ã€ŠI want to be Number Oneã€‹


 001 - Mark

    The classroom always felt too small for Mark. With thirty-one students crammed in, it always seemed overcrowded. Desks were barely five feet apart, yet he never felt as lonely as during lectures. He much preferred live drills and training practices; those were fun. They got to use mana enhancement skills to boost physical strength, speed, and perception.

    Mark tilted his head to the left, looking out the window as a large shadow covered the courtyard. A faint screech could be heard, and he smiled slightly. A dragon had just flown by. They did this three times a day, with intervals of three hours at most. The safety of the students here was paramount. After all, they were the cream of the nation''s crop. Becoming a Dragon Rider was a noble pursuit. One became loved by little kids. He chuckled lightly, imagining himself in shining gold armor on a majestic dragon, inspiring young kids to become military officers themselves.

    That would be so lame. Mira would definitely mock me endlessly if I awakened to be a Dragon Rider, he thought, shaking his head whimsically. His white hair moved ever so slightly. Mark¡¯s eyes still trailed the shadow as it quickly disappeared from view, his gaze abruptly interrupted by a deep, calm voice filled with fury.

    "I am fine with you barely paying attention during class, but outright ignoring my lecture is an insult to myself and the class." Mark sat upright immediately and gave an apologetic bow, his head almost touching his desk.

    "Please accept my deepest apologies, Professor Faust." Professor Faust, a decorated war hero of the Holy-Knight class, was not a man to be disrespected. He had retired after losing a hand during combat in the last war.

    Faust looked at the young man intently, his eyes betraying no emotion, his face stoic with a scar running down his left eye making him menacing to look at. Faust walked towards Mark, and the whole class began to murmur. Whispers of Mark finally biting off more than he could chew could be heard. His male classmates eagerly awaited the punishment Mark would receive¡ªa pound of flesh for the beatings he gave them during training and combat drills.

    "You wish to become a Dragon Rider?" Faust studied the young man. He could see the fear now subsiding as the boy slowly stood straight but resisted the urge to take a step back. Mark stood at a decent six-foot-two, yet his head was just at the same height as Professor Faust¡¯s chest.

    "No, not really, sir." Faust sighed, leaning against a desk opposite Mark. The student sitting there made a slight noise; whether from surprise or fright, Faust didn¡¯t care. He studied the young man intensely. He had seen his type before: young, gifted, aloof, and a tad bit too arrogant. The talented ones were always like that. He would know; he had been like that once before pain and loss humbled him.

    "Do you know how I lost my hand and got this scar?" he asked, raising his left arm, which was missing a hand. He watched Mark look nervously at the appendage.

    "Go on, you are free to ask me. I know what you want to ask," Faust urged. Reading the emotions and thoughts of children was child¡¯s play to him. Four decades of combat experience granted certain skills.

    "Does it still hurt?"

    Faust stood straight up, staring at Mark for a second before walking back to the front of the class. He could feel the eyes of all the students on him. The sound of his footsteps was louder than the students'' breathing.

    Taking a deep breath, Faust suddenly felt his age.

    Maybe teaching isn¡¯t for me. I should say something that will inspire them, but perhaps the truth will do that as well, he thought while leaning against his desk and facing the class. Every student focused on him.

    "Today we were learning about the enhancement class, why they are dangerous, their strategic use in battle, and how to quickly spot and eliminate them." He paused, making sure they were following.

    "I lost my hand in a hell-level gate. My team of four was exploring the gate that had recently spawned in the city of Quantic. It was a new, undocumented gate, so my squad was asked to explore and not engage. We encountered a group of Dark Elves. They had to be at least level 40. We weren¡¯t too worried; we were at least level 45. We were confident in our abilities¡ªtoo confident." Faust paused, a solemn look coming over his face. His right hand gripped his desk tightly. It was clear that speaking about this affected him immensely.

    "Suddenly our rear support, who was the healer of the team, was struck down by a lightning-infused arrow. Before we could react, ten more arrows pierced her. She died before she hit the ground. More arrows came in, but we were alert. Immediately, we engaged the enemy. It seemed a few Dark Elves were camouflaged with the walls. They had ambushed us. The battle was long. We defeated all the elves except two: one wielded an elven blade and the other appeared to be a mage type."

    "The elven swordsman lunged at me with a power strike. I stepped forward with the intention of blocking him with my shield and utilizing my skill Quick Draw to finish the fight. But I¡¯d made a mistake. It turned out that one of them was a mage, and he¡¯d cast an enhancer skill on the blade of my opponent, adding a wind element to improve its cutting ability."

    To Faust, it was clear the students all understood what had happened. He wondered if they needed to hear the rest and decided they didn¡¯t. His point was made clear enough; there was no need to traumatize them.

    "Learning about mana types," he continued, bringing the story to an abrupt end and turning the conversation to something more fitting for the class, "the various classes and how they utilize mana is of utmost importance. I am alive today because my comrade recognized the skill and pulled me back. What we teach you here might seem like mundane knowledge, but believe me, it could one day save your life. Class dismissed."

    Mark watched his classmates get up and begin to leave. He stared down at his book. Perhaps more research wouldn¡¯t be too bad. He very much liked having two hands, he mused to himself as he left his desk and joined the queue to exit the class.

    A soft female voice interrupted his thoughts.

    "I was sure he was going to knock some sense into you or maybe knock what remains of your brain cells out," she whispered, her lips close to his ear as she tiptoed. She could tell he rolled his eyes at her, prompting her to thump the back of his head with her finger.

    "Maybe if he did, we would become intellectual equals then, Annabeth."

    She frowned lightly at the name and moved to his side as they exited the classroom.

    "That¡¯s Anna to you. Also, your shirt is rough. Truly, bowing doesn¡¯t suit you. Try to pay attention so you wouldn¡¯t have to do it so often," she teased, watching a smile tug at his lips. He was her best friend. She knew how to cheer him up.

    "We only have a week left. Can you ease off on the teasing?"

    She absolutely enjoyed teasing. He used to be the one doing the teasing, calling her a big baby when they were younger. That had quickly stopped when she became more feminine. There was nothing babyish about her anymore. He knew it, and she knew he knew it.

    "You pay for my meals till the end of the week, and you have yourself a vow." Anna interweaved her fingers with his as they walked through the large marble-floored halls. Their next class wouldn¡¯t be until an hour later, so they had time.

    "Are you hoping to become a Dragon Rider?" Anna asked. He had never truly shared his preferred class with her. No matter how much she asked, his response was always vague and aloof.

    The pair walking together drew the attention of other students. His white hair was a sharp contrast to her ruby-red locks. Rumors had always persisted about them, saying they were a couple. Annabeth never denied those rumors. If it kept other females away from Mark, she would never correct them.

    "We¡¯ll both find out together. It¡¯s just a week left. You¡¯ve waited three years. What¡¯s a week compared to that?"

    "Too long! That¡¯s what a week is!" she replied, sticking her finger in his rib lightly. All she got was a slight grunt for her effort, which made her pout. They continued to walk in comfortable silence, her fingers never leaving his.

    The silence did not last long as Mark spun her to face him and held her in place, his hands on her shoulders, his brown eyes staring directly into her black ones. She looked away, but a gentle palm on her cheek brought her face to face with him.

    "Is he going to..." she thought to herself, only for her thoughts to be interrupted by his next words.

    "I know you want to know which class I want so you can spend all your school points on that class as well. But I don¡¯t want that. I want you to make the decision solely for yourself." Annabeth was taken aback by how serious his tone was. This wasn¡¯t the first time he had said this, but never had he spoken so seriously. She clenched her fists tightly, her lips forming a thin line. All traces of a smile vanished, her eyes becoming icy cold.

    "It is my decision what path I decide to take, not yours. You don¡¯t get to push me away. We have been through life together, cried together, and hurt together. I don¡¯t want that to ever end." She paused, saying far more than she planned to, far more than she ever did.

    "You are everything to me." Annabeth saw him flinch as he took a step back. A frown now marred her face. She knew he didn¡¯t like being reminded of that fact. It had been three years since the S-rank gate disaster occurred. They had lost everything except each other and family knowledge and wealth.

    "I shouldn¡¯t be. Every day since that day has been a struggle for me. It¡¯s been years and the nightmares won¡¯t stop. The path I want to take is the path of vengeance. Something is causing the gates to appear. My goal is to close them all forever."

    With that, the pair trudged on, the mood significantly less cheerful than it was mere moments ago. They made their way to the cafeteria. As usual, it was filled mostly with first years who immediately approached them with excitement. They were considered the best students the academy had produced in a decade.

    "Annabeth! Annabeth! Could you assist me with my mana control? Please, I can¡¯t seem to improve it at all." Annabeth almost squealed. Sure, the first years were at least fifteen years old, but a lot of them looked younger. She was sure the whole school knew of her weakness for cute things. That would explain why this first year was looking as adorable as a sleeping baby. She had her hair in two pigtails, was dressed in a uniform three times her size, and was holding a stuffed dragon plushie.

    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    "This is ridiculous," Mark muttered.

    "You¡¯re just jealous," she retorted.

    Mark cocked a brow. "Of?"

    "I don¡¯t know, but you are."

    "If you keep encouraging this, one day a boy in a diaper will ask you for help, and you won¡¯t be able to say no."

    Annabeth grimaced at that. That wouldn¡¯t be pleasant¡ªfunny, yes, but far from pleasant.

    Annabeth returned her attention to her fan and gave her a few pointers and methods she had used when she was younger and still untrained in mana manipulation.

    Mana had two classes: positive and negative mana, with the latter being what everyone utilized for spell casting and profession-related abilities. Negative mana at this point had become a myth to the larger public.

    Annabeth, an expert user of mana with control that even Tier B professionals would be impressed by, was constantly sought out for this purpose. She gently patted the girl and waved her goodbye. The first year was quickly surrounded by other students trying to get access to the advice as well.

    "What do you think today¡¯s lunch surprise is?" Annabeth asked Mark, hoping for a change to a lighter conversation. They had a week before their lives would be changed forever.

