The attendant stared at him. "You want to fight again? Immediately?"
"Yes."
"Who?"
Nova scanned the list.
Rank 76: Charles Webb — Class B — 2nd Order, 5th Rank
Rank 75: Elena Vance — Class B — 2nd Order, 5th Rank
Rank 74: Marcus Thorne — Class B — 2nd Order, 5th Rank
...
Rank 68: William Cross — Class B — 2nd Order, 6th Rank
Rank 67: Victoria Hale — Class B — 2nd Order, 6th Rank
Rank 66: Alexander Reed — Class A — 2nd Order, 6th Rank
"Alexander Reed. Rank 66."
The attendant's eyebrows rose. "That's another eleven-rank jump."
Nova smiled—that thin, cold expression.
"I'm aware."
Platform 4
The crowd had grown.
Word spread fast in the academy—a Class C student had defeated a Class A opponent in seconds. Now he was back for more.
Alexander Reed was different from Julian. Calmer. More focused. His cultivation was solid at 2nd Order, 6th Rank, and his stance suggested formal training.
"You're the one who beat Julian," he said.
"Yes."
"Impressive. He's arrogant—it made him sloppy." Alexander drew his weapon—a standard academy blade, well-maintained. "I won't make the same mistake."
Nova drew his twin blades.
"Good."
They circled.
Alexander attacked first—a precise thrust aimed at Nova's chest. Nova deflected with one blade, countered with the other. Alexander blocked, spun, attacked again.
CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.
Steel met steel in rapid succession. The crowd leaned forward, captivated.
Alexander was good. Trained. Experienced. His blade work was solid, his footwork precise, his timing excellent.
But Nova was faster.
45% bloodline activation. Years of combat memory flooding back. Two lifetimes of experience compressed into one body.
He saw every attack coming before it arrived.
There.
A gap in Alexander's guard—tiny, momentary, but there. Nova's blade slipped through.
SCHING.
Alexander's weapon clattered to the platform. Nova's second blade rested against his throat.
Silence.
Then—CHAOS.
The crowd roared. Alexander stared at Nova with wide eyes, disbelief written across his features.
"How?"
Nova sheathed his blades.
"I have experience you don't have. But you are good for an academy student that is."
He walked off the platform without looking back.
Ranking Update
Rank Name Class Cultivation Points
66 Nova Almond C 2nd Order, 7th Rank 3,847
67 Alexander Reed A 2nd Order, 6th Rank 3,203
Nova studied the board.
Sixty-sixth.
He turned to the attendant. "Next."
The attendant shook his head. "You've fought twice in two hours. Regulations require at least one hour between matches after consecutive wins."
"Then I'll wait."
He found a bench near the arena entrance and sat, closing his eyes.
Around him, whispers spread like fire.
"That's him. The Class C freak."
"Two Class A students in one afternoon. Both destroyed."
"His eyes—did you see his eyes? One gold, one purple—. Maybe he is from one of the big families."
"What family is he from?"
"Almond? Never heard of it."
Nova ignored them.
In his mind, he was already planning the next match. And the next. And the next.
By nightfall, he would be in top 50.
By week's end, top 20.
By month's end—
Top 10, he thought. Where I belong.
Arena — 5:30 PM
The attendant approached. "Your hour is up. Ready for your next match?"
Nova opened his eyes.
"Who's available?"
The attendant consulted his crystal. "Rank 65 is currently fighting. Rank 64 just finished—Charles Vance, Class B, 2nd Order, 6th Rank. He's willing to fight."
"Accept."
The attendant nodded. "Platform 3. Fifteen minutes."
Nova stood, stretching.
The crowd had grown larger—word had spread. Students filled the stands, eager to see if the Class C phenomenon could continue.
He walked toward Platform 3.
Behind him, in the shadows near the entrance, a figure watched.
Silver hair. Sharp features. Eyes that held secrets.
Sebastian smiled.
"Interesting," he murmured. "Very interesting."
He turned and disappeared into the crowd.
Platform 3
Nova stepped onto the platform.
