Chapter 70 – Excellence Camp – Duel Hall X

Ashern City - Duel Hall, 22nd of Brightforge, year 315 UC

Brandon leaned forward in his seat, analyzing the match between Sabrina Rigof and Leah Martínez. Sabrina's barrier shimmered as it absorbed the vortex of wind blowing from Leah's direction. The barrier held, but Brandon could see the strain on Sabrina's face—the telltale tightening around her eyes, the slight tremor in her extended hands.

'Decent defensive instinct, but she's burning too much ether maintaining it.'

He noted mentally, adding to his ongoing assessment.

The wind spell—Twister—was nothing special. A common technique in any wind mage's arsenal. Brandon personally knew eleven wind mages capable of using that specific spell, each with their own variations. What interested him more was Sabrina's magma attribute, rare enough to be potentially valuable to the Inquisition.

But her casting time was abysmal.

As the wind spell died down and Sabrina lowered her barrier to counter-attack, Brandon counted a full two seconds before a pillar of magma shot up from the ground. Two entire seconds of vulnerability—an eternity in actual combat. By the time her spell materialized, any competent opponent would have already struck three times.

"Geez, did you see that? That's who we're going to school with!"

"Man, those guys are so cool."

"The power behind that spell is crazy, right?"

Brandon turned slightly, eyebrow raised at the enthusiastic commentary. Three teenagers stood a few rows down, their expressions rapt as they watched the match. None of them could have been older than sixteen—prime age for military academy if they had magical aptitude. Given the timing, they were likely prospective students from neighboring cities, here to watch the matches before the official term began.

'They're impressed by this?'

Brandon thought, turning his attention back to the fighting pit. The standards had clearly fallen since his own academy days. Even as a first-year student, he'd been more proficient than either of these combatants.

In the arena, Sabrina had drawn a sword—a simple blade of common or uncommon grade. The combat suits could withstand anything below rare rank, which conveniently matched the civilian restriction on magitech weapons. Anything rare or above was classified as military grade and heavily regulated.

Sabrina darted around the fighting pit, dodging wind blades as she attempted to close the distance with Leah. Her footwork was decent, but her strategy was transparent—trying to force a melee confrontation where Leah's ranged advantage would be neutralized. It was a textbook approach, lacking any creativity or tactical nuance.

'Pathetic.'

Brandon thought.

'What are they teaching at that academy?'

"What do you think of them?"

He asked in a low voice, not turning his head.

The young woman seated beside him—Kailani Kastrel according to her cover identity—shifted slightly in her seat.

"They're alright."

She replied, her tone neutral.

"How would you compare if you had to fight them?"

Brandon pressed, still watching the match.

Kailani tilted her head, sunglasses perched atop her short black hair.

"In a fair fight, or...?"

Brandon scoffed.

"Since when do we play fair?"

A small smile curved her lips.

"Then it would be pretty easy."

She said, beginning to spin a black dagger around her finger by its ring pommel.

"Especially against the magma girl."

Brandon eyed the weapon. The design was distinctive—a curved blade with a matte black finish that absorbed rather than reflected light.

"Did Vedal give you that dagger?"

Kailani stopped spinning the weapon abruptly, her expression cooling as she turned to look at him.

"If you want to know, ask the woman yourself."

She stood, tucking the dagger into a concealed sheath at the small of her back.

"I'll keep an eye on Blackwood and stay under the radar."

A grin spread across her face.

"We don't want another case of body parts being delivered to you in the middle of the night, do we?"

Brandon gritted his teeth, the memory of the nurse's remains still fresh in his mind.

"No, we don't."

"Good."

Kailani said, adjusting her jacket.

"Because if I end up dead, my mother will kill you."

With that, she walked away, disappearing into the crowd moving down the stairs.

Brandon watched her go, his expression carefully neutral despite his unease. Kailani Kastrel—not her real name, of course, just the cover identity assigned by the organization. Her file had listed her as an excellent operative, but reading reports was different from meeting her in person. The cold calculation in her eyes belied her fifteen years.