    Annabeth shook her head back and forth as if to clear those thoughts from her mind, which caused Mark to look at her with a slightly raised eyebrow, but she waved him off.

    The pair soon found themselves seated with their lunch, about to have a peaceful meal, just the two of them as Annabeth would prefer until¡­

    "Mark! Annabeth! You guys always seem to vanish just after class. You should have gotten the sandwich today. I heard it is simply perfection."

    Annabeth resisted the urge to frown. Newt was a good friend of theirs, albeit a clingy one, to put it lightly.

    "Sorry, Newt, we didn¡¯t mean to disappear on you like that," she heard Mark reply and almost said he should speak for himself.

    "Hi, Ann, looking good as always."

    "Thank you, Newt."

    "Ann, we only have a week left. What do you say you and I this weekend we go and see the Blue Orchard play?" Annabeth resisted the urge to sigh; he did this every other week.

    "That won''t be possible, Newt. We have a lot to prepare for this weekend."

    "Oh, please, both of you are the very best the school has produced in a long time. You¡¯re certain to awaken fantastic professions."

    "Academic excellence doesn¡¯t guarantee a great profession skill, Newt." She replied with a slight shake of her head.

    "Statistically, it does, and that chance goes up by 30% when one has great skill in mana control and quantity."

    "There¡¯s still a 30% chance of getting a profession like a musician."

    "If that happens, you will be the most powerful musician this world has ever seen." She couldn¡¯t help but smile at that, which led to her huffing slightly as he smiled in victory. Newt has always been quick-witted.

    "What about you, Mark, a Dragon Rider? A most noble dream, saving damsels and bringing joy to younglings everywhere." Annabeth turned sharply, facing Mark. She knew he would probably be tight-lipped as he always was, but maybe, just maybe¡­

    "The Gods will decide¡­" She almost face-palmed.

    A bell suddenly rang, causing all the students in the commissary to make their way back to class in a hurry, except the trio; they were, after all, seniors in their last days of school.

    Joining the workforce had two major paths for students who attended prestigious training schools like these; a large aspect of that decision is influenced by the abilities one awakens during the profession awakening ritual.

    Those who awakened very powerful professions were considered above such restraints. On the other hand, those who awakened average skills, which were less suited to direct combat and direct combat support, were more likely to join state-owned military bodies due to the significantly lower risks involved and the job security that came with it.

    For Mark, the option was clear. He was going to join the private sector, organizations that could promise him the most freedom, which would allow him to challenge as many dungeons and relic sites as possible. His quest for knowledge was his priority. Although Mark hoped for a profession that was designated S-rank, he understood that the ritual was influenced by factors that not even the priests and trainers knew.

    The group had made their way to their next class, which, as it turned out, was an open field with several straw dummies arranged all around. The trainer stood facing the final years. She was dressed in a white T-shirt which had a drawing of a blue fish on it and a pair of black shorts.

    "Beautiful, beautiful students." Mark couldn¡¯t help but smile. She greeted them this way from the very first day till now and never stopped.

    "Being our last class for the session before you all go off to bring glory to your names, we will simply be doing tag practice today. The goal is to hit as many dummies strictly using only four mana shots and no more! This will be fun!" she exclaimed with a high-pitched voice, simultaneously fist-pumping and striking a pose.

    "Yes, Mrs. Grimwolf!" They responded in unison; they had to, or she would go into a depressed state, claiming her students hated her.

    The first student to step up was Collins Griffith. He was of average height with purple hair and black eyes. No one was really sure if he dyed his hair or if it was natural. Regardless, he was known for having quite a temper and being the best student in hand-to-hand combat.

    Collins stood facing the targets; everyone else had left the target zone. He raised his left arm to his lips, his fingers completely clenched tightly whilst his right hand was extended toward the target, then he began to chant.

    "Focus vision, straight arrow¡ªpierce!"

    A beam of blue mana shot forth from his palm at blitzing speed, piercing through five targets while taking the head off a sixth one before the mana smashed into the seventh one and dissipated.

    "He has improved." Mark nodded in agreement with Annabeth. Collins had been a late bloomer when it came to mana techniques, especially channeling and controlling after release. Less than a year ago, he couldn¡¯t pierce through more than five targets.

    Mark watched Collins make his way back to the group, gave him a slight nod, to which he smiled slightly and nodded back. The two, although not friends, shared a mutual respect for one another.

    "Newton Bridge, please proceed."

    "Anything for you, teach. Do you want me to show off or keep it PG, you know, so I don¡¯t discourage the kids?" Newt asked with a confident smirk as he strolled up with both hands in his pockets.

    Mark shook his head at his best friend¡¯s antics. Newt always had something to say, always. It was who he was. Mark sighed once more when Newt blew a kiss at a female student who just rolled her eyes and adjusted her glasses.

    Newt was the first son of the king¡¯s third brother. His father inherited a wine estate from the late king, but that was pretty much it from what Mark heard Newt say. He was royalty in blood and name only, not wealth or status.

    "Give it your very best; this would be the last time, after all," was the response from Grimwolf. She was a bit too excited for Kei.

    Newt, now in front of his target, channeled his mana. His blue eyes turned a bright yellow. Mana, the color of the sun, leaked out of him in a gentle wisp. He stretched his arms wide to either side, his dark hair covering his face as he looked to the ground in concentration.

    Shred He called out a single instruction. His mana quickly gathered into his palms, his fingers cradling the energy as it took the form of spinning yellow saws, which promptly flew out of his hands at breakneck speed. Each target was nearly bisected as the saws carved their way through. The other students weren¡¯t sure which was more impressive, the cutting power of the mana technique or the speed they moved with.

    It was notoriously difficult for cutting objects to maintain speed and still cut efficiently for long periods of time without a constant application of mana.

    On the seventh target, the saws ripped through it and then dissipated, the mana entering the great mana cycle.

    "Wonderful! Oh, so wonderful! It fills me with joy and pride that my students have grown to the point of shape manipulation with mana!" Mark nodded in agreement. It would seem his classmates have been improving in the shadows as well. He thought to himself before taking a glance at Annabeth, who looked rather serious. He wondered what she might be thinking but thought better than to ask her.

    "Of course, Teach, and that is but a sliver of my might. I had to tone it down, you know. Wouldn¡¯t want the rest to be discouraged."

    "Show off!" a student yelled out.

    To which Newton ignored. There was no need to respond to someone yelling the obvious.

    His blue eyes met Mark¡¯s; the unspoken challenge had been made. Mark wondered if Newton truly thought he could not do better. He had to admit the shape manipulation was very impressive; most experienced combatants did not have such fine control.

    Mark stepped forward; his name wasn¡¯t called, but everyone knew he was next. The unspoken challenge had been witnessed by most of the students who were paying attention. Grimwolf was unusually quiet, a rare look of absolute concentration on her face, her brows furrowed tightly, her lips pressed into a thin line.

    The #1 student in this year¡¯s graduating class; this would be his last chance to show superiority in her class above everyone else.

    The grading system in the school was done by both faculty and students. At the end of the day, practical examinations carried 70 percent of the educational value; the position of 1st, 2nd, and 3rd were decided by students¡¯ votes and also confirmation by the professor.

    This was done to create a system of checks and data gathering for the professors, as there have been times when students who didn¡¯t stand out in class were voted very high.

    Mark now stood at the very same spot his friend stood. He brought his right hand towards his mouth and chanted one word.

    "Ash"

    A red orb manifested in front of him and seemed to be vibrating violently.

    Mark shot the orb into the sky above them. Some seconds later, the orb exploded outwards, and projectiles flew at the targets, blasting through them and burning holes in the ground behind them.

    Once the orb was done spewing projectiles, it seemed to change shape, slowly morphing into a bolt, which flew into a target and obliterated it. The heat from the explosion had everyone closing their eyes and taking steps back.

    Dust filled the whole area. The dust was heated; everyone could feel it. Even those who could use mana as a form of defense could feel it as well. As seconds passed and the dust cleared, Mark stood looking at the practice field, unbothered by the destruction he brought.

    "Amazing! A mana attack with a two-stage activation, cast with one hand seal and just one incantation! You continue to surprise me, Mr. Number 1." Mark nodded his thanks and made his way back, the training dummies already repairing themselves swiftly.

    Mark took his place beside Annabeth. He could feel her eyes on him and knew that if he faced her, she would ask a lot of questions he wasn¡¯t willing to answer right now.

    "Next will be¡­Annabeth!" Grimwolf yelled excitedly, the training course already fully restored.

    Annabeth took her position, then she clasped her hands together in a praying position and called out.

    "Sanctum"

    Suddenly, her mana rushed forth, and a transparent dome enclosed herself and the targets. The very next second, the targets had huge holes punched through their chests¡­all at the same time.

    Concluding her test as soon as it began, cheers and applause rang out.

    Mark watched her take a bow whilst he clapped lightly. She was the only student capable of using a mana domain; most never awakened the ability. Only the best of the best ever did, and she just showed once again that she had the potential to grow even more powerful in the future.

    "That was very impressive¡­Eliminating all the targets at once is nothing short of amazing." Mark complimented with a smile and gentle pat on the shoulder. She never failed to impress, ever.

    When it came to mana manipulation, Annabeth was considered a prodigy¡ªa talent only seen every century, they would say. Her skill level was comparable to the rune queen herself. Mark involuntarily shuddered at the idea of Annabeth becoming a rune user of sorts after the profession awakening ritual.

    "The weather too cold for you?" Mark shook his head lightly at the jab. Newton rarely missed a chance to say something slick; sometimes he wondered how much focus the other boy used in studying his every move.

    This was one of the few courses he didn¡¯t particularly like. He opened his palm and lightly shut it again. He had a near-bottomless pool of mana, which made intricacies such as mana manipulation very difficult for him. The skill was akin to molding air for most, but for him, it was like trying to tame a raging twister.

