[18th June]
Morning came faster than expected.
The city hadn't slowed for even a moment. If anything, it moved with more urgency than usual.
Streets filled early, voices carried farther, and every path seemed to lead toward the same destination—the arena.
Yesterday had decided the Top 50.
Today would push them further.
Across the capital, noble households were already in motion. Carriages prepared, attendants rushing, conversations sharp and purposeful.
Some went to watch their heirs fight. Others had different intentions—eyes set on the rising talents who could still be claimed.
Opportunities like this didn't come often.
And no one wanted to be late.
—
Inside Rey's residence, the atmosphere was quieter.
Far below ground, in the training chamber, the silence was broken only by controlled movement and strained breathing.
Rey stood at the center of the room.
Barefoot.
His body was already drenched in sweat, his shirt clinging tightly against his frame, outlining the tension in every muscle.
Heat rose faintly from his skin, the result of constant movement and circulating energy.
But his focus never broke.
Step.
Turn.
Shift.
Each movement was precise, aligned with the flow of mana running through his body.
He had long since stabilised the circulation method. What once required conscious effort now ran like a second heartbeat.
That was the only reason he could push this far without collapsing early.
The 15th set.
He reached it faster than before.
Each stance flowed into the next with practised efficiency, his body moving with a rhythm that felt almost mechanical—but underneath it, something was changing.
He could feel it.
His muscles tightened as fatigue slowly began to build, yet his energy refused to drop. Instead, mana surged forward, feeding into his limbs, forcing them to keep going.
'Just five more sets…'
His vision blurred for a moment.
'Finish this.'
He pushed through the final stance of the 15th set.
Completion.
For a brief second, his body paused—waiting for the usual limit to hit.
It didn't.
Rey didn't stop.
He stepped forward again.
The 16th set began.
This time, the pressure was different. The strain wasn't just physical anymore. Something deeper was shifting with every stance, every circulation.
He reached the 25th stance within minutes.
His breathing had grown heavier now, but his energy… it wasn't normal.
It was rising.
Rey's focus sharpened.
'This isn't the same…'
The flow inside his body had changed.
Subtly at first. Then clearly.
The pathways he had memorised were no longer exact. The mana didn't move the way it used to.
It twisted differently, branching where it shouldn't, compressing where it had never done before.
A second mutation.
Rey didn't try to correct it.
He observed.
Memorized.
And continued.
The 17th set.
His stance wavered once—but he forced it back into place. His body screamed for a pause, but he ignored it completely.
Each completed stance only fed the next, dragging him deeper into a rhythm that felt less controlled… and more instinctive.
By the time he completed the final stance, the changes inside him had grown more pronounced.
The circulation wasn't just different.
It was evolving.
He moved again.
18th.
19th.
By now, the internal flow had turned into something far more complex than before. It no longer followed a simple path—it layered over itself, weaving through his mana veins before converging into the core.
And every time it returned—
It was cold.
A faint, spreading chill that travelled through his body from within. Not painful. Not weakening.
Stabilizing.
It cooled the strain, suppressed the burn in his muscles, and allowed him to push further than he should have been able to.
Rey exhaled sharply.
The 20th set.
He stepped into it without hesitation.
Now, it wasn't just about movement. Each stance demanded precision—not just physically, but internally.
If he failed to follow the correct circulation, even once, the entire sequence would break.
His mind strained.
He forced himself to track the flow, to memorise every shift, every deviation, even as it grew more complicated with each stance.
Faster.
Too fast.
His capacity was being stretched beyond its natural limit.
Time passed.
Thirty minutes.
Longer than any previous attempt.
Finally—
He reached the last stance.
The 25th.
His body trembled as he initiated the final movement.
Then—
It stopped.
The flow broke.
A sharp disruption formed within the circulation, a turn he couldn't align, no matter how he adjusted. The mana resisted him, slipping out of sync every time he tried to force it.
Rey's body faltered.
His legs weakened.
'…This is the limit.'
The thought came naturally.
He was already prepared for what came next—the collapse, the backlash, the pain that always followed when he pushed too far.
