The three days following the "failed" hunt were a fever dream of whispers and shadow. The Academy was no longer a place of learning; it had become a pressure cooker. News of the "theft" in the Second Circle had leaked, and though the faculty tried to suppress it, every student knew that something had been stolen from under the Prince's nose.
I spent my nights in the "Lower Grounds"—a series of abandoned stone tunnels beneath the North Wing that smelled of damp earth and ancient masonry. Here, away from the prying eyes of the Golden Knights and the magical sensors of the instructors, I finally unleashed the [Void-Severing Blade Art].
[Notice: 'Void-Severing Blade Art' (Rank: Epic) is being practiced.]
[Status: Mastery 3%... 7%... 12%...]
I didn't have a sword. Not yet. A commoner possessing a high-grade blade would be a death sentence. Instead, I held a simple wooden training lath. But as I moved through the first form—The Ghost's Breath—the wood didn't feel like wood.
I stepped forward, my feet making no sound on the dusty floor. I didn't swing with my arm; I swung with my intent. The Heart of the Forest pulsed in my chest, sending a surge of green-tinted mana down my arm and into the lath.
Fwoo.
The wooden stick didn't hit the stone pillar in front of me. It passed through the space where the pillar was. A split second later, a clean, razor-sharp line appeared on the stone, and the top half of the pillar slid off with a deafening crash.
I exhaled, a thin trail of steam leaving my lips. This was the power of the Void. It didn't cut flesh; it cut the space that held flesh together.
[Warning: Your Mana Core is currently 45% evolved. Over-exertion will cause 'Mana Backflow'.]
"Easy," I whispered to myself, lowering the lath. "Save it for the arena."
I spent the daylight hours playing the role of the victim. I walked with a slight limp. I kept my eyes downcast. I allowed Chadric and his group to corner me in the cafeteria, letting them knock my tray to the floor while I "stuttered" an apology.
Every time they laughed, the [Eye of the Abyss] showed me their intent—a messy, chaotic yellow of [Arrogance]. They thought I was broken. They thought the forest had shattered my spirit.
But Marcus was different.
I saw him on the second day, crossing the quad with Elara. He looked perfect as always, his golden hair catching the light, but the air around him felt cold. When he saw me, he didn't mock me. He didn't even speak. He just stared at me with a look of such profound, quiet loathing that the students around us instinctively backed away.
[Notice: Marcus von Astra has reached 'Rank D+' in secret.]
[Observer's Eye Warning: He has consumed a 'Berserker Elixir' to compensate for the lost artifact. He will be unstable during the duel.]
A Berserker Elixir. He was desperate. He was sacrificing his long-term potential for immediate strength because his ego couldn't handle the "theft."
"Good," I thought, watching him walk away. "The more you reach for power, the more you'll bleed when I take it."
On the night before the trials, I received a small, unmarked package on my bed. There was no note, but I knew the scent of lilies and cold iron anywhere. Inside was a pair of weighted leather gloves, reinforced with mithril threads.
[Item Identified: 'Spider-Silk Grips' (Rare Grade).]
[Effect: Increases Grip Strength and conceals the 'Vibration' of mana-chanelling.]
Seraphina was making her move. She was betting on me.
I pulled the gloves on, feeling the mithril tighten around my knuckles. They were perfect. They would allow me to channel the Void-Severing Art through my bare hands if I had to, making it look like I was just punching or grabbing, rather than using a forbidden sword technique.
The morning of the Combat Trials arrived with a heavy, grey sky. The entire Academy had gathered in the Grand Arena. This wasn't just a test anymore; it was a spectacle. The nobility sat in the high boxes, sipping wine and placing bets, while the commoners huddled in the lower tiers, watching with grim faces.
"The final duel of the morning!" Commander Valerius's voice boomed, amplified by a megaphone spell. "A special request from the Royal Family! To test the limits of our commoner students... Kaelen Voss will face Prince Marcus von Astra!"
The arena went silent. Then, a slow, rolling tide of whispers broke out.
"Is this a joke?"
"It's an execution."
"Why would the Prince even bother?"
I stepped into the sand of the arena floor. The wind whipped my hair across my face. On the opposite side, Marcus descended from the royal box, his white cape billowing behind him like wings. He carried a practice sword made of enchanted blue steel—a weapon that, even without a sharp edge, could shatter bone with a single strike.
He didn't wait for the signal. He walked to the center of the ring, his eyes locked on mine.
"You should have died in the woods, Kaelen," he said, his voice a low, vibrating growl. The Berserker Elixir was clearly working; the veins in his neck were bulging, and his skin had a faint, reddish tint. "Today, I'm going to correct that mistake."
I didn't draw a weapon. I didn't even take a stance. I just stood there, my hands hanging loosely at my sides, the [False Aura Mask] still projecting the image of a terrified, Rank F commoner.
"I'm ready when you are, Your Highness," I said.
Valerius raised his hand. "Begin!"
Marcus exploded.
He didn't move like a student; he moved like a golden blur. The blue steel sword whistled through the air, aimed directly at my collarbone. It was a strike meant to end the fight in one second—to humiliate me before I could even blink.
I didn't move until the blade was an inch from my skin.
Flick.
I didn't block. I didn't parry. I simply tilted my head by the width of a hair. The blue steel caught a strand of my hair, severing it, but hit nothing but air.
Marcus's eyes widened. The momentum of his over-extended swing pulled him forward. It was a rookie mistake, driven by the Berserker Elixir's rage.
I reached out with a gloved hand, my palm open. I didn't strike him. I just touched the center of his chest, right over his heart, and whispered one word.
"Void."