was a strange young man he had never seen in the Academy before. He wore a worn brown leather coat that bore no faction crest, his ash-blonde hair was an untidy mess, and he was skillfully rolling a gold coin across his knuckles with the dexterity of a street magician. His eyes gleamed with a sharp, calculating intelligence and obvious cunning.
"Who are you?" Kael asked coldly, his right hand resting dangerously close to the hilt of his black sword.
The young man stopped rolling the coin and caught it nimbly in his palm. "The name is Finn. I'm a guest participant representing the Mercenary Guild from the Capital," he said with a friendly smile that was laced with subtle danger. "Don't worry, I'm not one of Darius's lapdogs. In fact, I'm the guy who was watching you from the ceiling grate in the 'Shadow Market' while you were forging that black beast."
Kael's eyes narrowed dangerously. How did I not sense his presence? My senses were pushed to their absolute peak in that cellar.
Finn continued, taking a single, non-threatening step forward. "The idiots outside actually think you crushed Gaelen using nothing but your raw muscular strength. But I saw perfectly how his wind magic simply evaporated the exact second it touched your blade. The Syndicate is highly interested in a blacksmith who can weave mana into metals with such terrifying purity. We are always looking for talents... and for allies."
"I am not interested in the Syndicate, and I am certainly not looking for allies," Kael replied in a definitive, flat tone, closing his eyes again to signal the end of the conversation.
Finn smiled, seemingly unbothered by the rejection. "Sooner or later, you're going to need an information network in the Capital, my friend. The Academy isn't the entire world. I'll leave you to your rest now." Finn tossed the gold coin directly toward Kael.
Kael caught it effortlessly without even opening his eyes. It was a heavy coin, intricately engraved with the symbol of an "Open Eye within Flames."
At that exact moment, the booming voice of the referee echoed from the arena above, shaking the stone walls of the corridor: "Match Number Seven! Participant number 1, Darius of the Fire Faction... against participant number 142, Brock of the Earth Shield Faction!"
Kael opened his eyes and slowly stood up. He needed to see Darius's true, unrestricted power.
Darius stepped out into the blinding light of the arena, his face still bearing the dark traces of his humiliated pride. His opponent, Brock, was a massive, hulking man wearing heavy plate armor and wielding a double-bladed battleaxe. The Earth Shield Faction was renowned for possessing defenses considered completely impenetrable at the "Mana Foundation" realm.
"The match begins!"
Brock violently slammed his heavy axe into the ground. Instantly, a thick wall of dense rock erupted from the sand to shield him, and his entire body was coated in a layer of solid granite scales. "You'll never pierce my defense, Darius!" Brock shouted with total confidence.
Darius didn't move a single inch from his starting position. He slowly raised his right hand, and crimson flames ignited. But this time, it wasn't ordinary fire. The flames burned with a sickly blue hue at their base, radiating an intense heat that made the air in the arena shimmer and warp like a desert mirage.
Forbidden Fire Technique: Spear of the Hell Lotus!
A long, concentrated spear of white and crimson fire materialized in Darius's grip. With a look of pure, concentrated malice, he hurled the flaming spear—not aiming at Brock, but directly at the center of the massive rock wall.
There was no explosive impact. Instead, the blindingly hot spear melted right through the solid stone as if it were wet paper. The sheer, terrifying heat instantly turned the dense rock into glowing lava.
Brock screamed in pure terror and desperately tried to back away, but the fiery spear effortlessly pierced his granite armor, penetrated his chest, and shot out through his back, eventually crashing into the amphitheater's stone wall and melting a massive crater into it.
Brock fell hard onto his knees, his internal organs completely carbonized. He dropped dead before his face even hit the white sand.
Darius stood in the absolute center of the arena, the intense flames dancing wildly around his body. He completely ignored the thunderous applause of the crowd. Instead, he turned slowly and stared directly into the dark tunnel where Kael was standing.
It was a very clear, deliberate message written in ash: Your defense means nothing to me. I am going to burn you alive.
In the suffocating darkness of the tunnel, Kael merely smiled. He slipped the gold coin into his pocket and placed his hand back over the hilt of his black sword. The real battle had only just begun.