Across from him, Charles Vance waited—a tall boy with wind affinity and obvious confidence. His cultivation flickered at 2nd Order, 6th Rank.
"Heard you've been busy," Charles called out. "Two Class A students in one afternoon. Impressive."
"It was quite boring. Hope you will interest me enough for a warm-up."
Charles laughed. "Arrogant. I like that." He settled into a stance, wind gathering around his fists. "Let's see if you're as good as they say."
The referee raised his hand.
"BEGIN."
Charles attacked with wind—a focused gale aimed at Nova's chest. Nova sidestepped, but the wind shifted, following him.
Tracking, he realized. Smart.
He teleported.
WHOOSH.
Appearing directly behind Charles, blade extended. Charles spun, wind flaring, deflecting the strike.
"Teleportation," he breathed. "That's rare."
Nova didn't answer. He attacked again—and again—and again. Each strike forced Charles to defend, to retreat, to give ground.
But Charles was good. Better than Julian. Better than Alexander. His wind affinity made him slippery, unpredictable.
CLANG. CLANG. WHOOSH.
Two minutes passed. Three.
The crowd was on their feet, roaring.
Nova smiled.
Enough playing.
He stopped teleporting. Stopped using tricks. He simply moved—45% bloodline speed, enhanced strength, combat memory flooding his muscles.
Charles's eyes widened.
Nova's fist connected with his chest.
WHAM.
Charles flew backward, hit the platform boundary, and kept going—slamming into the protective barrier with a CRACK that echoed through the arena.
He slid to the ground, unconscious.
Silence.
Then—thunder.
The crowd erupted.
Nova stood in the center of the platform, not even breathing hard, and looked at the referee.
"Next."
The referee stared at him.
"Next," Nova repeated.
The referee nodded slowly.
"Winner: Nova Almond."
Ranking Update — 6:15 PM
64 Nova Almond Class C 2nd Order, 7th Rank 4,847points
Nova studied the board.
Sixty-fourth. Three matches, twenty-three ranks gained.
The attendant approached hesitantly. "It's getting late. The arena closes at 8 PM. You have time for one more match if you want it."
"Who's available?"
"Rank 63 is fighting now. Rank 62 is Gabriel Stone—Class B, 2nd Order, 7th Rank. Same cultivation as you. He's willing."
Nova considered.
Many this one will prove to be of some challenge, at least.
"Accept."
The attendant nodded and made the arrangements.
Nova turned toward Platform 2.
Behind him, the whispers followed.
"Four matches in one day? Is he insane?"
"He'll burn out. Has to."
"Or he's just getting started."
Platform 2
Gabriel Stone was massive—easily six and a half feet, built like a boulder, with earth affinity and dead eyes. His cultivation matched Nova's exactly: 2nd Order, 7th Rank.
"You've had three matches today," Gabriel rumbled. "You're tired. This will be quick."
Nova drew his blades.
"Let's find out."
The referee raised his hand.
"BEGIN."
Gabriel charged.
He was fast—surprisingly fast for someone his size. His fist came at Nova like a battering ram, and Nova barely dodged, the wind of its passage rustling his hair.
CRACK. The platform where he'd stood shattered.
Nova teleported behind Gabriel, blades extended. Gabriel's earth affinity formed armor just in time—CLANG—the blades skidded off.
"Nice try," Gabriel growled. "My turn."
He spun, fist extended. Nova dodged—but Gabriel anticipated it, his other fist already swinging.
WHAM.
The blow caught Nova's shoulder, sending him flying. He hit the platform hard, rolled, came up with his arm screaming.
Dislocated, he realized. Maybe broken.
Gabriel advanced slowly, confident.
"Three matches in one day. You were already worn down. You never had a chance."
Nova spat blood.
"You talk too much."
He attacked.
With pure speed enhanced by his bloodline. He crossed the distance in an instant, his good fist connecting with Gabriel's jaw.
CRACK.
Gabriel's head snapped back. He stumbled, surprised.
Nova didn't stop.
Punch. Punch. Punch. Each strike fueled by anger at how Gabriel was able to draw blood from him.
