The two days before the tournament passed in a blur of stillness. Adlet spent most of his time away from the noise of the academy's crowded courtyards, retreating to quieter areas to rest and gather his focus. The capital had grown restless — thousands of students, instructors, and citizens filled the academy grounds, all eager for the first great tournament of the season.
Adlet felt oddly calm. Each breath, every flicker of Aura within him, was a reminder of how far he had come. The nights before the battle, he lay beneath the faint glow of the stars, letting the stillness of the night settle his thoughts.
His mind replayed the strategies, the movements, the sequences he had drilled relentlessly. Each thought, each sensation of his Aura, was a reminder of the progress he had made since he first stepped onto this path.
And then, the day arrived.
The arena gleamed beneath the midday light, its smooth white stone slabs shining like glass. The stands, now filled to capacity, roared with the thunderous wave of anticipation. The first duel of the tournament was about to begin.
Adlet stood at the edge of the massive square, the cool wind brushing his face as the announcer's voice echoed through the air.
His name was called.
And then, Daven Dryad.
For a brief moment, Adlet froze. The name echoed across the arena, a slow shock sinking in. Of all the possible opponents — dozens, maybe hundreds — fate had chosen him.
What are the odds…?
A cold shiver ran down his spine, quickly replaced by a spark of anger. Daven — his former teammate, the one he despised most — was now his first obstacle. It almost felt like fate had orchestrated this moment.
The crowd fell into a hushed silence, sensing the tension even before the fight began. When the noise returned, it was sharper, charged with an electric anticipation.
Adlet's pulse quickened, but he forced himself to breathe steadily as he stepped forward into the harsh light of the arena.
On the opposite side, Daven was already moving, a smug smile playing on his lips, his short brown hair gleaming in the light. His grey Aura shimmered faintly around him — powerful, controlled, predatory.
Their eyes locked across the expanse of white stone. The crowd's chant faded to nothingness, and for a moment, all that remained was the weight of their shared history.
—A few hours earlier—
Daven strode into the chamber where the match pairings were being drawn. The man responsible for the selection — a Protector aligned with Daven's family — looked tense as the young noble casually leaned on the desk.
Daven scanned the list of participants, brow furrowed. His lips twitched with curiosity — and then, suddenly, his eyes widened.
Adlet.
A low, dark laugh escaped him, filled with amusement. So, the little peasant is participating… He thought, a smug grin curling at his lips. Perfect. I can show him his place and still have an easy match.
"Such an important tournament," Daven said aloud, his voice smooth, betraying none of the thrill he felt. "It would be… unfortunate if the opening match lacked a certain spectacle."
The man hesitated, eyeing him nervously. "You mean—"
Daven cut him off with a dismissive wave, eyes still fixed on the list. "I want him."
The man swallowed nervously, glancing at the roster.
"Surely you understand," Daven continued, his tone soft but commanding. "A duel between us would make quite an impression. Besides, someone of my rank shouldn't have to wait long, don't you think?"
The man nodded quickly, marking the pairing. Daven's grin widened, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes as he pictured the upcoming duel.
Now, standing across from Adlet on the pristine ground, Daven's expression was the same — confident, certain.
"Didn't think I'd get the honor of crushing you in front of everyone," he said, cracking his knuckles.
Adlet didn't respond. He simply lifted his guard, his Aura rippling faintly around him.
The signal sounded.
Daven charged first. Their Auras collided with a sharp pulse, a rush of pressure that sent stone dust scattering beneath their feet. They exchanged rapid blows — palms, elbows, kicks — each strike deflected or absorbed by bursts of shimmering energy.
Adlet moved fluidly, his motions sharp and precise, but Daven's strength was overwhelming. Every strike from Daven felt like being hit with a hammer.
Daven opened his palms, attempting to grab Adlet's forearms.
Adlet caught his hands instead, locking their grips together.
For a heartbeat, neither moved. Then, with a grunt, they both pushed with everything they had.
The sound of grinding stone echoed as Adlet forced Daven backward. The crowd roared. Adlet's feet tore shallow furrows into the stone as he pushed harder, driving his opponent several meters back.
But then, the movement stopped.
