Itekan nodded.
The moment Headmaster Kime gave the signal to begin, something ignited within him—something fierce and unfamiliar. It wasn't excitement. It wasn't fear. It was a deep, burning need that rose from his chest and tightened around his heart.
A need to prove himself.
Not to the Academy.
Not to the tournament.
Not even to Kime.
To himself.
For the first time since stepping into this world of gods, monsters, and impossible ceilings, Itekan wanted to stand on his own authority.
His hands moved.
The seals flowed naturally now, no hesitation, no second-guessing. His understanding had crystallized. His intent was sharp. When his personalized Power rune manifested, it did not flicker or waver.
It answered him.
Adaptive Power.
変力
The sensation was overwhelming.
It wasn't strength flooding his body—it was clarity. The world sharpened. Motion slowed. Possibility widened. His perception stretched outward, not as an observer, but as a participant woven into the fabric of reality itself.
The ground beneath his feet shattered as he launched forward, a spiderweb of fractures racing outward from the point of impact. He crossed the open plain in an instant, air screaming as he tore through it, headed straight for Headmaster Kime.
Kime stood calmly, hands clasped behind his back, expression unreadable.
Mid-flight, Itekan vanished.
He reappeared beside Kime, already striking.
His fist tore through the space where Kime's head had been a heartbeat earlier. A second punch followed, then a third—each blow precise, lethal, calculated to overwhelm reaction time.
Kime did not retreat.
He merely tilted his head.
Itekan's fourth strike was a kick, aimed low, meant to break balance. Kime caught it effortlessly, fingers closing around Itekan's ankle like a vice.
With a casual twist of his wrist, he hurled Itekan away.
Itekan slammed into the ground, carving a shallow trench through stone before coming to a stop. He rolled once, twice, then forced himself upright, breath steady despite the impact.
No hesitation.
He surged forward again.
A minimum Chajama formed in his palm as he moved, condensed fire spiraling tightly under his control. He vanished mid-step and reappeared point-blank, thrusting the technique forward with everything he had.
The blast detonated against Kime's open palms.
The shockwave rippled outward, flattening the surrounding terrain.
Itekan was launched skyward.
As gravity released its grip on him, time stretched. His mind raced, thoughts aligning with terrifying clarity.
Frontal attacks don't work.
He'd tried speed.
He'd tried force.
He'd tried surprise.
Kime reacted to all of it.
Even the minimum Chajama—something that had never once failed him—had been stopped effortlessly.
Kime is faster than me.
Faster not just in body, but in perception.
As he descended and landed lightly on his feet, Itekan made a decision.
Instead of charging again—
He leapt backward.
Distance.
Space.
Observation.
Adaptive Power did not mean reckless escalation.
It meant becoming what the moment demanded.
And right now, the moment demanded patience.
---
Itoyea Pilton Tou and Tendo Kech stood facing each other beneath a darkened sky, the wind whispering between them.
Neither moved.
Itoyea narrowed his eyes, trying to recall anything—anything—useful about Tendo Kech. The boy was forgettable by design. Always half-asleep. Always silent. Always overlooked.
Which made him dangerous.
No one survived the Academy's first term by accident. Anyone chosen for the Tatum–Deru Tournament over guys like Avery or Gerald was not weak.
Itoyea shifted his stance, tail flicking once behind him.
Tendo watched him with bored eyes.
He sighed internally.
The hesitation was dull. He didn't mind caution—but he hoped this wouldn't turn into a waiting contest. He wanted to feel the weight of effort. To sweat.
Without warning, Tendo moved.
His hands flowed through the seals with unhurried precision. His personalized Power rune manifested quietly, without fanfare.
Slow-Creeping Power.
幻力
Illusory Power.
Tendo had been born in a temple devoted to Iron, god of light and life.
He had been the youngest.
The weakest.
The most expendable.