WHAM. WHAM. CRACK.
Gabriel's earth armor flickered. Failed. His body went limp.
He crashed to the platform, unconscious.
Nova stood over him, breathing hard, his left arm hanging useless.
The crowd was dead silent.
Then—explosion.
The roar was deafening.
Nova turned to the referee.
"Next."
The referee shook his head slowly. "There is no next. The arena closes in fifteen minutes. And you—" He gestured at Nova's arm. "Need a healer."
Nova looked at his arm.
Dislocated. Possibly fractured. Definitely painful.
He grabbed it with his good hand and shoved.
POP.
The joint snapped back into place.
The crowd gasped.
Nova tested the arm.
"I'm fine."
He walked off the platform.
Behind him, the whispers reached a fever pitch.
Four matches. Four victories. Twenty-nine ranks gained in a single day.
By morning, the entire academy would know his name.
Ranking Update
58 Nova Almond Class C 2nd Order, 7th Rank 5,847
Nova stood before the leadership board, studying his new position.
*Fifty-eighth. Twelve more to top 50.*
His body screamed with exhaustion. His shoulder throbbed. His knuckles were raw and bleeding.
But he'd never felt more alive.
Tomorrow, he thought. Top 50. Then top 40. Then—
"Nova!"
He turned.
Priscilla ran toward him, her face a mixture of worry and pride and something else. She threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck.
"I heard," she breathed. "Are you alright?"
He held her close, ignoring the pain in his shoulder.
"Just getting started."
She pulled back, searching his face. "Your arm—"
"Fine."
"Your hands—"
"Fine."
"Your—"
"Priscilla." He kissed her, silencing her protests. When they broke apart, she was blushing. "I'm fine. Better than fine. I'm fine. You don't have to worry."
She looked at him—really looked—and saw something in his mismatched eyes that made her breath catch.
She whispered. "You're—"
"Myself." He smiled—warm, genuine, just for her. "For the first time in a long time, I'm myself."
She didn't understand. Not fully. But she didn't need to.
"I love you," she said.
"I know." He kissed her forehead. "I love you too."
They stood together before the leadership board, watching the artificial sky darken toward night.
Tomorrow, the battles would continue.
But tonight was theirs.
Class A Lounge — 9:47 PM
Sebastian watched the recording of Nova's matches on a crystal display.
Four fights. Four victories. Two Class A opponents defeated, one Class B, one more Class B. All in a single afternoon.
"He's good," Gabriel murmured beside him. "Really good."
Sebastian nodded slowly. "His cultivation is 2nd Order, 7th Rank. But his physical strength—that's not normal. That's bloodline enhancement."
"What family?"
"I don't know. Almond isn't familiar." Sebastian paused the recording on Nova's face—those mismatched eyes, that cold smile. "But I'm going to find out."
He turned to Gabriel.
"The team leaves for Ferngrove Swamp in two days. I want everything ready."
Gabriel nodded. "And the Class C students? Hazel and Leo?"
"Bring them. They're useful." Sebastian's eyes narrowed. "For now."
The recording resumed, showing Nova's final punch—the one that had broken through Gabriel Stone's earth armor.
Who are you, Nova Almond? Sebastian wondered. And what else did you find in that cave?
Nova's Room
The Moonlace seedling glowed softly on the windowsill.
Priscilla slept in Nova's bed, exhausted from worry and relief. Nova sat at his desk, his injured arm wrapped in basic bandages, studying Nora's journal.
GODLESS SYSTEM NOTIFICATION
ARENA VICTORIES: 4
RANKS GAINED: 29
CURRENT RANK: 58
BLOODLINE ACTIVATION: 45% → 47%
NOTE: Combat accelerates bloodline development. Continue arena battles for faster growth.
Forty-seven percent, Nova thought. Halfway to full activation.
He looked at Priscilla's sleeping face.
Soon, he promised silently. Soon I'll be strong enough to protect you from anything.
He turned back to the journal.
Outside, the artificial sky shifted through its nightly colors.
And somewhere in the darkness, Hazel and Leo dreamed of treasures they'd never find.