Adlet blinked. Daven had anchored himself to the ground with his Aura, resisting every attempt to be moved.
A grin tugged at Daven's lips.
"You're strong, peasant," he said, voice strained but mocking. "But not enough."
Pain shot through Adlet's hands as Daven's grip tightened. An immense pressure — like an iron vice closing around his bones. His Aura strained to protect him, but cracks of agony shot up his arms.
Daven leaned in closer, his voice low but clear.
"My Guardian is a Bone-Crusher Ape. Rank 3. Its grip strength is unmatched. You can't win this way."
Adlet gritted his teeth, every muscle screaming. Desperation flared, and then instinct took over.
He kicked.
Once. Twice. Again. His foot slammed into Daven's side, ribs, knee — anything he could reach. But Daven barely flinched, his Aura flaring with each impact.
In a burst of effort, Adlet shifted his weight, bracing both feet against Daven's chest, and pushed with all his might.
The pressure shattered their grip. Adlet tumbled back, hands burning with pain, breath ragged. His palms trembled, skin split where Daven's grip had nearly crushed through.
Adlet thought briefly of using the Bind Lizard's Aura to heal, but Lathandre's warning echoed in his mind. Revealing that he possessed more than one Guardian would be reckless — disastrous, even.
He had to endure.
Adlet's mind raced. A direct clash was suicide. He had to take advantage of Daven's overconfidence. He steadied his breathing, adjusted his stance, and began to retreat — step by step — moving toward the edge of the arena.
The crowd murmured. Daven laughed.
"Running already? I expected as much!"
As soon as Adlet was close enough, Daven charged again, his arrogance swelling with every step.
That was exactly what Adlet needed.
When Daven lunged, Adlet pivoted sharply, wrapping his arms around Daven's waist and driving forward with all his momentum. The edge of the arena loomed closer.
For a brief moment, panic flashed in Daven's eyes. He remembered the earlier attempt to push him out — and this time, he refused to fall for it. His Aura surged downward, anchoring him once again into the stone beneath his feet.
But that was the trap.
Adlet's lips curled faintly.
He had timed it perfectly. His own feet stood on a different slab of white stone.
With a roar, Adlet poured every ounce of strength into his Aura, focusing it through his legs and arms. The ground cracked beneath them as he heaved upward, lifting Daven along with the slab he was anchored to.
The audience gasped as the massive block tore free from the floor, Daven clinging to it midair.
"Impossible—!"
Before Daven could counter, Adlet swung the slab sideways, hurling both stone and opponent several meters into the air, straight toward the arena's boundary.
Daven reacted instinctively, slamming his foot against the airborne slab to propel himself away — narrowly avoiding crossing the line.
But Adlet was already moving.
He gathered his Aura into his legs, the ground exploding beneath him as he launched himself upward.
In that suspended moment, both fighters met in midair.
Adlet clenched his fist, his entire Aura surging into his right arm — the same one still torn and aching from before.
He drove it forward.
The impact cracked like thunder.
Daven's breath left him in a violent exhale as he was hurled backward, crashing into the stone wall at the base of the stands. The sound echoed through the arena — a heavy, final note of defeat.
For a moment, silence reigned.
Then came the roar.
The announcer's voice rose above the cheers:
"Daven Dryad — eliminated! Victory to Adlet!"
Adlet stood still, chest heaving, his Aura slowly fading around him. Across the arena, Daven's body slammed against the wall, crimson blood trickling from his mouth. His eyes burned a furious red, wide with disbelief. Struggling to speak, he spat through gritted teeth, voice shaking with rage, "This… this can't be real… not… not against… a damn… peasant…" before collapsing, unconscious.
Adlet watched in silence, the adrenaline fading into a steady warmth in his chest.
He had done it.
Not just won — but proven something to himself.
As he turned toward the center of the arena, the crowd's cheers washed over him like a tide. The tension in his shoulders melted away, replaced by quiet pride.
The wind caught his hair as he walked off the arena floor, the scent of dust and stone lingering in the air.
For the first time in a long while, Adlet allowed himself a faint smile.
The road ahead would only grow harder — but for now, he had earned this moment.