The Academy's Sector 7 Testing Grounds looked more like a fortified military compound than a school yard. High concrete walls reinforced with steel mesh surrounded a barren, dirt arena where second-year students lined up for their bi-weekly power evaluations.
Caine adjusted the collar of his dark academy uniform jacket, keeping his hands loosely at his sides.
"Look who decided to show up," a sharp voice sneered from the row behind him.
Caine didn't need to turn around to recognize Marcus—a Level 28 Low Intermediate whose CrystalHeart materialized as a bulky, bronze-plated broadsword. Marcus was notorious for flexing his rank on anyone stuck in the Beginner tier.
"Thought you would've dropped out to work the fusion reactors by now, Caine," Marcus continued, stepping up beside him, his heavy sword slung casually over his shoulder. "A CHPower of 10 after two years? You're holding up the class average."
"I'm just here for the assessment, Marcus," Caine said calmly, his eyes fixed on the proctor at the center of the field.
"Next!" the instructor yelled, stepping back from the central measuring pillar—a sleek, black monolith lined with digital sensors.
Marcus smirked and stepped past Caine toward the pillar. He drew his bronze broadsword, channeling his energy until the blade hummed with a harsh, flickering orange light. With a loud grunt, he struck the pillar's impact pad.
BEEP-BEEP.
A digital display above the pillar flashed: CHPower Output: 29.5 (Low Intermediate).
The surrounding students clapped, and Marcus grinned, turning to glare at Caine with an arrogant tilt of his head. "Beat that, Level 10."
"Caine! Step forward," the instructor called out, checking a digital tablet.
Caine walked toward the monolith. He felt the cold breeze sweep across the arena, rustling his dark uniform. He didn't summon a weapon. He didn't let a crystalline blade erupt from his hand.
Remembering Silas's words—compress it, turn your body into the weapon—Caine took a deep breath. He drew the roaring energy from deep within his chest, pulling it into his right fist, trapping it beneath his skin without letting a single spark escape.
He threw a straight, simple punch directly into the center of the impact pad.
There was no flashy light. No crystalline sword. Just a sound like a thunderclap—BOOM!
The heavy steel monolith didn't just register the hit; it shuddered on its foundation, microscopic hairline fractures spider-webbing across the impact plate.
The digital display flickered wildly, the internal sensors unable to process the dense, internal shockwave, before locking up entirely.
The field went dead silent. Marcus's smirk completely disappeared.