This was technically her first official mission, but Brandon had no doubt that her mother—High Inquisitor Vedal—had been taking her on unofficial operations long before her formal induction into the Inquisition. Some of the organization's most effective agents were those who had never known any other life.

With Kailani attending the academy, Brandon would once again have eyes and ears inside the walls. Phase one, complete.

The match between Leah and Sabrina concluded with Leah's victory, though Brandon had paid little attention to its final moments. The announcer's voice boomed through the hall, calling for Farrah Heartland and Marcus Blackwood to enter the fighting pit.

'Blackwood?'

The name caught Brandon's attention. He didn't recognize Marcus specifically, but the Blackwood family held significant influence in the Roan Kingdom's economic sphere. First Isabella Thornheart, now a Blackwood—the roster of noble families attending the academy was becoming increasingly noteworthy.

It wasn't unusual for a few prominent families to send children to prestigious military academies, but for so many top-tier noble houses to converge on a single institution—particularly a brand new one like the Reinhart Institute—was curious at the very least. Brandon made a mental note to investigate this pattern further.

His attention was drawn to a conversation from the stairway nearby. Isabella Thornheart herself was ascending toward the VIP section, accompanied by an older man Brandon recognized as Leon Thornheart, her father and head of the family.

"—imagine the possibilities for our lineage."

Isabella was saying, her voice animated with enthusiasm.

"Blood magic, Father. Actual blood magic."

Leon looked distinctly unimpressed, his expression one of polite disinterest.

"Magical aptitude alone doesn't determine suitability, Isabella. There are other considerations for—"

His voice faded momentarily as a cheer erupted from the crowd below.

"—thought you insisted you would not marry."

Brandon caught as the noise subsided.

"Tonight at the banquet, I'll have Bryan seated next to us."

Isabella replied, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Leon sighed, adjusting the cuff of his immaculate jacket.

"I have important matters to attend to. I don't have time to entertain some boy you've developed a fascination with."

"Just wait and see."

Isabella said confidently.

"After you watch Bryan fight, you'll be begging me to invite him to the banquet and introduce him properly."

They passed Brandon without a glance, continuing up to the VIP section where guards verified their credentials before allowing them entry.

Brandon processed this new information. A banquet involving noble families, with no prior intelligence about it in any of the reports he'd received. Isabella Thornheart's unusual interest in Bryan, specifically centered on his blood magic. The convergence of prominent families at a brand-new academy.

'Is Bryan even focused on his mission?'

Brandon wondered briefly, before dismissing the thought. Bryan's interpersonal skills were practically non-existent—the likelihood of him deliberately cultivating connections with nobles was minimal. Whatever was happening, it wasn't part of Bryan's strategy.

The banquet, however, presented an opportunity. If Bryan attended, he could gather intelligence on the noble families' interests and potential connections to the Inquisition's concerns. Brandon needed to ensure the boy's presence, which meant finding a way to communicate without raising suspicion.

As Marcus Blackwood and Farrah Heartland took their positions in the fighting pit, Brandon began planning his approach. The pieces were moving on the board, and he needed to maintain his position while the game played out.

***

Ashern City - Duel Hall, 22nd of Brightforge, year 315 UC

Bryan entered the competitors' area in the duel hall, his boots echoing against the polished stone floor. The air carried the faint scent of disinfectant mixed with sweat—a reminder of the countless matches that had taken place here before. Voices echoed from the adjacent corridors, competitors and staff moving with purpose through the preparation spaces.

He spotted Farrah coming out of the women's locker room, her dark curls damp at the edges. She still wore the combat suit that clung tightly to her body, the black material accentuating her athletic frame. Small blue lights pulsed along the seams, monitoring her vitals and tracking match data.

Without the school uniform on, he was able to see her curves in full, the suit leaving little to imagination. The material hugged her waist before flaring slightly at her hips. Bryan's eyes didn't wander for long, quickly returning to her face as she noticed his presence.

Farrah's eyes widened momentarily before her lips curved into a warm smile. She adjusted one of the suit's wrist clasps as she approached him, her long ears twitching slightly—a habit Bryan had noticed occurred whenever she was pleasantly surprised.

