Marcus gave a brief nod, then stepped backward — light on his feet, vanishing almost instantly across the snow as if skating over glass. In the blink of an eye, he was dozens of meters away.

Fast.

Axel blinked, momentarily caught off guard.

He hadn’t even sensed Marcus watching earlier. Which meant… the guy’s Force level had to be significantly above his own.

Marcus stopped in a small clearing, drew his bamboo sword, and began his own training — smooth, precise, utterly focused.

Axel watched him for a while.

The Four Great War Academies really do hide monsters.

He took a breath, then turned quietly and descended the hill, snow crunching beneath his boots.

Over the next three days, Axel returned to the hilltop to train.

He crossed paths with Marcus again, but this time, neither said a word. They simply acknowledged each other's presence with a nod and fell into their respective routines — Marcus refining his sword technique, and Axel focused on mastering his combat forms.

Just the sound of movement against snow, fists cutting through air, and blades whispering in the wind.

.....

“Phantom Step. Inch Fist. Whip-kick. Finally... all three mastered.”

Axel exhaled slowly, a wave of quiet satisfaction passing through him. It had taken relentless focus, physical toll, and more than a full chunk of life crystal to push past the plateau.

But it was worth it.

His physical and Force stats had each climbed by roughly twenty points in just a few days.

He glanced down at his hand, flexing his fingers.

“If I had to use raw stone… Fuck, how much would that have cost?” He chuckled bitterly. Being an awakener wasn’t for the broke.

Bloodstone Warfare School had transformed.

The campus, once hushed and blanketed in snow, now thrummed with tension. Everywhere you looked, students were sparring, meditating, or dragging weighted sleds through the snow. Combat drills echoed from the courtyards. The air itself felt charged.

Near the main gates, a massive arena had been erected in the martial arts field — a temporary structure, but built with precision and purpose. Banners flapped in the wind, and colorful promotional posters had started showing up across campus, hyping the event.

Axel could feel the momentum building.

Finally, the fifth day arrived.

.....

In the dim morning light of the dorm, Axel slowly pulled himself out of inner vision. System stats flashed through his mind.

Physique: 733 / 735

Force: 730 / 731

Spirit: 729 / 733

Outside, Luke’s voice cut through the hall. “Let’s go! It’s time.”

Axel stood, rolled his neck once, then followed the others out.

Luke gathered the team outside, scanning their faces with a calm authority. “Technically, I’m the captain,” he said. “But all of you are the real fighting force today.”

He looked pointedly at Quade. “What’s your take on the competition?”

Quade cracked his knuckles and grinned. “Captain Luke, don’t worry. You’ll see what I’ve got.”

He hadn’t left the dorm much these past few days. Complained about everything — the cold, the bland food, the spartan living conditions.

But today, he looked ready to explode onto the field.

Luke turned to the others. “Even if Quade takes point, Zara, Colt — stay sharp. You may be called on.”

He gave a faint smile. “Let’s move.”

As the group made their way toward the arena, Axel gave Quade a sidelong glance. Over the past few days, he’d gotten a good feel for Quade’s Force signature. It was strong, definitely above average — but not untouchably so. Just a bit higher than his own.

The martial arts arena was already packed by the time they arrived.

Row upon row of tightly arranged stools filled the field. The crowd was massive — a sea of students buzzing with anticipation but seated in perfect formation. Thousands of them. At least half the school, if not more.

Juno stared at the crowd, momentarily dazed. “Holy shit… is everyone here?”

Their team was ushered to the front row, guided by Varric. Across from them sat a group of War Academy students — easily recognizable by their uniforms. At the center was Brandon, the same senior from earlier, calm and composed.

A moment later, Varric stepped onto the raised platform at the center of the arena.

He didn’t have a microphone, but when he spoke, his voice carried effortlessly across the space.

“Students,” he began. “Today marks the start of our combat exchange with the Whisper Syndicate.”

As if someone had flipped a switch, the crowd snapped to attention. Backs straightened, hands folded across laps, eyes forward. A heavy silence fell over the arena.

Luke let out a quiet breath beside Axel. “Now that’s discipline.”

Varric continued. “I won’t waste time repeating what the Syndicate is. If you know, you know. If you don’t — you’ll learn. Today’s about testing yourselves. And if any of you have ambitions beyond this school... well, consider this your first step.”

Then he looked to Luke. “Captain, care to say a few words?”

Luke waved him off. “Not me. Let Quade speak.”

All eyes turned as Quade rose from his seat, a half-smirk already on his face.

He walked confidently onto the platform and let his gaze sweep across the thousands of students watching him.

“My name is Quade. Official member. Twenty years old.” His voice was flat, emotionless. “And to be honest, I’ve been pretty fucking disappointed these past five days.”

The audience murmured.

Quade didn’t flinch. He sneered slightly. “If this is the best you’ve got, then — every single one of you is garbage.”

The crowd stirred, more agitated now. A few students straightened in their seats. Down front, Luke’s eyelids twitched. Beside him, Varric’s previously friendly expression turned to ice.

But Quade just stood there, head tilted, as if daring them to rise.

Come on. Get mad. The angrier you are, the better it’ll feel when I bury you in the dirt.

But the reaction he was hoping for didn’t come.

Sure, they were pissed — he could see it in their eyes — but none of them shouted back. No one jumped up to challenge him. The silence wasn’t submission. It was cold, calculated, and vaguely hostile.

“This isn’t what I expected,” Juno murmured from the front row.

Colt frowned. “Why aren’t they reacting?”

He and Juno glanced toward Axel and Zara. Neither of them looked impressed.

“He shouldn’t have said that,” Zara muttered. “It’s going to backfire.”

"Are the students of Bloodstone Warfare School the kind of people who are arrogant and complacent?" Axel just asked and stopped talking. His gaze was fixed on the arena, eyes narrowed.

A figure in a military green coat stepped onto the stage.

He didn’t say a word at first, just stood there facing Quade with a calm, unreadable expression. Then he slipped off the coat, revealing a fitted t-shirt stretched over a solid, well-toned frame.

“Jacob. Let me have a crack at you,” he said, voice low and steady.

Quade barely looked at him. “If you’re not the strongest they’ve got, you should walk back down. I don’t want to hurt you by accident.”

Jacob didn’t even blink. “Let’s find out.”

The referee signaled the start.

Quade moved first. He launched forward like a whip uncoiling, feet gliding across the ground like a serpent in motion. Force surged around him — invisible to the eye, but heavy as a storm front.

Boom!

A shockwave detonated from his fist like a compressed cannon blast, erupting between him and Jacob.

The snow exploded in all directions. Front-row spectators recoiled as the wind punched into their faces, tossing their hair like a gale.

Jacob’s eyes widened — too late. He tried to brace himself but couldn’t dodge in time.

Crack!

The air punch hit him square in the chest. His shirt shredded, a burst of broken capillaries bloomed across his skin like crushed berries, and he was thrown backward in a brutal arc.

“Jacob!”

“Senior Jacob!” students cried from the stands.

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