    For him to tame his mana, he used his will as a kind of force to keep it under control, while Annabeth was able to control her mana so finely that she could manifest it as a thread and pass it several times through a needle without ever touching the sides of the needle.

    That was the gap between them, one he had surmised he simply would never be able to close unless his awakened profession somehow offered a solution.

    Other students soon made their way forward, showcasing the progress they had made on their mana manipulation. One particular student caught Mark¡¯s attention. She had utilized a full chant with seven hand signs to summon what was basically an imitation of his technique. Hers didn¡¯t float in the air but formed in her palm; it shot out several rounds of bullet-like projectiles that did significant damage to the training dummies.

    "Reyna Rivers; she is in the top 10 of the class. Rumor has it that her red hair comes from a curse in her family for being traitors to their liege lord, so every generation, a red-haired child is born in their home. They say those children, no matter what, never made it past the age of twenty." Mark nodded, thankful to his personal encyclopedia.

    "Do you believe that¡¯s the truth?" Mark asked, and a nonchalant shrug of the shoulders was the reply he got from Newton. Which was surprising; Newton was usually aware of such things since he had access to the royal libraries in the capital city of Vosh.

    "I don¡¯t think the curse is real. The school would not have let her in unless they destroyed the curse first," Annabeth chimed in, standing beside Mark on the other side of Newton.

    "There are talismans and counter-spell techniques they could give her as well. Dispelling such a curse would have dire consequences for those who try to do such things."

    "So you are saying she¡¯s not cursed?" Mark looked at Newton and nodded affirmatively while thinking.

    "Sometimes the idea of being cursed does harm like a curse would if one allowed it."

    An hour more had passed, the sun had left its peak, and the last student had just finished their presentation. Much to Mark¡¯s happiness, there were no chairs in this class; Professor Grimwolf claimed it was safer to stand in a test area than to be caught sitting and flat-footed.

    "Thank you, thank you, thank you, my beautiful class, fantastic! You have all grown significantly. As this will be our last time together as students and teacher, allow me to convey one final lesson." Mark noted her mood had changed, and the seriousness in her eyes and the pressure that suddenly appeared as she released a bit of her mana had everyone¡¯s attention.

    "A time will come when you will be forced to make a decision on leaving a comrade or trying to save them¡­" She paused.

    "Ask yourself this simple question quickly: if they were in my shoes¡­would they try to save me?"

    Mark was surprised by her words; that had to be the darkest thing she ever said to them. It was a statement that was meant to make one question the value of their friends and weigh it against their lives.

    "Think deeply on what I just said. Nobody can ever give you the answer. Perhaps you would use it in critical moments going forward, perhaps you never will, but regardless, actions have consequences. Once again, congratulations, you may all leave." She paused and gave them all a proud smile.

    "I wish you the best in your awakening. May Mana favor you."

    Soft thank-yous filled the air as the class filed out.

    Annabeth frowned, her teacher¡¯s words still on her mind, as they made their way to their next class. She looked at Mark, who glanced at her before gently nudging her with his elbow, causing her to let out a quick "hey" in annoyance.

    Annabeth knew he was trying to shake her out of sad thinking, but she could not help but dwell on Grimwolf¡¯s advice. The mortality rate of those who joined guilds and the state army was 25% and 38%, respectively.

    Either way, there was always a chance that things would not pan out the way one hoped for. From the last graduating class, 5 were already dead, and 4 could no longer be active anymore for one reason or another.

    It was not a glorious life. No matter how powerful one got, you could not protect everyone. She shook her head lightly. They would be fine, she thought to herself. Her, Mark, and Newt. They would make it and laugh about all their adventures when they were old

 What a Life

    Strong footsteps reverberated through the classroom, each step deliberate and echoing in the silence. Unlike the other classrooms, this one had no windows to the outside world. The only view available was the dimly lit classroom directly opposite, always eerily empty during this particular lecture.

    "Today," a commanding voice cut through the stillness, "We have the final lecture of your tenure here¡ªthe final class of A.W.S. 506." The speaker¡¯s tone was both solemn and authoritative, his footsteps punctuating each word as he moved about the room. This was Professor M, a man whose diminutive stature and aged features belied the formidable presence he carried. Despite his partially bald head and deeply etched lines of experience on his face, there was an air of intimidation about him that had cowed even the most rebellious of students.

    The nearest student was at least ten feet away. Professor M never used a desk; he didn¡¯t need one. Once, when a curious student had dared to ask why he never used a workbench, the professor had replied with cold indifference, "The day I need notes to educate students on this subject is the day I resign." The answer had silenced the class, though few believed it wasn¡¯t a matter of height.

    A sharp snap of his fingers brought a piece of chalk levitating into the air. It swiftly scrawled a name across the whiteboard in blue ink, a sharp contrast against the pristine surface.

    "Professor M," it read.

    Many had debated what the "M" stood for, but not a single student had dared to ask. Now, as they prepared to graduate, the mystery remained unsolved, a parting enigma that gnawed at the more inquisitive minds in the room.

    Professor M began his slow, methodical pacing around the classroom, his sharp eyes ensuring that every student had their writing materials out and ready. Occasionally, he would grunt in disapproval whenever he spotted something that displeased him¡ªa crooked notebook, a dull pencil, or a sluggish student. He rarely bothered to explain what was wrong; he expected them to figure it out. Those who failed to correct the issue after three consecutive grunts found themselves losing four points out of a possible ten for class participation¡ªpoints that were generally considered easy to earn but critical to pass.

    "As this will be our final session," Professor M continued, his voice devoid of warmth, "the school, with the express permission of our esteemed Seven-Star Scourge, who himself has been granted authority by the King, has deemed this class talented enough to be made aware of information concerning the other nations. You will learn how we relate to them, the types of mana techniques they utilize, and most importantly, why we must uphold the Stalemate Act of 94 R.C."

    A wave of excited murmurs swept through the room. Professor M allowed his students a minute or two to revel in their newfound privilege. Information about the other nations was a closely guarded secret, and revealing it without the proper clearance was considered treasonous. That everyone in this graduating class had been deemed qualified to hear such information was an extraordinary honor¡ªone that had only been bestowed upon a class once before in the past decade.

    As the whispers of excitement gradually subsided, Professor M¡¯s gaze swept the classroom. He noticed Mark, one of his more reserved students, laughing softly as his friend Annabeth playfully tugged at his cheek, urging him to smile. Professor M allowed himself a rare moment of indulgence¡ªa fleeting smile¡ªbefore clapping his hands sharply to restore order.

    "That¡¯s enough," he said, his voice slicing through the air like a blade. The room fell silent at once.

    "We will begin with resources," Professor M announced, his tone now all business. "As you know from our previous sessions, our nation is blessed with an overabundance of mana trees. These trees draw in the air around them and release pure mana into the environment. In some locations, the concentration of mana is so high that it saturates the air, allowing individuals with caster professions to utilize it without depleting their own reserves. Those without such professions can still use the ambient mana to enhance their physical abilities."

    He paused, allowing the students to finish jotting down the information. The sound of pens scratching against paper was the only noise in the room. Satisfied, he continued.

    "What you were not told before," he said, lowering his voice as if imparting a great secret, "is that more than 80% of the mana produced by these trees seeps into the soil through their roots. Over time, this accumulated mana crystallizes into mana stones of the highest quality. The very best of these stones are then processed and converted into a liquid form¡ªan essential ingredient in the profession awakening potion that you will all consume in a few days."

    The revelation sparked another round of murmurs, this time tinged with surprise, shock, and disbelief. Professor M noted with interest that while most of the students were visibly startled by the information, the King¡¯s nephew, seated at the back of the room, appeared entirely unfazed. It was no surprise, of course¡ªsuch knowledge was likely common in royal circles. However, Professor M¡¯s eyes narrowed as he caught sight of Annabeth and Mark, both of whom also seemed unusually calm. Had the royal scion shared this information with them? If so, what else might they know that they shouldn¡¯t?

    Clearing his throat, Professor M quickly silenced the classroom once more. He would allow these interruptions today, he thought, but only because it was their final class.

    "Due to our excess of mana stones," Professor M continued, resuming his lecture, "we are the largest exporters of these stones in the known world. Some of you will be assigned missions to guard shipments of mana stones as they are transported to other nations. Be aware that these missions are fraught with danger¡ªthere are always rogue squads seeking to intercept such valuable cargo."

    His gaze turned steely as he added, "High-grade mana stones are exceedingly rare, and awakening potions made from them are not classified the same. This is why you have all been working so hard to gather points. Your total points accumulated thus far will be multiplied by a factor of fifteen. Of this, 7.5% is contributed by the school, and the remaining 7.5% comes directly from the King¡¯s treasury. This is a privilege granted to no other institution but this one. Consider yourselves blessed."

    The gravity of his words was not lost on the students. For a moment, a heavy silence hung in the air¡ªone born of fear and anticipation.

    "It is well documented," Professor M continued, his voice softer now, "that the purer the mana stone used in crafting an awakening potion, the greater the likelihood of awakening an advanced profession class. The silence this time was a welcomed change for Professor M, it would seem fear would do that to people."

    "As you know, we explore dungeons and clear them out to acquire artifacts, items, and mana crystals. What you do not know," he said, his voice taking on an edge, "is that these are not dungeons at all. They are, in fact, Gates."

    He paused, letting the significance of his words sink in. The students exchanged puzzled glances, unsure of what to make of this new information.

    "These Gates," Professor M continued, "function similarly to dungeons, but with one crucial difference. Instead of simply entering a cave or similar structure, passing through a Gate transports teams to entirely different locations¡ªdeserts, snow-covered landscapes, aquatic worlds, and more. Inhabiting these places are creatures and beings that, if not defeated, could spill into our world and bring about untold suffering. The time frame before a Gate ruptures and allows entry from the other side is unpredictable, so we must always confront any Gate the moment it appears."

    The room was deathly quiet as Professor M¡¯s words hung in the air like a dark cloud. The students were absorbing the enormity of the task that lay before them. It was one thing to train for battle; it was another to know that failure could mean the end of the world as they knew it.