"You did alright."

Bryan said, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall beside a rack of training weapons.

Farrah ran her fingers through her damp curls, pushing them back from her face with a sigh. The motion left small droplets of water on her shoulders.

"I could have done better. I should have waited a bit more before jumping into close range."

She traced the edge of a small tear in her combat suit's sleeve, evidence of Marcus's counterattack.

"It wasn't a bad approach if you were just a bit quicker, but the shield Marcus used had its own spell in it, so you couldn't do much against that."

Bryan replied, his gaze drifting to the monitor mounted on the nearby wall displaying match statistics and upcoming pairings.

Farrah sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping as she leaned back against the opposite wall. The distance between them—perhaps ten feet of corridor space—felt appropriate, professional.

"But I was so close."

Her voice carried a note of genuine frustration as she tapped her foot against the stone floor.

"Always next time."

Bryan offered with a slight shrug.

Farrah crossed her arms, mirroring his stance unconsciously.

"I know, but I beat him in all those other duels. I should have won here too."

Her competitive nature was showing through, something Bryan had come to expect from her. The combat suit's monitoring lights pulsed slightly faster as her frustration manifested.

"People adapt, learn, and grow. Did you think Marcus was just sitting on his ass not doing anything?"

Bryan asked, raising an eyebrow. He pushed himself away from the wall, standing straighter as a group of staff members walked past them carrying equipment.

Farrah's mouth opened, then closed as she considered his words. She tugged at one of her earrings—a small silver hoop that caught the light.

"Well no, but—"

"BRYAN BLACKWOOD, PLEASE REPORT TO ENTRANCE THREE. YOUR MATCH BEGINS IN FIVE MINUTES."

The announcement blared through the speakers mounted in the corridor ceiling, interrupting Farrah mid-sentence. The mechanical voice echoed slightly in the stone hallway.

Farrah pushed herself away from the wall, taking a step toward Bryan. The space between them shrank to just a few feet.

"You should go. We can talk later."

She tucked a stray curl behind her pointed ear, her earlier frustration seemingly forgotten.

Bryan nodded and started walking away, his steps measured and unhurried despite the time constraint. The weight of his upcoming match settled uncomfortably on his shoulders—a sensation he wasn't accustomed to feeling.

"Good luck!"

Farrah called after him, her voice carrying down the corridor.

Bryan looked over his shoulder, catching her eye.

"You know I don't need it."

He noticed Farrah giggling into her hand, her green eyes crinkling at the corners. The sight stirred something unfamiliar in his chest—a warmth he couldn't quite name.

As he continued down the corridor toward entrance three, Bryan found himself uncharacteristically distracted. He was not really feeling up to fighting Julius again. Normally, he was always up for a challenge, and recently he'd felt that he was stagnating in his own growth fighting the holograms in training.

So, by all means, he should have craved this duel more than anything, but the feeling just wasn't there today. His fingers tapped an irregular rhythm against his thigh as he walked, his mind replaying the earlier matches rather than focusing on his upcoming opponent.

The corridor opened into a small preparation room where staff members waited to check his equipment. Beyond them, through a set of heavy double doors, he could hear the crowd's muffled roar growing louder with anticipation. Bryan squared his shoulders and pushed aside his reluctance.

***

Ashern City - Duel Hall, 22nd of Brightforge, year 315 UC

Farrah climbed the stairs back toward her seat, each step accompanied by a dull ache from her left shoulder. She replayed the duel with Marcus in her head for what felt like the hundredth time. She had been so damn close—one more hit and she was sure she would have dropped him. Her fingers tightened around the railing as she ascended, frustration still simmering beneath her composed exterior.

She touched her left shoulder that still bruised slightly, wincing at the tenderness. The combat suits were nice and all, but she shouldn't have been feeling any lingering damage. The technology was supposed to simulate injuries without causing actual harm, yet here she was, nursing a very real ache.

