By the close of the first brutal stage of the Placement Tournament, Daemon's team—despite the initial political friction—had amassed a staggering six hundred points, securing a commanding fourth place on the leaderboard. The points were primarily attributed to Daemon's cold, lethal efficiency during the Wendigo engagement and his continuous, strategic clearing of the lower-level Demonic Spawns afterward. The team's success was undeniable, but the underlying tension remained thick.
A three-day buffer was set before the next stage, a crucial time Daemon intended to use for research and private training. However, his immediate priority was cementing a tactical alliance based on shared necessity. He sought out Julian, the commoner who used the magically taxing metal transformation ability, finding him in a quiet corner of the student mess hall, visibly exhausted and consuming a massive, expensive meal to replenish the energy burned during the Wendigo fight.
Daemon approached Julian, not with his meek persona, but with the quiet, authoritative confidence he had displayed in the forest. He pulled the thick, black Lightning Gloves from his belt—the Static Discharger he had forged and enchanted.
"Julian," Daemon said, his voice low and devoid of unnecessary emotion. "I noticed your core strain during the fight. Your metal transformation is powerful, but it's unsustainable. You burn too much Aether to maintain the conversion, leaving you brittle and exposed after a short time."
Julian looked at him, his brow furrowed with confusion and surprise. "It's the nature of the affinity, Daemon. It's why metal mages are only used for brief assaults or defense."
Daemon placed the gloves on the table between them. "That is the accepted norm, but the norm is the ceiling of limited thinking. These gloves are enchanted. I want you to take them. They are Lightning Gloves—a new matrix. Channeling magic into these gloves is far easier and more efficient than maintaining a metallic body. The lightning field acts as an external force multiplier, adding immense kinetic shock to your punches. This will help you conserve the magic you would otherwise burn on full-body metal sheathing."
Julian was skeptical, staring at the gloves as if they were a trap. He was a commoner; gifts from peers, especially ones who had just terrified a noble into submission, were suspicious. He finally voiced the obvious question: "Why? Why give me something this valuable?"
Daemon's reply was perfectly calibrated for both sincerity and strategic necessity. He adopted a tone of philosophical conviction, tapping into the resentment inherent in the commoner class. "I want to see people like us—people who are at a disadvantage because of their common birth—shake off the norm of subservience and rise above all holds. We are constantly exploited and underestimated by people like Lancaster. Your talent is being wasted because you lack the money and resources to solve its fundamental flaw. I solved it. Use this to prove that skill, not blood, defines power." This message resonated deeply, appealing to Julian's core struggles. Daemon then provided a general idea of the operation: "The gloves work through quick, targeted channeling. Use your metal transformation only for critical defense, and use the gloves for offense. The glove's matrix will handle the conversion. Practice the flow." Julian, grasping the implications of prolonged combat capability, picked up the gloves, a flicker of genuine hope overriding his caution.
Meanwhile, Corleys, the Wind mage, had made a decision born of tactical fear and self-preservation. Unnerved by the violence and the sheer magnitude of Daemon's concealed power, he sought out the highest authority. He was now in the austere, runic-imbued office of Arch-Mage Thiel, the Dean in charge of the first years, delivering a nervous, fragmented report on the day's events.
Corleys spoke of the confrontation with Sheila, the unnatural speed, and Daemon's terrifying lack of fear. He emphasized that Daemon was pretending to be weak during all the sparring sessions. But the most confusing element of his report was the final, lethal move against the Wendigo.
"He used his hand, Dean Thiel," Corleys stammered, his eyes wide. "Right before the kill. A blast of steam. Not water, not fire, but this thick, pressurized cloud. It was quick, it was silent, and it instantly blinded and disabled the creature. I don't know what it was. I have never seen a fusion of water and fire that resulted in that kind of focused, sudden steam magic."
Arch-Mage Thiel, a man whose entire worldview was based on the fixed, documented rules of magical affinities, listened to Corleys' blabbering and vague description of the ability with controlled, cold skepticism. He allowed the student to finish, then leaned back in his leather chair, the runes carved into his office desk glowing faintly.
"Corleys," Thiel stated, his voice flat, his analysis immediate. "You are clearly suffering from the psychological effects of high-stress combat. The boy, Daemon, is a Tria-Affinity mage. He has Fire, Water, and Healing. Nothing else. What you saw was likely the rapid vaporization of residual water magic after a close-range fire strike—a simple, uncontrolled atmospheric effect. It is not a separate affinity, nor is it 'steam magic.' Such fusion is theoretically possible but requires immense, deliberate channeling, which the boy is incapable of, according to Master Harkan's reports."
Thiel paused, his gaze hardening. "As for his supposed 'pretending to be weak,' the boy has proven himself highly efficient when the stakes are lethal, yes. He is motivated by greed and survival, not fear. He is a capable strategist, but he is fundamentally limited by his core size and the very nature of his Tria abilities. He is an excellent scholar and an astute forger, but he is not a combat anomaly." The Dean dismissed Corleys's testimony not because he doubted the student's sincerity, but because the claim of a hidden, fused fourth affinity defied established magical doctrine—and the Academy's own, carefully curated assessment of the commoner. Thiel waved a dismissive hand. "Focus on your own training, Corleys. The most important lesson you learned today is that common birth breeds desperate aggression. Daemon is utilizing common sense and his unique forging talent. He is not hiding a secret power. Now, go." The Dean's rejection was absolute. Corleys left the office, realizing his attempt to expose the threat had not only failed but had confirmed the Academy's flawed, limiting assessment of Daemon. The "Steam Magic" remained Daemon's silent, potent secret.