In Sector 1—the highest, most prosperous urban ring of the metropolis, where sprawling glass spires rose high above cloud-covered hanging gardens—a private skyscraper overlooked the central crystal reactor.
Inside an opulent office lined with white marble and gold trim, Lord Vane Marcus sat behind a dark, polished glass desk. He was a broad-shouldered man in his early fifties with graying hair, wearing a spotless white suit adorned with the golden emblem of the Marcus Syndicate. Floating horizontally behind his desk was a massive, six-foot broadsword—a Level 60 Master-tier weapon that radiated a continuous, suffocating aura of golden light.
Standing before the desk was Marcus, his younger son, bowing his head in visible fear.
"Julian is still unconscious in the intensive care unit at the Central Military Hospital," Lord Vane said, his voice deep, low, and vibrating with suppressed, lethal rage. "The specialists say his energy channels have suffered severe, localized shock. It will take six months of continuous crystal therapy to restore his core to operational capacity."
"Father... Julian told me before he went under," Marcus stammered, his forehead slick with cold sweat. "It was an Anomaly from Section 4. The kid's name is Caine. He's registered as a Level 10 baseline, but he broke an old testing monolith on Field B with a single bare-handed punch!"
Lord Vane slowly tapped his manicured fingers on the glass desk. "A Level 10 baseline cadet does not paralyze a Level 42 High Intermediate. Director Thorne is hiding something. His official report claims Julian's squad was ambushed by a Dread-Tusk, but the diagnostic telemetry pulled from Julian's armor shows no biological venom or claw marks. The structural damage was caused by a localized, ultra-dense shockwave."
"What are your orders, Father?" Marcus asked nervously, shifting from foot to foot. "The Inter-Sector Tournament begins in three weeks. Auxiliary Squad 4 has been granted an official entry pass into the Beginner Division bracket."
Lord Vane turned his cold, dark eyes toward the holographic display floating on his desk, pulling up Caine's student record. He stared at the white-haired boy's picture, his expression darkening with venomous intent.
"If he enters the tournament, he dies on the arena floor," Lord Vane declared coldly. "I have already spoken with the Tournament Committee. I will arrange for Section 1's top seed—Darius's team—to meet Auxiliary Squad 4 in the elimination rounds. In the open arena, energy overloads happen. Fatal accidents are tragic, but expected."
Lord Vane stood up from his chair, his Master-tier broadsword humming behind him in direct response to his rising aura, the pressure in the room causing the heavy glass windows to vibrate.
"No gutter-born rat from Sector 7 cripples my eldest son and lives to walk the streets," Lord Vane whispered. "Prepare our private assets. If Darius fails to eliminate him inside the ring... we execute him the moment he steps outside the Academy gates."