The stairs opened onto the spectator level, the noise of the crowd washing over her as she navigated through the rows toward her teammates. Several people nodded in recognition as she passed—students from other teams who had seen her match. She acknowledged them with brief smiles, her mind still on the duel.

Farrah adjusted the jacket she'd thrown over her combat suit. She'd have liked to have changed—the suit was a bit too tight for casual wear, the material clinging uncomfortably to her skin now that the adrenaline had worn off. But if she'd taken the time to change, she would have missed Bryan's match.

She already knew that he would win, but she still wanted to show her support. After all the time they'd spent together, it felt wrong not to be there.

As she approached their row, Randel waved, shifting to make space for her between himself and Christopher. His brown hair was slightly tousled, as if he'd been running his hands through it during her match.

"You did good out there."

Randel said as she settled into her seat.

"The lag between when you come out of your Light Step isn't even noticeable anymore."

Farrah tucked a curl behind her ear, pleased by the observation despite her lingering disappointment.

"Thanks, but there's still a delay. Although I can use it more often now."

She crossed her legs, the combat suit's material stretching. A passing vendor offered drinks, but she waved him away.

"Does it still drain a lot of ether?"

Randel asked, his eyes tracking the movement on the arena floor below where staff were.

"No, but I try not to use it often."

She replied, conscious of how her magic reserves had depleted during the match.

Christopher leaned forward as he joined the conversation.

"You would have had him if Marcus didn't have that shield."

His comment brought a small smile to Farrah's lips. Despite his usual reserve, Christopher had become surprisingly supportive of his teammates over the past weeks.

Sabrina nodded vigorously, her coffee-brown hair bouncing with the movement.

"Yeah, they should have banned weapons."

Her voice carried the edge of indignation that so often colored her comments.

Randel chuckled, the sound familiar to Farrah's ears.

"You used a weapon."

He pointed out.

Sabrina rolled her eyes, leaning around Farrah to fix Randel with a glare.

"That's different. Mine didn't have a spell inscribed on it."

She tapped her fingers against her knee, the motion betraying her lingering annoyance at the match's outcome.

Farrah shook her head, her curls brushing against the collar of her jacket.

"It's whatever, not a big deal."

She said, though the words didn't quite match the lingering disappointment she felt. She glanced toward the competitor's entrance, wondering when Bryan's match would begin.

Christopher straightened in his seat, counting on his fingers.

"So we have two wins and two losses."

He looked satisfied with the tally, as if a .500 record was perfectly acceptable.

Sabrina scoffed, waving a dismissive hand.

"Oh please, your fight doesn't count."

"Not my fault Brent doesn't have an attack spell."

Christopher countered, crossing his arms defensively. The two had been bickering like this since his match earlier.

Farrah intervened before the argument could escalate.

"He has that earth spike spell he unlocked."

She recalled seeing Brent practicing with it during training last week, the stone projectiles wobbling unsteadily as they rose from the ground.

Christopher shook his head.

"Yeah, but he's not used to it yet. He said it drains a lot of ether out of him."

Randel leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he surveyed the arena.

"So Bryan is left then."

His tone was casual, but Farrah caught the undercurrent of curiosity. He'd been asking subtle questions about Bryan since they'd met, clearly trying to gauge her relationship with him.

Sabrina slumped down in her seat, her expression morphing into an exaggerated pout.

"I wish Julius would win."

Her voice carried genuine longing, as if nothing would please her more than seeing Bryan defeated.

Christopher nodded, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

"I'd pay to see that fight."

"Same."

Sabrina agreed, straightening slightly in her excitement.

"Just once is all I need. See him get smacked around one good time."

Christopher laughed, the sound genuine and unreserved. Sabrina joined in, her earlier sullenness forgotten in the shared fantasy of Bryan's defeat.

Farrah found herself surprised that she too would like to see that happen. Not out of malice—she genuinely liked Bryan—but there was something almost mythical about his undefeated status. Part of her wondered what his face would look like if he actually lost.

Randel raised a questioning eyebrow at her, noting her participation in the laughter.

"What am I missing?"

He asked, his blue eyes studying her with the perceptiveness that had always made lying to him impossible.