    "The Stalemate Act of 94 R.C.," Professor M said, his tone more solemn than ever, "was established to prevent such catastrophic events. It is a pact that all nations must honor. The Seven-Star Scourge himself was instrumental in its creation, and it is our duty to ensure that it is upheld."

    A heavy silence followed his words, as each student pondered the weight of their new responsibilities. The room felt colder, the atmosphere thick with tension.

    At that moment, Mark, who had remained silent for most of the lecture, raised his hand. Professor M acknowledged him with a nod.

    "Professor," Mark began cautiously, "if these Gates are so dangerous, why hasn¡¯t there been more public awareness about them? Why keep such critical information hidden from the general populace?"

    Professor M regarded Mark with an appraising look, his sharp eyes boring into the young man as if weighing the merit of his question.

    "The answer," Professor M said slowly, "lies in control. Knowledge is power, and power, when left unchecked, leads to chaos. The general populace is not equipped to handle the truth about Gates. Imagine the panic, the hysteria, if every citizen knew that at any moment, a rupture could unleash horrors upon our world. Our society would crumble under the weight of such fear. The task of confronting these Gates falls to those who are trained, disciplined, and prepared to bear the burden of that knowledge. It falls to you."

    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    Mark nodded, though the answer seemed to leave him with more questions than answers

    Certainly! Below is the expanded version of your story, incorporating the details about the Stalemate Act and the Star Promotion Exams, and extending the classroom scene to delve deeper into the explanations.

    ---

    "Now," Professor M said, his voice regaining its earlier authority, "let us discuss the mana techniques of other nations. Each nation has developed a unique approach to harnessing mana, shaped by its geography, culture, and history. For instance, the Southern Isles have perfected the art of water-based mana techniques. However, their true power lies not just in manipulating water, but in their mastery of sealing techniques. These methods allow their casters to bind and suppress the abilities of others, making them formidable adversaries in both offense and defense."

    He paused to let the students absorb the information, noting the mixture of curiosity and apprehension on their faces.

    "The Southern Isles," he continued, "draw upon the fluid nature of water to develop intricate seals that can restrict mana flow, trap souls, and even bind powerful entities. These techniques have given them a significant advantage in naval warfare, where they can seal away an enemy¡¯s mana before launching a devastating counterattack. It is said that their greatest sealmasters can silence an entire battalion with a single, well-placed seal, leaving their enemies helpless and vulnerable."

    The students listened intently, their pens scratching across their notebooks as they hurried to capture every word. Professor M allowed the weight of his words to settle before moving on. He could see that they were trying to visualize these powerful techniques, imagining themselves facing such formidable opponents on the battlefield.

    "The Eastern Empire, on the other hand, has developed an entirely different relationship with mana. While they are well-known for their earth-based techniques¡ªallowing their soldiers to manipulate the ground, create barriers, and even erect fortresses¡ªtheir true strength lies in the forging and awakening of mana blades."

    He noticed a flicker of interest in the eyes of several students, particularly Elizabeth, who had always shown a keen interest in weaponry.

    "In the Eastern Empire," Professor M elaborated, "their blades are not mere weapons. They are extensions of the warrior¡¯s soul, forged with mana and awakened through rigorous training and ritual. It is rumored¡ªthough not confirmed¡ªthat the process of awakening a mana blade is akin to the way we awaken our bodies to professions. These blades grow in power over time, and some have become legendary, capable of slicing through the toughest of armors, including dragon scale, with three precise strikes."

    Elizabeth raised her hand, unable to contain her curiosity. "Professor, is it true that these awakened blades can act on their own, as if they possess a will of their own?"

    Professor M considered her question for a moment, then nodded. "Indeed, there are tales of such blades, though they are rare. The most powerful mana blades are said to be semi-sentient, reacting to their wielder¡¯s intent and even moving to protect them without direct command. The bond between a warrior and their blade is one of the most sacred in the Eastern Empire, and it is believed that the blade¡¯s strength is directly tied to the purity of that bond."

    Elizabeth leaned back in her chair, her mind clearly racing with the possibilities. Mark, seated next to her, glanced her way, noticing the gleam of excitement in her eyes. He, too, had questions, but he chose to hold them for now, sensing that the lecture was far from over.

    Professor M resumed his pacing, his sharp eyes sweeping over the room to ensure he had the students'' full attention before continuing.

    "The Northern Territories," he began, his tone darkening as he spoke, "are perhaps the most mysterious of all the nations. Their approach to mana is... unsettling. Unlike the other nations, which use mana to augment their abilities or channel it through tools, the Northerners consume it. They integrate it into their very being, a practice known as Mana Assimilation. This process allows them to become one with the mana, gaining immense power, but at a cost. Those who undergo Mana Assimilation often lose a part of themselves, becoming more mana than human."

    A palpable tension filled the room as the students absorbed this unsettling information. Professor M noted the discomfort on their faces, particularly that of Mark, who had grown increasingly thoughtful as the lecture progressed. Mark had always been inquisitive, often questioning the status quo, but now he seemed more concerned than curious.

    Unable to hold back, Mark raised his hand, and Professor M acknowledged him with a slight nod. "Professor, if the Northern Territories are so dangerous, why hasn¡¯t the Stalemate Act addressed this? Shouldn¡¯t there be more effort to curb their influence, considering the potential threat they pose?"

    Professor M regarded Mark with an inscrutable expression, his eyes narrowing slightly. "The Stalemate Act was designed to maintain a delicate balance," he explained, his tone measured. "It¡¯s not about eradicating threats but about keeping them in check. The Northern Territories are indeed dangerous, but they are also necessary. Their role in the global equilibrium is as vital as that of any other nation. The Act ensures that no single power grows too strong, that no single threat becomes insurmountable. To act against them directly would be to upset that balance and risk plunging the world into chaos."

    Mark nodded slowly, though it was clear he was still processing the implications of the professor¡¯s words. Professor M observed him carefully, noting the uncertainty that lingered in the young man¡¯s eyes.

    Elizabeth, too, seemed deep in thought. The idea of blades that could cut through dragon scale armor fascinated her, but the concept of Mana Assimilation left her with an uneasy feeling. She glanced at Mark, sharing a look of concern, but neither spoke.

    Professor M continued, addressing the class as a whole. "Now, let us discuss the Western Kingdoms. Their expertise lies in wind-based mana techniques, which have made their armies both swift and elusive. However, the Westerners do not rely solely on speed. They have also mastered the art of aerial combat, using their control over the wind to dominate the skies."

    He paused to gauge the students¡¯ reactions. The Western Kingdoms were well-known for their prowess in battle, but few outside their borders understood the full extent of their capabilities.

    "In the Western Kingdoms," Professor M continued, "mana is not just a tool for the individual¡ªit is a force that shapes the battlefield. Their soldiers can summon powerful gales to scatter enemy formations, create wind barriers that deflect incoming attacks, and even ride the wind to outmaneuver their opponents. In addition, their skyships, powered by wind mana, are unmatched in speed and maneuverability, giving them a strategic advantage in any conflict."

    A student at the back of the room tentatively raised her hand. It was Sarah, one of the quieter members of the class. Professor M acknowledged her with a curt nod.

    "Professor," she began, her voice barely above a whisper, "what happens if one of these skyships were to be grounded? Wouldn¡¯t that render the Westerners vulnerable?"

    Professor M¡¯s expression softened slightly, impressed by the insightfulness of her question. "Indeed, Sarah," he replied, "a grounded skyship is vulnerable. However, the Westerners are well aware of this weakness and have developed contingencies. Their soldiers are trained to defend their ships at all costs, and their ground forces are no less formidable. Even without their skyships, the Western Kingdoms¡¯ mastery of wind-based techniques ensures that they remain a formidable opponent."

    Sarah nodded, satisfied with the answer, though the notion of skyships intrigued her. She wondered what it would be like to ride one, soaring above the clouds, free from the constraints of the earth.

    Professor M allowed a brief pause for the students to absorb everything before moving on to a different, but equally important, topic.

    "As you all know, the Stalemate Act of 94 R.C. is a critical element in maintaining the balance of power between nations. It was established to prevent full-scale wars by ensuring that no single nation could grow too powerful without opposition. But what you may not know is how deeply integrated the Star Promotion Exams are within this act."

    He paused, allowing his words to sink in, noting the shift in the students¡¯ attention as they realized the significance of what he was about to explain.

    "The Star Promotion Exams," he continued, "are more than just a test of individual strength and skill. They are a mechanism through which the Stalemate Act is enforced. Every year, instead of engaging in outright war, nations send their very best combatants to represent their empires in a series of battles. These battles determine not just the fame and promotion of the victors, but also carry tangible rewards¡ªartifacts, titles, and most importantly, land."

    The room was silent, the students hanging on his every word.

    "The empire or kingdom that wins these battles is allowed to claim land closest to its border from any of the other empires. The size of the land is deliberated upon by the empires¡¯ ambassadors, and it usually ranges from a county to a duchy, depending on the relative strength or weakness of the other nation to the winning nation. The further ahead an empire gets during the exams, the less land they have to give up."

    He saw a few students exchange glances, the gravity of the situation dawning on them.

    "Moreover," Professor M added, his tone now sharp and precise, "the winning nation has the right to trade this land with another empire in exchange for whatever they please. This means that the outcome of these exams can shift the borders of nations, altering the balance of power without a single army marching into battle. It is a system designed to maintain peace, but it is also one that keeps the world on edge, as each empire seeks to gain an advantage without crossing the line into outright war."

    Elizabeth, who had been quiet for a while, spoke up. "Professor, if the Star Promotion Exams are so crucial, why isn¡¯t more emphasis placed on them in our studies?"

    Professor M fixed her with a steely gaze. "Make no mistake, Elizabeth. Everything you have learned here, every skill you have honed, has been in preparation for those exams. They are not merely tests¡ªthey are the embodiment of all you have trained for. The reason we do not speak of them often is because they are not for the faint of heart. Only the strongest, the most capable, will be selected to represent our nation. It is an honor and a burden, one that you must be ready to bear when the time comes."