Sickness plagued him as a child. His body had never been strong enough to keep up. In the temple, meals were served by rank—high priests first, then lesser priests, then temple boys in order of age.
Tendo often ate last.
Often not at all.
Power, to him, had never been tangible. It was something others spoke about. Something promised. Something always just out of reach.
The harder he tried to grasp it, the further it slipped away.
Power was an illusion.
幻力
The air warped subtly, reality blurring at the edges.
Itoyea inhaled slowly.
He had made his choice.
His hands moved sharply through the seals, the atmosphere responding violently, as if resisting his will. When his personalized rune manifested, it did so with crushing pressure.
Advancing Power.
進力
The ground cracked beneath his feet as he surged forward.
The two collided like converging storms.
Their impact sent tremors rippling deep into the earth, shockwaves tearing through the air as illusion met relentless advance.
---
Cheim Nell snarled.
Binturu leapt backward just as a mechanical drone detonated where he'd been standing, the explosion scattering metal fragments and flame across the ground.
He clicked his tongue in irritation.
Annoying.
Where did she even pull these things from?
It offended him—fighting a girl.
Why hadn't Kime paired him with someone worth his time? Korimer. Itekan. Itoyea. Even that blond twin-blade user.
Facing her bruised his pride as a Binturu warrior.
So much so that he hadn't even activated his personalized rune.
Cheim saw it instantly.
The dismissal.
The contempt.
The arrogance.
It made her blood boil.
Her personalized Power rune—Creative Power—had been with her longer than she realized.
She had been raised by her grandmother, a shaman, after her parents died at sea. As a child, she spent hours drawing the spirits her grandmother summoned during divination rituals.
When she was six, her drawings had moved.
Lived.
Only briefly—but undeniably.
When Kime first spoke of runes, she hadn't understood.
But that night, alone in her dorm, the truth surfaced.
Her grandmother had taught her runes.
She had been wielding authority since childhood without knowing its name.
Now, with years of instinct sharpened by understanding, she knew exactly what Power meant to her.
Power wasn't an explosion.
It wasn't domination.
And it sure as hell wasn't some feminist bullcrap spun from the insecurities of weaker wills.
Power was preservation.
Creation.
Leaving something behind that demanded attention.
Demanded reverence.
Power was creating the future.
創力
Her rune flared like first light at dawn and settled upon her forehead.
She slammed her palms into the ground.
The earth screamed.
Behind her, something colossal clawed its way into existence, stone and flame shaping into form.
At first glance, Binturu thought it was a dragon.
Then he saw the wings.
Fire-limbs fused in a bat-like structure.
A Wyvern.
His mouth fell open.
The Wyvern roared, a shrill, piercing sound that sent debris and dust hurtling toward him. Then it vibrated—low, subsonic.
Binturu's blood ran cold.
From its maw poured a thick, deep green flame—wet, viscous, incompletely ignited.
He reacted instantly.
His golden orbs—Archem Knight treasures—reshaped into goblets around his arms as he shielded himself.
It didn't matter.
The heat was unbearable.
The goblets glowed white-hot, searing him from both sides. His clothes turned to ash. His mask disintegrated under the inferno.
The Wyvern paused, inhaling.
Binturu knew he would die if he took another hit.
Cursing, he wove through the seals.
He had underestimated her.
And now he paid for it.
His people had been enslaved by Iron millennia ago—reduced to shadows of what they once were. He had seen true power. Power that didn't ask permission. Power that bent worlds.
Power wasn't adaptation.
It wasn't persistence.
It wasn't creation alone.
Power was all-encompassing.
全力
Thunder cracked.
Lightning screamed.
His burns vanished as flesh regenerated instantly. The last fragments of his mask fell away, revealing his true form beneath.
High above them all, the original body of Headmaster Kime watched in silence.
Sequence One had begun.
And none of them would leave unchanged.
.
.
.
Spiritual Energy (SE)
Spiritual Sea (SS)
Spiritual Signature (SST)