Farrah smiled, the expression genuine despite her internal concerns.

"Just watch."

She said, though inside she was slightly worried. Bryan had been experiencing some nosebleeds lately—that wasn't a secret, and when it happened, he didn't even notice. Also, he seemed to get distracted at times, like he was somewhere far away.

If that happened during the duel...

She didn't even want to think about it, how that would look with thousands of people watching. It would be humiliating for him, and somehow, the thought of Bryan being humiliated bothered her.

Her thoughts drifted to Alexander, and her chest tightened. The memory of finding him in that preparation room, pale and trembling, still haunted her. She'd seen the evidence with her own eyes—the tremors in his hands, the unnatural dilation of his pupils. His victory had come at a terrible cost, one she wasn't sure he fully understood yet.

Gloria's involvement had been unexpected. Farrah had thought the instructor would report Alexander immediately, but instead, she'd spoken to him privately. Whatever was said remained between them, but Alexander hadn't rejoined them yet.

Farrah hadn't told the others what she'd seen. She'd made up the story about the suit malfunction to protect Alexander, to give him time to deal with the consequences of his choices privately. She wasn't sure if that had been the right decision, but it had felt right in the moment.

Her attention snapped back to the present as the announcer's voice boomed through the duel hall.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, PREPARE YOURSELVES FOR OUR MAIN EVENT! BY SPECIAL REQUEST, WE PRESENT A THREE-WAY FREE-FOR-ALL BETWEEN THE TOP-RANKED STUDENTS OF THE REINHART INSTITUTE!"

Farrah exchanged startled glances with the others. Sabrina and Christopher shrugged, clearly as confused as she was. This wasn't on the schedule—something had changed, and she felt a knot forming in her chest.

The crowd roared in excitement, the noise swelling to fill every corner of the massive hall. The spectators around them were on their feet, eager for what promised to be a spectacular show.

"ENTERING FROM THE WEST GATE, THE PROUD SON OF THE REINHART FAMILY, JULIUS REINHART!"

The crowd erupted louder than ever before as Julius made his way out of the gate. He didn't even glance up at the people in the stands as he stretched with his sword while walking. His combat suit was pristine, the blue lights along its seams pulsing steadily.

"AND FROM THE EAST GATE, THE PRODIGAL SON OF HOUSE ASHWOOD, VICTOR ASHWOOD!"

More cheers erupted, though clearly less enthusiastic than before. Victor came out waving his hand, all smiles with his sword in hand. His combat suit was identical to Julius's, though he wore it with considerably more flair, playing to the crowd with practiced ease.

"AND FINALLY, FROM THE NORTH GATE, BRYAN BLACKWOOD!"

The cheers were a lot less than before but still loud. When Bryan appeared, however, a wave of surprised gasps followed by renewed cheers and roars swept through the stands.

"What in Noctisara's name is he thinking?"

Christopher exclaimed, leaning forward so suddenly he nearly fell from his seat.

Sabrina slapped her face with her hand.

"By the gods, help us all."

Farrah watched, her heart seeming to stop momentarily as Bryan came out without a combat suit on. He wore only his academy uniform, the black fabric standing in stark contrast to the specialized gear of his opponents.

'What is he thinking?'

The question echoed in her mind as she gripped the edge of her seat. Without a combat suit, he would feel every hit at full force. There would be no damage simulation, no pain modulation—just raw, unfiltered combat.

Either Bryan had lost his mind, or he was more confident than even she had realized. As she watched him step calmly into the arena, his red eyes surveying his opponents with cool detachment, Farrah found herself hoping desperately that it was the latter.

***

Ashern City - Duel Hall, 22nd of Brightforge, year 315 UC

Bryan exited the gate with nothing but his black uniform pants on and a black shirt, the fabric shifting slightly with each step he took. The roar of the crowd washed over him like white noise—present but inconsequential.

When he'd found out about the request change, he had agreed to it even if it was at the last minute. The opportunity to face both Julius and Victor simultaneously presented a challenge that should have excited him.