    Elizabeth nodded, understanding now the weight of what lay ahead.

    Mark, who had been silent since his last question, finally spoke up again. "Professor, is it true that some nations use the Star Promotion Exams to test new techniques or weapons?"

    Professor M regarded him with a thoughtful expression. "Yes, Mark. The exams are not only a measure of current strength but also a proving ground for new advancements. Nations often use the opportunity to test their latest techniques, weapons, and strategies in a controlled, yet high-stakes environment. It is both a risk and a necessity, as those who fail to innovate often find themselves left behind."

    Mark absorbed this, his mind already racing with the implications. The exams were more than just a contest¡ªthey were a stage on which the future of nations could be decided.

    Professor M, satisfied that the gravity of the Star Promotion Exams had been adequately conveyed, decided to bring the lecture to a close. He returned to the front of the classroom, his posture as rigid and imposing as ever. He surveyed the room, his gaze lingering on each student as if committing their faces to memory. His thoughts, however, lingered on Mark, Elizabeth, and their friend, the King¡¯s nephew. He had initially suspected that the young noble had shared more information than he should have with his friends. Yet, their reactions¡ªor lack thereof¡ªsuggested otherwise. Perhaps the boy had been more discreet than Professor M had given him credit for. The professor¡¯s sharp mind continued to analyze the situation as he addressed the class.

    "You are all about to step into a world far more complex and dangerous than you could have ever imagined," he said, his voice once again filled with that unmistakable blend of authority and gravitas. "The knowledge you have gained here is both a gift and a burden. How you choose to use it will determine the future¡ªnot just of this kingdom, but of the entire world."

    He paused, allowing the weight of his words to sink in.

    "Remember this: strength is not measured by power alone, but by the wisdom to wield it. Do not let your newfound knowledge make you reckless. The Stalemate Act exists for a reason, and it is your duty to uphold it."

    With those final words, Professor M turned to the whiteboard, where the name "Professor M" was still scrawled in blue ink. He snapped his fingers, and the chalk fell to the ground with a soft clatter.

    The class remained silent as Professor M walked to the door, his footsteps echoing in the stillness. Just before leaving, he paused and turned to face the students one last time.

    "I bid you all, Good luck," he said simply, his voice softer now, almost human. "You are all going to need it."

    And with that, he was gone, leaving the students to ponder the immense responsibility that now rested on their shoulders.

    As the door closed behind him, the classroom erupted into hushed whispers and murmurs. The once-cold atmosphere was now filled with a mixture of excitement, fear, and determination. Each student knew that their lives were about to change in ways they could not yet fully comprehend. But they also knew that they were ready¡ªbecause, despite his stern demeanor and intimidating presence, Professor M had prepared them well.

    Mark turned to Elizabeth, his expression serious. "What do you think?" he asked, his voice low as if he didn¡¯t want to disturb the lingering silence in the room.

    Elizabeth met his gaze, her eyes filled with determination. "I think," she began slowly, "that we have a lot more to prepare for than we ever imagined."

    Mark nodded in agreement. The Star Promotion Exams loomed large in their minds now, no longer just an abstract concept but a tangible, looming challenge. As they packed up their things and filed out of the classroom, there was a new sense of purpose among them¡ªa resolve to face whatever lay ahead with the strength and wisdom that Professor M had instilled in them.

    The weight of the world rested on their shoulders, but they were ready to bear it.

 cheer up!

    3

    ¡°Argh, cheer up guys, for the love of Blunare, the class was over two hours ago! Get over it! Professor M has always been a mood killer; we¡¯ve all known that since year one,¡± Newt exclaimed, throwing his hands up in exasperation. He looked around the room, his enthusiasm a sharp contrast to the gloomy atmosphere.

    Mark, sprawled on the couch in his usual laid-back fashion, sighed heavily. Dressed in a crisp white button-up shirt and black slacks, matched with equally black footwear, he looked every bit the model student ¨C except for the exhausted expression on his face. Leaning forward, he locked eyes with Newt, who was sitting directly opposite him in the lounge of their male dormitory.

    ¡°They just finally understood what you and I have known for a long time¡­¡± Mark began, his voice low and serious. ¡°Which is¡­ they could die at any moment out there, and in certain situations, their deaths would be without meaning.¡±

    Newt blinked, his usual cocky demeanor faltering as he processed Mark¡¯s words. ¡°Oh¡­ I see.¡± He nodded slowly, a comforting smile playing on his lips as he realized the gravity of the situation. For a moment, Mark thought his friend had finally grasped the delicate mood of the room.

    ¡°If you guys are so scared of death, don¡¯t worry! I¡¯ll be the strongest very quickly, so you all won¡¯t have to fight! You weaklings can leave all the battles to me,¡± Newt added with a grin, completely missing the point.

    Mark groaned inwardly, smacking his open palm to his forehead. ¡°Newt¡­¡±

    The room, which had been shrouded in uneasy silence, suddenly burst into life. It was as if someone had shaken a hornet¡¯s nest, and now all the bees were buzzing with anger.

    ¡°Who are you calling weak, you garbage spare royal pain in the neck?¡± a voice shot out from the back of the room, followed by a chorus of agreement.

    ¡°Yeah! What do you mean protect us? I could just as easily end up becoming far more powerful than you, once I awaken my profession,¡± another student yelled, his face flushed with indignation.

    ¡°Even if you all got good professions¡­ a coward is still a coward,¡± Newt shot back, his grin widening.

    ¡°I am going to kill you.¡±

    ¡°I will beat you so bad, royalty won¡¯t want your name in their books anymore.¡±

    The arguments and threats flew across the room, each student trying to outshout the other. Mark, seeing where this was going, began to tune them all out. He leaned back on the sofa, resting the back of his head and closing his eyes, trying to escape the chaos around him.

    ¡°At least the room isn¡¯t so lifeless anymore,¡± Mark thought, a small smile tugging at his lips despite the situation.

    ¡°You should stop them before this becomes a problem,¡± a quiet voice roused Mark from the clutches of sleep.

    Mark blinked and sat up, his eyes widening slightly as he saw Griffith standing beside him. The man had somehow slipped into the room without Mark noticing, and that was saying something.

    ¡°Griffith,¡± Mark acknowledged, still a bit shocked that someone had managed to get so close without him realizing. ¡°You¡¯re getting better at sneaking around in general. I¡¯m truly impressed with your growth.¡±

    Griffith gave a small, self-deprecating smile, his eyes flicking to the chaotic scene in front of them. ¡°Thanks, but this isn¡¯t the time for compliments. We need to do something before they start throwing punches.¡±

    Mark nodded, dragging a hand down his face. ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re right.¡± He stood up and cleared his throat loudly, trying to get everyone¡¯s attention. ¡°Hey, enough! Calm down, all of you!¡±

    The noise level dropped slightly, but the tension was still palpable. Mark stepped forward, positioning himself between Newt and the rest of the room.

    ¡°Look, I know everyone¡¯s on edge after what Professor M said,¡± Mark began, his voice steady and firm. ¡°But fighting each other isn¡¯t going to help. We need to think about what we learned and how it¡¯s going to affect our future careers.¡±

    There was a murmur of agreement, but the students still looked wary. Newt, however, seemed unperturbed. He crossed his arms over his chest and smirked. ¡°What? Are we really going to let some old guy¡¯s words scare us? I¡¯m telling you, once I awaken my profession, none of this will matter.¡±

    Griffith sighed and shook his head. ¡°Newt, it¡¯s not just about being strong. Professor M wasn¡¯t just trying to scare us. He was trying to make us understand the reality of the world out there.¡±

    ¡°Exactly,¡± Mark agreed, nodding at Griffith. ¡°It¡¯s not just about power. It¡¯s about survival. You can be the strongest person in the world, but if you¡¯re not smart about it, you¡¯re still going to end up dead.¡±

    ¡°But that¡¯s the thing,¡± another student piped up, his voice shaky. ¡°What if our professions aren¡¯t what we expect? What if we¡¯re not cut out for this?¡±

    A heavy silence fell over the room as the students exchanged worried glances. This was the fear that had been gnawing at them ever since Professor M¡¯s lecture. The realization that their future was uncertain, that they might not be as strong or as capable as they had hoped.

    ¡°That¡¯s what we need to figure out,¡± Mark said, his tone thoughtful. ¡°We need to take what Professor M said seriously and think about our options. We have to be realistic about our strengths and weaknesses.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, but what if our professions aren¡¯t what we want?¡± someone else asked, their voice laced with anxiety. ¡°What if we get stuck with something useless?¡±

    Griffith stepped forward, his expression calm and reassuring. ¡°It¡¯s not about what profession you get. It¡¯s about how you use it. Every profession has its strengths and weaknesses. It¡¯s up to us to figure out how to make the most of it.¡±

    ¡°Griffith¡¯s right,¡± Mark added. ¡°We can¡¯t control what profession we get, but we can control how we approach it. We need to start preparing ourselves mentally and physically for whatever comes our way.¡±

    Newt, for once, seemed to be considering their words. He glanced around the room, noting the worried faces of his classmates. ¡°So, what? We just train harder and hope for the best?¡± Another student asked

    ¡°Not just train harder,¡± Mark corrected. ¡°We need to train smarter. We need to learn everything we can about the world out there, about our enemies, about ourselves. Knowledge is just as important as strength.¡±

    The room fell into a contemplative silence as the students absorbed Mark¡¯s words. It was clear that the reality of their situation was finally starting to sink in.