His vision dimmed slightly—
Then—
"Oii… can't you finish it already?"
The voice cut through everything.
Rey's eyes snapped open.
Aiden stood there.
Not physically—but present.
"Hah... without me, you can't even walk properly."
Something shifted.
Before Rey could react, a sharp clarity flooded his mind. It wasn't his own.
The flow.
He could see it.
Not vaguely—not partially.
Perfectly.
Every strand of mana, every deviation, every hidden turn within the 24th stance—laid out in front of him with absolute precision.
Aiden didn't explain.
He didn't guide.
He forced understanding.
Rey didn't hesitate.
He moved.
Adjusting the circulation, aligning it with what he now saw instead of what he had memorised. The difference was massive—what he had followed before was incomplete.
This was the real path.
The final stance began again.
This time—
It held.
The resistance vanished.
The flow connected.
And the moment the mana completed its full cycle and returned to the core—
It happened.
A surge.
Energy burst outward from within, spreading through his body in an instant. Every cell reacted, absorbing it, igniting with renewed strength.
Rey staggered slightly—but didn't fall.
His muscles still burned.
His body was still exhausted.
But his energy—
It wasn't depleted.
It was overflowing.
His breathing slowed as he steadied himself.
'…This technique…'
This was only the foundation.
And it already felt like this.
Rey exhaled slowly, grounding himself.
Fifteen minutes later, he finally stood up straight.
The exhaustion had faded faster than it should have.
He checked the time.
Still enough for breakfast.
Without lingering, he left the underground chamber.
—
What he didn't notice—
Were the faint marks left behind.
He had trained barefoot today. At first, it had been for a better footing. But now—
The ground told a different story.
Subtle imprints stretched across the floor, layered over one another from repeated movement. Barely visible, but present.
Scorch marks.
As if heat had bled through his steps.
Faint.
Incomplete.
But real.
—
Rey returned upstairs, cleaned himself, and changed into fresh clothes.
The new overcoat fit him well—better than expected.
But his gaze paused.
Inside the wardrobe—
The old one remained.
Torn. Worn. Damaged beyond use.
He didn't throw it away.
It had been a gift from his uncle.
His first.
And despite its condition, he knew it could be repaired. Improved, even. With the right materials, it could become something better than before.
Not now, though.
Time was tight.
Only a few rounds remained before everything shifted toward the next stage—the University.
July 1st.
Not far.
They would have to leave early. Travel alone would take days.
And there were still things left unfinished.
His weapon.
The order he had placed.
The blacksmith shop.
And—
Gravion.
That day lingered in his memory longer than expected.
Rey shook the thought away and headed downstairs.
—
Breakfast was already prepared.
The table was full.
As always.
The butler had long since adapted to his appetite. Every meal was portioned without question, arranged with quiet precision.
Rey didn't waste time.
He sat down—
And ate.
Quickly. Cleanly.
By the time he finished, not a single plate remained untouched.
The day had already begun.
Rey leaned back slightly after finishing his meal, his gaze drifting toward the clock.
For a moment, he simply watched it.
Waiting.
It was a habit at this point.
Without thinking much, he reached for his phone, intending to call Hosric as usual. The routine had settled naturally over the past days—he would arrive, and Hosric would already have things arranged.
But before dialling—
A notification caught his attention.
A message.
Rey paused, then opened it.
It had been sent around thirty minutes ago.
__
Rey,
I'm assuming you're training right now, and not listening to my advice. I won't comment on that.
As you know, the entire family will be attending the stadium today. I'll be going with them.
I could have sent a car to pick you up, but considering your current situation—you understand it better than anyone—I think it's best not to.
You'll manage.
Also, make sure you meet your grandfather today. He asked about you yesterday. If you don't show up, he won't take it lightly.
So make sure you're late.
__
The message ended there.
Below it, a shorter follow-up detailed a location—a private room. The same one where Hosric had checked his condition before. Reserved again, this time for a discreet meeting after Rey's matches… if he advanced.
Rey read it once.
Then closed it.