In return, he'd asked the organizers if he could go without a combat suit. They had been very hesitant about this, and then it was brought to the attention of Gloria and Lock.

Lock had been more on the fence about the matter, his fingers tapping against his crossed arms as he considered the implications. Gloria, however, was all for it, saying if Bryan knew what he was doing, then she would not stop him.

Bryan had appreciated that, and after Gloria had a word with Lock, he too agreed. The main point Bryan had brought up was that he couldn't be restricted to a combat suit, not for his power. The organizers naturally did not believe him, so it became a minor issue that quickly resolved itself.

The sand of the arena shifted beneath his boots as he stepped fully into the fighting pit. Across the expanse of fifty feet, both Julius and Victor stood in their positions, the blue lights of their combat suits pulsing steadily. The crowd's noise seemed to intensify as they noticed his lack of protective gear.

Julius's brow furrowed, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword.

"Are you sure about this?"

Julius asked from where he stood, his voice carrying across the arena despite the crowd's noise.

Bryan let out a breath, his chest rising and falling slowly. Not much had happened this week, but it felt like a lot. Gloria, Farrah—always Farrah—the nosebleeds, Zoltan being absent, Emilia Valentine, Brandon, the missing nurse, his gaps in time, Alexander's drug use, and then that moment where he was staring at a wall with one note.

Yeah, a lot had happened, and Bryan felt nothing. In this moment, as his feet touched the sand, he felt nothing. He knew he should, but he didn't. It felt as if he was empty, a shell of who he was. He wasn't even sure if he was himself anymore at this point.

All these pointless feelings, all this caring, and fear—that wasn't him. It was not who he trained to be.

Yet, was this version of him better than the previous one?

Bryan rolled his shoulder and cracked his neck, the joints popping audibly. He looked at Julius and nodded, his red eyes meeting Julius's blue ones across the arena.

"I've had a really shitty week. Let's just get this over with."

Victor laughed at that, twirling his sword with practiced ease. The blade caught the light, momentarily flashing as it spun.

"Then let's see if we can make it better."

His voice carried a cocky assurance that didn't match the slight tension in his stance.

Julius nodded once, settling into a fighting stance, his magitech sword held at the ready.

The signal came, and the match began.

Bryan knew there was more than an eighty percent chance the two of them would gang up on him the moment the battle started. It was the best option they had, the only real option they had. But he didn't plan on making this duel last long.

He took his knife from his belt and cut both his palms in one swift motion, letting the blood flow freely. The warm liquid pooled in his hands before dripping onto the sand below, creating dark spots that were quickly absorbed by the thirsty ground.

He reinforced his body with ether, the energy flowing through his pathways like liquid fire. The sensation was familiar—a burning pressure that transformed into raw power as it reached his muscles and bones.

Bryan shot forward, causing the sand to disperse in various directions as he crashed into Victor. Two seconds to close the distance—that was all it took Bryan. The crowd's collective gasp was audible even over the noise, surprise rippling through the stands at his speed.

His palm struck Victor in the stomach, the impact sending a shockwave through the boy's combat suit. Victor bent forward, the breath driven from his lungs, his eyes widening in shock. Bryan struck again before Victor could recover, his elbow connecting with Victor's jaw. The force of the blow knocked the sword from Victor's hand, sending it spinning through the air.

Bryan followed through with a kick to Victor's chest that sent him sprawling backward across the sand. The combat suit's lights flickered momentarily, registering the damage.

In one fluid motion, Bryan grabbed the falling sword and flung it toward Julius, who was rushing toward them. The blade spun through the air, a deadly projectile aimed at Julius's chest.

Julius flashed to the side, his body blurring as he activated the movement spell from his sword. The thrown weapon embedded itself in the sand where Julius had been standing just moments before.

Bryan wasn't worried. His eyes tracked the ground, watching as the sand moved, telling him the direction Julius was traveling. The disturbance in the sand's surface was subtle, but to Bryan, it was as clear as footprints.

Bryan grinned, his teeth flashing white against his pale skin. Using his reinforced body, he appeared at the place Julius materialized, his fist already mid-swing. The crowd roared as Bryan seemed to predict Julius's exact location.