    ¡°Look,¡± Griffith said, breaking the silence. ¡°We don¡¯t have to have all the answers right now. But we need to stick together and support each other. That¡¯s the only way we¡¯re going to make it through this.¡±

    Mark nodded in agreement, glancing around the room. ¡°Griffith¡¯s right. We¡¯re all in this together. We need to stop fighting among ourselves and start focusing on what really matters.¡±

    Newt sighed, running a hand through his hair. ¡°Fine. I guess you¡¯re right. But I¡¯m still going to be the strongest, just so you all know.¡±

    A few of the students chuckled, the tension in the room finally easing. Mark shook his head, a small smile on his lips. ¡°Sure, Newt. We¡¯ll see about that.¡±

    As the conversation shifted to lighter topics, the atmosphere in the room relaxed. The students began to discuss their training plans, sharing tips and strategies with each other. The earlier tension was forgotten, replaced by a renewed sense of camaraderie and determination.

    Mark leaned back against the wall, watching his classmates with a sense of relief. They still had a long way to go, but at least they were finally starting to face the reality of their situation. And as long as they stuck together, he knew they had a fighting chance.

    Griffith moved to stand beside him, his gaze also on their classmates. ¡°You did good, Mark,¡± he said quietly.

    Mark shrugged, his expression thoughtful. ¡°I just said what needed to be said. To some extent we¡¯re all scared, but we can¡¯t let that fear control us. We have to be smart about this.¡±

    Griffith nodded, a small smile on his lips. ¡°Exactly. And with the right mindset, we¡¯ll get through this. Together.¡±

    Mark returned the smile, feeling a sense of calm wash over him. For the first time in a long while, he felt hopeful about their future. They had a lot to learn, and the road ahead was uncertain, but at least they were facing it together.

    And that, Mark realized, was the most important thing of all.

    The Bonds of Mana

    Leaning back against the seat, the arguments of his classmates slowly faded into the background. Mark focused his mind on his mana, feeling the energy pulse within him like a heartbeat. It was an exercise he had dutifully practiced every day for years¡ªthe only martial knowledge his father had passed down to him.

    "Close your eyes, draw forth your mana, and keep it barely contained as much as you can," his father''s voice echoed in his memory. "Do this every day, and by the time you are ready to choose a profession, no matter what fate awaits you, your mana will always be strong enough to protect you."

    Seven years had passed since his father had given him those instructions, and six long years since the tragic day when both of his parents were taken from him. Since that day, Mark hadn''t missed a single day of his mana exercise, a ritual that had become as natural as breathing.

    As he focused, Mark¡¯s skin began to strengthen and glow faintly, a soft aura of power surrounding him. By his estimation, he could now maintain seventy percent control of his mana while applying sixty percent output. It wasn¡¯t the fine control that Annabeth had mastered, but considering he had four times the amount of mana she did, he was satisfied with his progress. He was on the right track.

    This was the same exercise he had shown Griffith after seeing his friend struggle with controlling his own mana. Griffith¡¯s mana was considered volatile, responding unpredictably to shape manipulation and resisting control. It was a difficult hand to be dealt.

    Opening his eyes, Mark looked across the room to where Griffith had risen and was now engaging another classmate in conversation. Griffith had grown more than anyone else in their class. Mark recalled their first day¡ªGriffith had to wear mana cuffs to prevent his mana from lashing out randomly. Now, he was one of the most controlled and disciplined among them.

    "I won¡¯t apologize! I spoke my truth!" Newt¡¯s voice rang out, breaking Mark''s reverie. He turned to see his best friend being lifted into the air by the other students, who were carting him off toward the exit. A light laugh bubbled up from Mark¡¯s lips.

    "Don¡¯t just sit there laughing! Help me out!" Newt called back, his tone half-serious, half-amused, but there was a hint of genuine desperation in his voice.

    "No, I don¡¯t think I will," Mark replied, his smile widening as he watched the scene unfold. "Just apologize, Newt."

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    "Never! I am royalty!" Newt declared, his voice dripping with mock grandeur. Mark laughed harder, the sound echoing in the room. The corny "I am royalty" line was proof enough that Newt was enjoying the spectacle. Newt had never been one to stand on ceremony or take himself too seriously.

    After the students finally let Newt down, he strutted over to where Mark was sitting, an exaggerated pout on his face. He brushed off his uniform with the flair of a man who had been wronged by the world.

    "Enjoying yourself, are we?" Newt grumbled, plopping down beside Mark with a dramatic huff. "My best friend, ladies and gentlemen, watches as I¡¯m carried off like a sack of potatoes!"

    Mark turned to him, still grinning. "Well, you did say you were royalty," he teased, raising an eyebrow. "I thought you might appreciate the royal treatment."

    Newt shot him a glare, but there was no real heat in it. "Ha ha, very funny," he replied, rolling his eyes. "You know, a good friend would have come to my rescue. A decent human being, even."

    "And here I was thinking I was helping you learn a valuable life lesson," Mark retorted, his tone mockingly serious. "The value of humility, perhaps?"

    "Humility? Me?" Newt scoffed, crossing his arms and shaking his head. "You know I don¡¯t do humility. That¡¯s your department."

    "Maybe," Mark conceded with a chuckle. "But you have to admit, you seemed to be enjoying yourself back there."

    Newt paused, then a reluctant smile crept onto his face. "Maybe a little," he admitted. "But that¡¯s not the point, Mark! You¡¯re supposed to have my back."

    "I always have your back," Mark said more seriously, the smile fading from his face. "But sometimes, you¡¯ve got to handle things on your own. Plus, you¡¯ve got a pretty good handle on dealing with people, don¡¯t you think?"

    Newt sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Yeah, I guess so," he muttered, though he still looked mildly annoyed. "But that doesn¡¯t mean you get to just sit back and watch me get manhandled!"

    Mark laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "Consider it payback for all the times you¡¯ve dragged me into conversations I didn¡¯t want to have. You know, like every time you made me talk to people I barely knew."

    Newt snorted, the last remnants of his faux anger dissipating. "Touch¨¦," he said, giving Mark a sidelong glance. "But if I didn¡¯t, you¡¯d never talk to anyone except Elizabeth."

    At the mention of Elizabeth, Mark¡¯s playful demeanor faltered slightly. He looked away, his expression growing distant. Newt noticed the shift immediately, his keen eyes narrowing in concern.

    "What¡¯s up?" Newt asked, his tone softer now, laced with genuine curiosity. "Something bothering you?"

    Mark hesitated, his fingers fiddling with a loose thread on his sleeve. He sighed, feeling the weight of his unspoken worries pressing down on him. "I¡¯m just¡­ worried about her. About what happens after we graduate."

    Newt leaned in closer, his eyes searching Mark¡¯s face. "Elizabeth?" he asked, his voice gentle. "What are you worried about?"

    "She¡¯s strong, Newt," Mark said, his voice quiet, almost as if he were trying to convince himself. "But I don¡¯t want her following me down this path. It¡¯s not what¡¯s best for her."

    Newt¡¯s expression softened, and he placed a reassuring hand on Mark¡¯s shoulder. "Have you talked to her about it?" he asked, his tone careful, as if he didn¡¯t want to push too hard.

    Mark shook his head, his brows knitting together. "Not yet," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I¡¯m not even sure how to bring it up. I don¡¯t want to hurt her, but¡­"

    "But you don¡¯t want her to get hurt either," Newt finished for him, understanding dawning in his eyes.

    "Exactly," Mark murmured, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I just¡­ I want her to be safe. But how can I tell her that without making it sound like I don¡¯t trust her to make her own choices?"

    Newt was silent for a moment, his hand still resting on Mark¡¯s shoulder. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm, steady. "You know, for someone who¡¯s so good at controlling mana, you¡¯re pretty bad at controlling your emotions," he said, though there was no malice in his words. "But maybe that¡¯s what makes you such a good person, Mark. You care too much."

    Mark let out a short, humorless laugh. "Caring too much doesn¡¯t seem like such a good thing right now."

    "It is, though," Newt insisted, his grip on Mark¡¯s shoulder tightening slightly. "It means you¡¯re not going to just throw her into something dangerous without thinking it through. But you¡¯ve got to talk to her, Mark. Be honest. She deserves that much, and so do you."

    Mark looked up at Newt, seeing the earnestness in his friend¡¯s eyes. He nodded slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit. "You¡¯re right," he said, his voice more resolute. "I need to talk to her. I just¡­ I need to find the right moment."

    Newt smiled, giving Mark a supportive pat on the back. "You¡¯ll figure it out," he said confidently. "And when you do, you¡¯ll know what to say. You¡¯ve got a good head on your shoulders, Mark. Trust it."

    "Thanks, Newt," Mark said, feeling a rush of gratitude for his friend¡¯s unwavering support. "I don¡¯t know what I¡¯d do without you sometimes."

    "Well, for one, you¡¯d be a lot quieter," Newt joked, though his smile was warm. "But seriously, anytime you need to talk, I¡¯m here. We¡¯ve got each other¡¯s backs, remember?"

    "Always," Mark agreed, the bond between them feeling stronger than ever.

    As they sat in comfortable silence for a moment, a tall, dark-skinned figure with striking yellow eyes approached them. Arran Atkins, one of the most formidable students in their class, and Mark¡¯s long-time rival, loomed over them with a mischievous grin.

    "Am I interrupting something important?" Arran asked, his voice deep and resonant, but with a playful edge.

    "Just the usual¡ªMark failing to be a proper hero," Newt quipped, shooting Mark a teasing look.

    "Is that so?" Arran said, raising an eyebrow as he sat down beside Mark. "Well, maybe you¡¯ll have better luck tomorrow when you try to beat me in our final one-on-one before graduation."

    Mark met Arran¡¯s gaze, his competitive spirit flickering back to life. "Maybe," he replied, his tone challenging. "But don¡¯t expect me to go easy on you."

    "I wouldn¡¯t have it any other way," Arran said, his grin widening. "After all, you¡¯re my rival. I expect the best."

    Mark rolled his eyes, though he couldn¡¯t help but smile. "I never agreed to this rivalry, Arran."

    "Too late for that," Arran said with a shrug. "You agreed the day you almost beat me. Ever since then, we¡¯ve been pushing each other to be better."

    Mark chuckled, shaking his head. "Maybe you¡¯re right. It¡¯s been a long journey."

    "And it¡¯s not over yet," Arran said, his tone serious now. "We¡¯ve still got a lot to prove¡ªto ourselves and to everyone else."