There was no irritation. No disappointment.
If anything, it made things easier.
He understood the situation well enough. The Valemont family couldn't openly associate with him right now—not without drawing attention they didn't want.
And truthfully—
He preferred it this way.
Arriving in a family carriage would've done more harm than good. He would've been noticed long before even reaching the stadium.
A taxi was simpler.
Cleaner.
Without wasting more time, Rey stood up, grabbing his bow and quiver. The dagger rested openly at his belt now—no longer hidden.
There was no point.
That card had already been revealed.
—
A few houses down, he flagged a passing taxi and got in.
The door shut.
The car started moving.
Rey frowned slightly.
The driver hadn't asked for a destination.
His posture straightened, attention sharpening.
"…You're not going to ask where I'm going?" Rey said.
The driver chuckled lightly, eyes still on the road.
"Carrying weapons like that in the morning?" he replied. "You're either heading to the stadium or the martial center."
A brief pause.
"Both are in the same direction anyway. But still… where exactly?"
Rey coughed quietly, looking away for a second.
"Stadium."
"Thought so."
The ride continued.
Rey didn't speak much after that. Instead, he pulled out his phone and began scrolling through updates.
The tournament highlights were already circulating.
Clips from yesterday's matches filled the screen—fast edits, critical moments, decisive blows.
Then—
He found something interesting.
The spear user.
The one who had been with Gravion.
Rey's focus sharpened as he watched.
Even before the match had properly begun, something felt off. His opponent hesitated—not just cautious, but pressured.
Intimidated.
Rey narrowed his eyes.
'…Is that just presence?'
No.
There was something else.
Subtle.
Hard to define—but real.
His gaze lingered, catching small details in movement, timing, and control.
Something didn't sit right.
'Interesting…'
By the time he looked up—
The car had already stopped.
"Sir, we're here."
Rey blinked once, then nodded, stepping out after paying.
He hadn't even noticed the ride ending.
—
The stadium was alive.
Just like every other day—voices, movement, anticipation filling every corner.
Rey entered without delay, making his way toward the stands. The air carried that same tension from yesterday, only sharper now.
Fewer contestants.
Higher stakes.
He settled into place, waiting.
At exactly 8:30—
Fifty phones rang at once.
A synchronised wave across the arena.
Rey reacted instantly, pulling his out and opening the message.
The match list.
Randomized. Assigned by the host and judges.
His eyes moved quickly across the screen.
Scanning.
Searching—
Then stopping.
Third match.
His expression shifted.
Fenlor.
Rey recognised the ID immediately.
But that wasn't the problem.
His gaze slid to the opponent.
And froze.
ID: 01.
Raviel Ashcroft.
For a brief moment, Rey said nothing.
Around him, the noise of the stadium continued—but it felt distant.
That name carried weight.
Not reputation.
Not hype.
Something heavier.
A kind of quiet certainty.
Despair.
Rey exhaled slowly.
'…That's a bad draw.'
Fenlor was strong. No doubt about it.
But—
Not enough.
Not for that.
Rey had faced enough opponents by now to understand the gap. And Raviel… he still hadn't been fully read.
That alone was enough.
Fenlor didn't stand a real chance.
The thought settled heavily in his mind.
With a small sigh, Rey scrolled further down.
His own match.
19th.
His eyes found the ID—
And stopped again.
Recognition came instantly.
"…You've got to be kidding me."
Davin.
The spear prodigy.
Gravion's teammate.
A faint smile appeared on Rey's face—but it didn't reach his eyes.
First Marin.
Now Davin.
At this point, it almost felt deliberate.
'What next… Gravion himself?'
The thought lingered longer than it should have.
Coincidence didn't feel like a coincidence anymore.
Something was pulling these encounters together—tightening them, forcing them to collide one after another.
Rey leaned back slightly, phone still in hand.
His expression steadied.
Whatever it was—
He'd deal with it when it came.
Because one thing was certain now.
This tournament wasn't just narrowing down winners.
It was bringing the right people together.
And when it did—
There was no turning away from what followed.