Julius dodged, just barely, his eyes widening as Bryan's fist passed within inches of his face. Bryan immediately adjusted, sweeping Julius's feet from under him with a low kick. Julius hit the sand hard, the impact knocking his sword from his grasp.

Julius's eyes were wide with shock. Bryan figured he didn't think things would end up this way. But Bryan knew Julius was wrong. So very wrong. Their fight would always end up this way—a thousand times out of a thousand, Bryan would win.

Still, he should put up a bit of flair, so he stomped on Julius's chest hard enough to knock the wind out of him right before he walked off. The impact wasn't enough to cause serious injury, but the combat suit registered the hit, its lights flashing red momentarily.

The announcer's voice echoed through the arena, confusion evident in his tone.

"WHAT'S THIS? BLACKWOOD IS WALKING AWAY! IS HE GIVING UP? THE MATCH ISN'T OVER YET, FOLKS!"

The crowd's cheers turned to murmurs of confusion. Bryan looked back over his shoulder at Julius and Victor, who were sprawled on the sand, groaning but not finished off. Both were struggling to rise, their combat suits registering moderate damage but not enough to end the match.

Bryan's blood, spilled all over the sand as he moved, began to rise. The dark droplets lifted from the ground, connecting together as shapes started to form. The crowd fell silent, watching in awe as the blood coalesced.

Two medium-sized wolves made of blood emerged from the pooled liquid, their forms solidifying as they took shape. The creatures stood nearly two feet tall at the shoulder, their eyes glowing with the same red hue as Bryan's. Their bodies rippled with muscle beneath coats of crimson, teeth gleaming wickedly in their elongated muzzles.

The blood wolves padded across the sand toward the two boys, their movements slow. Bryan didn't need to finish them off himself—he'd leave that to the wolves.

The crowd's cheering reached an absolute high, the noise deafening as spectators leapt to their feet. The display was unlike anything most had ever seen.

The announcer didn't know what the spell was. He kept coming up with all kinds of names—"Blood Beast Summoning," "Crimson Wolf Conjuring," "Hemomancer's Hounds"—but none of them were correct.

People always got that wrong about him and his spells, even the members of the Inquisition. They'd see him make a crescent blade of blood and add "blood" as a prefix, but that wasn't his spell's name. All of them were very simple in nature.

And this one was "Spawn."

The wolves circled their prey, moving with uncanny intelligence. Julius managed to get to his feet, retrieving his sword with a desperate lunge. Victor remained on one knee, his hand pressed against his ribs where Bryan's kick had landed.

The first wolf lunged at Julius, its jaws snapping as it went for his sword arm. Julius slashed at it, his blade passing through the blood construct. The wolf's form separated momentarily before reforming, unharmed by the attack. The second wolf circled behind Victor, cutting off his retreat.

In perfect synchronization, both wolves pounced. Julius's combat suit registered critical damage as the wolf's teeth closed around his arm, the pressure enough to simulate a broken bone. Victor fared no better, his suit flashing red as the second wolf tackled him to the ground.

The announcement came that Bryan was the winner of the match, finishing it in record time. The wolves dissolved back into pools of blood that seeped into the sand, their purpose fulfilled.

Bryan had to admit, the small gains he had with Body Augmentation were showing some benefits. His movements had been faster, his strikes more powerful than in previous matches. The training was paying off, even if he felt disconnected from the victory.

As he exited the fighting pit and headed to the competitors' area, he spotted Alessia leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail, her gloved hands tapping lightly against her upper arm.

"Congratulations on the win."

She said, her voice neutral but her eyes studying him with unusual intensity.

Bryan nodded once, already moving past her toward the exit. He needed to wash the dried blood from his hands, to change before meeting the others.

"I have information on Emilia Valentine."

Alessia's words caused him to stop mid-stride, his body freezing as if struck. The familiar pain began to pulse behind his temples, but it was duller now. He turned slowly to face her, his red eyes narrowing.

"What did you say?"