    "Agreed," Mark said, feeling a surge of determination. "Tomorrow, we¡¯ll see who¡¯s really grown the most."

    "Looking forward to it," Arran replied, standing up and giving Mark a nod. "Until then, try not to let Newt get into too much trouble."

    "I make no promises," Mark said with a grin, watching as Arran walked away.

    Newt leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You know, he really does see you as a rival. You¡¯ve pushed him just as much as he¡¯s pushed you."

    "Yeah, I guess so," Mark replied, thoughtful. "But it¡¯s more than that, isn¡¯t it? We¡¯ve all pushed each other. That¡¯s why we¡¯ve come this far."

    "And that¡¯s why we¡¯re going to keep going," Newt said firmly, his eyes glinting with determination. "No matter what."

    Mark nodded, a sense of resolve settling over him. With friends like these by his side, he knew they could face whatever challenges lay ahead. And as for Elizabeth, he would find the right moment to talk to her, to make sure she understood why he was making the choices he was.

    For now, though, he was content to sit here with Newt, enjoying the moment, knowing that together, they could handle anything.

    ==========================================================

    Elizabeth groaned softly, the sound resonating in the stillness of the early morning. The faint light of dawn filtered through the thin curtains, casting a muted glow across her room, but she kept her eyes stubbornly shut, unwilling to face the new day. The world outside was beginning to stir, yet within her sanctuary beneath the soft, purple bedsheets, Elizabeth clung to the last vestiges of night. Sleep, however, had long eluded her¡ªslipping through her grasp like sand through fingers.

    Her body, conditioned by the relentless routines of training, was a clockwork mechanism that defied her protests. Mark had been unyielding in their regimen, pushing them to their limits day after day. Now, even in this rare moment of supposed respite, her muscles remembered the discipline, twitching in readiness for the strain they expected. Morning had become synonymous with the burn of exertion, the sting of sweat, and the unspoken bond of shared purpose. The absence of that familiar routine this morning only heightened her awareness of the silence.

    She had pleaded with Mark for this break, her argument infused with the desperation of someone grasping for a fleeting moment of peace. It was their final week at the Academy, she had reasoned. They should savor these last days, soak in the freedom that would soon be nothing more than a memory. Mark had relented, though not without a knowing look that suggested he doubted she would find the rest as satisfying as she claimed. Now, in the quiet of the early hour, Elizabeth felt the truth of his unspoken doubt settling over her like a weight.

    With a sigh more of resignation than relief, she pushed the covers away. The sheets slid from her body, leaving a coolness against her skin that contrasted sharply with the warmth she left behind. Slowly, she sat up, bracing her hands against the mattress, feeling the familiar ache in her shoulders and the lingering tension in her back. With deliberate care, she stretched, arching her spine in a slow, measured motion, like a cat unfurling from sleep. The satisfying crack of her neck offered a small release from the tightness that had gathered there overnight.

    Her gaze drifted to the calendar hanging on the wall opposite her bed. The days were meticulously marked, each one crossed off with a thin line of red ink. But it was the date circled in bold, aggressive strokes that drew her attention¡ªa bullseye, a target she had set for herself, glaring back at her with silent accusation. Today was the day. The excitement that had once accompanied the thought was now tempered by the weight of what lay ahead.

    Today was meant for combat exercises, the one aspect of her training that consistently humbled her. It was the chink in her armor, the weak link that left her feeling exposed. In most areas, she could hold her own against Mark and her rival, but in this¡ªhand-to-hand combat¡ªshe faltered. It wasn¡¯t for lack of effort; she had poured hours into honing her skills, pushing herself to the brink of exhaustion. Yet, progress was slow, and each small victory hard-won.

    Elizabeth stared at the calendar for a moment longer, the weight of the day ahead pressing down on her shoulders. But there was no room for hesitation, no time for self-doubt. The day would come whether she was ready for it or not. With a final, reluctant sigh, she pushed herself off the bed, her feet finding the cool floor with a soft thud. She winced inwardly as she recalled the last time she had faced Mark in combat training. He had held back, but even so, the difference in their skill levels had been painfully clear. She had barely lasted two minutes against him.

    As she moved through the familiar motions of her morning routine, the memory lingered¡ªa stark reminder of her limits. Elizabeth was proud of her growth, but she was also exhausted. The constant push to reach a greatness she had never seen in herself or others was wearing her down. When the pressure became too much, she often looked to Mark for strength. He always seemed so certain, so sure of where he was going and why. Mark had a way of making even the harshest truths seem bearable.

    "The world isn¡¯t a forgiving place," he would often say, "especially to those who are truly kind." He had repeated that phrase one too many times for her liking, a sentiment she had not hesitated to vocalize. Yet, deep down, she knew there was truth in his words.

    A few hours later, Elizabeth found herself absorbed in her studies. She spent the morning immersed in the intricacies of mana theory, her mind seeking solace in the familiar patterns of magical energy. Mana manipulation and control were where she truly shined, and she harbored the hope that her professional awakening would enhance or complement these natural talents.

    As Elizabeth crossed the hall, her thoughts still tangled with the weight of the day ahead, the buzz of students moving around her felt distant, almost muted. It wasn¡¯t until a familiar voice cut through the ambient noise that she was pulled back into the present.

    "Good morning, Elizabeth," Reyna Rivers called out, her tone smooth but carrying a subtle edge that Elizabeth had grown accustomed to over the years.

    Elizabeth turned to see Reyna striding toward her with her usual confidence. Reyna was always a striking figure, impossible to overlook with her blood-red hair cascading in waves down her back and her coal-dark eyes that seemed to pierce through whatever facade anyone put up. She stood taller than Elizabeth by a few inches, her presence commanding as if she owned every space she walked into. The sharpness of her features only accentuated the cool smirk she wore¡ªa smirk that Elizabeth knew well.

    "Reyna," Elizabeth acknowledged with a nod, her voice measured. "Up early, as always."

    Reyna fell into step beside her, her eyes flicking over Elizabeth in a quick, assessing glance that seemed to take in every detail, from the tension in Elizabeth''s shoulders to the faint shadows under her eyes. "Of course. It¡¯s not every day we face, final combat evaluations." There was a pause, a momentary hesitation before Reyna added, "You seem... well-rested."

    Elizabeth caught the slight pause, the almost imperceptible suggestion that she might have taken it easy. She shook her head lightly, refusing to rise to the bait. "Not really. I didn¡¯t get much sleep. The pressure¡¯s starting to get to me, and to be honest, I almost wish today would just be over."

    Reyna¡¯s smirk widened just a fraction, the competitive spark in her eyes unmistakable. "Pressure? From you, Elizabeth? You¡¯re the second-best student in our year¡ªright behind me. I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d be the type to crack under a little stress."

    There it was¡ªthe rivalry that had simmered between them for years, always just beneath the surface. Despite the mutual respect they had for each other¡¯s skills, the competition for the top spot had added an undercurrent of tension to their interactions. Elizabeth managed a small smile, knowing Reyna¡¯s words were as much a reminder of her own standing as they were a subtle dig at Elizabeth¡¯s current state.

    "Crack? No," Elizabeth replied, keeping her voice even and controlled. "But it¡¯s hard not to feel the weight of it all. With every day that passes, the expectations seem to double. I¡¯m sure you feel it too, Reyna."

    For a moment, Reyna¡¯s expression softened, but only slightly, like a mask slipping to reveal something deeper before it was quickly replaced. "Perhaps. But unlike some, I find the pressure exhilarating. It pushes me to be better, to sharpen every skill until there¡¯s no room for doubt. And let¡¯s be honest, Elizabeth¡ªyou¡¯ve got a lot going for you. Mana manipulation, for one. They say your control is unmatched. If I were you, I¡¯d be more excited about what¡¯s to come rather than anxious."

    Elizabeth nodded, though her thoughts drifted momentarily back to the mana theories she had been studying earlier in the morning. The intricacies of mana flow, the delicate balance of control and release¡ªthis was where she felt most at home, where she found solace in the methodical patterns of energy. She had spent hours immersing herself in those concepts, hoping that when the time came for her professional awakening, it would align with her natural affinity.

    "That¡¯s one way to look at it," Elizabeth said, her tone sincere but tinged with caution. "But I can¡¯t help but wonder if there¡¯s more to it. You and I¡ªwe¡¯re the two highest-ranking females in our year. There¡¯s a lot riding on today, more than just our performances. Our futures could very well be determined by what happens out there."

    Reyna¡¯s gaze sharpened, and she slowed her pace, turning slightly to face Elizabeth as they walked. Her eyes narrowed, studying Elizabeth with an intensity that was almost unnerving. "There¡¯s always more to it, Elizabeth. Today isn¡¯t just about proving our skills¡ªit¡¯s about setting the stage for what comes next. You know as well as I do that our performances today will define our paths. Not just for us, but for everyone who¡¯s watching."

    Elizabeth met Reyna¡¯s gaze, the unspoken understanding between them crystal clear. They were both acutely aware of the stakes. This wasn¡¯t just another evaluation; it was a defining moment in their lives, one that could determine their future roles within their society, their families, and their reputations among their peers.

    "Then let¡¯s make sure we give them something to remember," Elizabeth said, her voice steady, though the resolve in her eyes was unyielding.

    Reyna¡¯s smirk returned, this time with a hint of camaraderie that was rare between them. "Oh, we will. But don¡¯t expect me to go easy on you."

    Elizabeth¡¯s lips curved into a smile, one that matched Reyna¡¯s in its competitive edge. "Wouldn¡¯t dream of it," she replied, the fire of rivalry rekindled in her chest. Reyna had always been her greatest competition, but in that competition, she had also become her greatest motivator.

    They continued their walk toward the training grounds in a charged silence, the rivalry between them no longer a barrier but a driving force that had pushed both of them to excel beyond their limits. They had spent years honing their skills, each aware that the other was the benchmark they needed to surpass.

