The news of the Shadow-Stalker's death spread through the Academy like a wildfire in a dry pine forest. A "Wild-Spark" commoner with a "puddle" for a beast had slain a Mid-Tier predator.
To the instructors, it was a miracle. To the noble houses, it was an insult.
"The Tournament of Sparks is in three days," Silas said, sitting on the edge of Kael's infirmary bed. He was cleaning a long, silver whetstone. "Usually, it's a ceremony for the high-born to show off. But now? The Count—Julian's father—has put up a prize. A Drop of Yggdrasil Sap."
Kael's eyes sharpened. He knew that name. Yggdrasil. The World Tree. In his old life, it was the mythic pillar of the universe. Here, a single drop of its sap could forcibly evolve a Spirit Beast, skipping years of training.
"They want you to enter, Kael," Silas warned, his voice low. "But not so you can win. They've invited 'Guest Scholars' from the High Academy in the Capital. Older boys. Sixteen-year-olds with fully formed battle-beasts."
"They want to kill me in front of an audience," Kael stated. It wasn't a question.
"They want to 'discipline' you," Silas corrected. "Make it look like an accident. A training match gone wrong. If you're smart, you'll take your core, take your passing grade, and disappear into the frontier."
Kael stood up. He walked to the window and looked at the training grounds below. Julian was there, surrounded by three older teenagers in gold-trimmed uniforms. They were laughing, pointing toward Kael's window.
Kael felt Varg ripple under his skin. The Shifter was growing restless. Since eating the Stalker's core, its grey surface had taken on a faint, violet marbling. It was becoming denser, heavier.
"In my land," Kael said, his voice dropping an octave into the gravelly register of the Viking Chief, "when a pack of wolves gathers to corner a bear, the bear doesn't run. It waits for them to get close enough to break their necks."
"You aren't a bear yet, kid," Silas sighed. "You're a cub with a sharp stick."
"Then I'll be a cub that bites," Kael replied.
The day of the tournament was sweltering. The stands were packed with velvet-clad nobles and stone-faced military scouts.
Kael stood in the tunnel, the darkness cooling the sweat on his neck. He was wearing his simple farmer's leathers, a stark contrast to the shimmering enchanted mail of his opponents.
"First Round!" the announcer's voice boomed. "Kael of the Mist-Woods vs. Valen of House Valerius!"
Valen was one of the "Guest Scholars." He was seventeen, tall, and moved with the effortless grace of a trained killer. Beside him was a Steel-Back Gorilla, a beast the size of a wagon, its fur made of interlocking metal plates.
"The little commoner who plays with shadows," Valen said, stepping into the sunlight. His voice was smooth, like oil. "My father told me to make this quick. He doesn't like his tea getting cold."
Kael stepped into the arena. He didn't carry a sword. He didn't carry a shield.
Varg, Kael signaled. Don't show them the axe. Not yet. Give them the Nidhogg's Breath.
As the bell rang, Valen didn't hesitate. "Crush him, Iron-Claw!"
The Gorilla charged, the ground shaking with every step. It raised a fist the size of Kael's entire torso, glowing with a dull, metallic light.
Kael didn't move.
The crowd gasped. Some turned away, expecting to see the boy turned into a red smear on the stone. But at the last microsecond, Varg exploded outward from Kael's feet.
It didn't form a weapon. It turned into a Liquid Pit.
The Gorilla's massive weight worked against it. Its front arms sank into the grey, shifting matter of the Shifter as if it were quicksand. The beast roared, struggling, but the more it fought, the deeper it sank.
"What is this?!" Valen screamed, trying to channel mana to his beast. "Pull out! Break the floor!"
"The floor isn't broken," Kael said, walking slowly toward the trapped beast. "Your monster is just too heavy for its own good."
Kael reached into the grey mass. Varg flowed up his arm, forming a long, thin needle—a Viking Seax blade, designed for slipping between the gaps of heavy armor.
Kael stood before the struggling Gorilla. He looked Valen in the eye.
"You nobles love your heavy steel," Kael whispered. "But steel has joints."
In one lightning-fast motion, Kael drove the Varg-needle into the small gap behind the Gorilla's shoulder—the pressure point that controlled its mana-flow.
The massive beast went limp instantly. It didn't die, but its connection to Valen snapped like a dry twig. Valen fell to his knees, clutching his head as the "Feedback Shock" hit his brain.
The stadium went dead silent.
Kael stood over the fallen giant, the small grey needle in his hand dripping with violet light. He didn't look at the crowd. He looked at the VIP box, where the Count sat, his face turning a deep, royal purple.
Kael raised his hand and pointed the needle directly at the Count.
"Next," Kael said.