    As they neared the training grounds, the buzz of activity around them grew louder. Final-year students were scattered across the field, preparing for the combat exercises that would soon begin. Elizabeth took a deep breath, feeling the tension in her shoulders ease slightly as the familiar scent of earth and sweat filled the air. The weight of the day still pressed down on her, but now, with the memory of her morning studies and Reyna¡¯s words in mind, she felt more centered, more focused.

    As they reached the edge of the training field, Elizabeth¡¯s eyes instinctively scanned the area, her gaze immediately locking onto Mark. He was already there, warming up with a series of stretches, his movements fluid and precise, his focus entirely on the task ahead. When he noticed her approach, he offered a small nod, a silent gesture of reassurance that eased the last of her doubts.

    "You¡¯ve got good support in Mark," Reyna observed, her tone neutral, though there was a hint of something else beneath the surface¡ªperhaps envy, or maybe just a recognition of what Elizabeth had. "He¡¯s solid, dependable. You two make a good team."

    Elizabeth glanced at Mark, a fond smile playing on her lips. "He¡¯s been my anchor through all of this. Whenever I start to doubt myself, he¡¯s there to remind me why we¡¯re doing this, why we keep pushing."

    Reyna was quiet for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then she nodded, her voice softer than before. "It¡¯s good to have someone like that. Not everyone does."

    Elizabeth turned to Reyna, sensing a rare vulnerability in her tone. "You¡¯ve got your own strengths, Reyna. You don¡¯t need anyone to lean on¡ªyou¡¯ve proven that time and again."

    Reyna¡¯s eyes flicked back to Elizabeth, and for a brief moment, the competitive edge between them softened. "Maybe. But sometimes, it¡¯d be nice to have someone to share the burden with. Not that I¡¯m complaining," she added quickly, the steel returning to her voice. "I¡¯ve made it this far on my own, and I intend to keep going."

    Elizabeth studied Reyna for a moment longer, recognizing the mix of pride and isolation in her words. They were more alike than either of them cared to admit, both driven by an intense desire to prove themselves, yet both keenly aware of the cost that came with their ambitions.

    "You don¡¯t always have to go it alone, Reyna," Elizabeth said quietly. "We¡¯re rivals, yes, but that doesn¡¯t mean we can¡¯t be allies when it counts."

    Reyna¡¯s gaze softened, and for the first time that morning, she smiled¡ªgenuinely, without the usual undercurrent of competition. "Maybe you¡¯re right. But don¡¯t think I¡¯m letting you off easy today."

    Elizabeth laughed, the tension between them easing just enough to allow for a moment of levity. "I wouldn¡¯t expect anything less."

    The training grounds were now fully in sight, alive with the energy of final-year students preparing for the combat exercises that would soon determine their futures. Elizabeth took a deep breath, feeling the tension in her body ease as she focused on what lay ahead. This was it¡ªthe culmination of years of training, the moment that would define who they were and where they were headed.

    As they approached the training field, Mark walked over to meet them, his expression calm but focused. "Ready?" he asked, his gaze shifting between Elizabeth and Reyna.

    Elizabeth nodded, her resolve solidifying with every step she took. "Ready."

    Reyna met Mark¡¯s gaze, her smirk returning, though this time it was directed at both of them. "I hope you two aren¡¯t planning to hold back. Because I won¡¯t."

    Mark chuckled, the sound low and confident. "Wouldn¡¯t dream of it, Reyna."

    With that, the three of them made their way onto the training field.

 near-impenetrable

    Direct combat sessions were always unpredictable. No two scenarios were ever the same. Conditions were kept unknown to the participants until the moment the match began, which made the anticipation all the more intense. No one ever knew exactly what to expect. That was the point. It simulated real-world combat situations¡ªchaotic, uncertain, and full of surprises.

    Mark walked into the waiting room, scanning the familiar faces of his classmates. A quick head count told him that he and Reyna were the last to arrive. His brow furrowed in thought. Perhaps everyone else had been overly excited and rushed to get here early. He couldn¡¯t blame them¡ªhe¡¯d been looking forward to this day too.

    A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Finally," he muttered under his breath.

    As they moved farther into the room, Reyna was quickly waved over by a few of their classmates. She hesitated for a moment before joining them, throwing a glance back at Mark as she left his side. Reyna was a good friend. Not as close as they could be, perhaps, but close enough to share the excitement of the day with.

    "Who do you want to be paired up against?" Mark asked, watching as Elizabeth, another classmate, approached.

    Elizabeth let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling her eyes in mock exasperation. "Definitely Arran. He has a better record than me in straight-up combat. So, obviously, he¡¯s better."

    Mark raised an eyebrow, not quite agreeing. "Records don¡¯t always tell the whole story."

    It wasn¡¯t like he hadn¡¯t thought that way once, especially back when Arran first started racking up wins. But over time, Mark had come to realize Arran wasn¡¯t just lucky with combat conditions. Arran¡¯s wins were no fluke. He was talented¡ªmore than talented.

    "Usually, I¡¯d agree with you," Mark continued, turning his gaze to the viewing window where the combat arena could be seen. "But Arran¡¯s different. He¡¯s not just strong; his battle IQ is insane. His ability to reinforce his body with mana? Easily high B-Class level. He¡¯s great, Elizabeth. Really great."

    Elizabeth shrugged but didn¡¯t argue. She knew Mark had a point, even if she hated admitting it.

    As they stood at the viewing window, the first duel was about to begin. The yard outside had a rugged, natural design¡ªa deliberate choice by the professors to mimic real-world environments. Large trees dotted the edges of the field, while boulders and patches of thinning grass filled the central area. Here and there, patches of dirt and dead grass stood out like scars on the land. A pond shimmered off to the side, reflecting the midday sun.

    Today was special. The combat situations had been designed by a mysterious professor, someone who had remained invisible to the students all semester. After setting up the conditions, this professor would hand the student pairings to two other professors, who would call out the names of the combatants. The matches weren¡¯t just about brute strength; they were meant to simulate life-and-death situations with unknown variables. It was a real test of adaptability.

    Mark felt a shiver of anticipation run down his spine. In situations where the number of students didn¡¯t line up, ace students from the lower classes would be invited to fill the gap. The best of the best. Everyone here had something to prove today.

    The professors¡¯ voices rang out from the front of the room, snapping everyone¡¯s attention back to the present. The next names were called.

    "Combat Scenario: Blade Work. Mana Transfiguration. Weapon Enhancement Skills Only."

    A murmur spread through the room. It was a challenging combination, one that demanded precise control over mana and combat technique.

    "Combatants: Jon Karuma vs. Aaron Peniton."

    The two students stepped forward, and the buzz of conversation faded to a hush. Jon Karuma was tall and lean, his eyes sharp with focus. He carried a katana, a sleek weapon known for its speed and precision. Across from him, Aaron Peniton gripped a longsword, his broad shoulders and heavy build a stark contrast to Jon¡¯s lithe frame.

    "Interesting match-up," Mark muttered, turning to Annabeth, who had come to stand beside him. "Jon¡¯s got speed and agility. Aaron has strength. This should be good."

    Annabeth nodded, her eyes glued to the arena. "Jon¡¯s faster, but Aaron¡¯s not slow by any means. And he¡¯s got more reach with that longsword. Jon¡¯s going to have to be quick if he wants to get past it."

    Mark hummed in agreement. "And the mana transfiguration element... That¡¯ll make it more complex. They¡¯ll have to keep adjusting their weapon enhancements on the fly."

    The viewing window darkened slightly as the protective barrier came into effect, signaling that the match was about to begin. Jon and Aaron took their positions on opposite ends of the arena, their weapons drawn.

    A soft chime echoed across the field.

    The chime rang through the air, signaling the start of the match. Jon wasted no time, darting forward with lightning speed. His katana glowed faintly with mana transfiguration, a technique that allowed him to strengthen the blade with each movement. His feet barely touched the ground as he closed the distance between himself and Aaron, slashing toward his opponent¡¯s side in a quick, fluid motion.

    Aaron reacted immediately, his longsword already in motion. The sheer size of the weapon didn¡¯t stop Aaron from moving with precision. The blades collided with a deafening *clang*, sending a ripple of energy through the arena. Mana-enhanced steel meeting steel, and for a moment, the two fighters were locked in a clash of power.

    Aaron grinned as he pushed Jon back. "You¡¯re faster, Jon, but you won¡¯t get through this time."

    Jon spun away, light on his feet, quickly repositioning himself to Aaron¡¯s blind spot. He slashed again, this time aiming for Aaron¡¯s shoulder. But Aaron was prepared¡ªhis mana-infused defense was already in place. The longsword moved with deadly accuracy, intercepting Jon¡¯s katana in mid-air. Sparks flew as the blades connected.

    "Same old strategy," Aaron taunted, forcing Jon to retreat a few steps. "You think speed alone can take me down?"

    Jon didn¡¯t respond, his face remaining focused and composed. He circled Aaron slowly, eyes locked on him, katana raised, ready for the next strike. He knew brute force wasn¡¯t going to win this fight. Aaron was stronger and more durable. Jon had fought him too many times to not know this. His strategy would have to be clever, precise.

    From the stands, Mark and Annabeth observed the unfolding battle with sharp attention. Mark¡¯s brows furrowed as he watched the movements.

    "Jon¡¯s playing it cautious," Mark said, his voice thoughtful. "He knows Aaron can break through his guard in a second."

    Annabeth crossed her arms, nodding. "But cautious won¡¯t win him this match. Aaron¡¯s just waiting for Jon to tire himself out."

    Aaron pressed the advantage, swinging his longsword in a wide arc. The sheer force of the blow was enough to send tremors through the ground. Jon leaped back just in time, his agility saving him from a devastating hit. He darted to the left, aiming for Aaron¡¯s exposed side again. His katana moved like lightning, but Aaron¡¯s defense was near-impenetrable. His armor, reinforced by mana transfiguration, absorbed the blow, leaving only a minor dent.

    Jon didn¡¯t let up. He attacked again, aiming a downward slash at Aaron¡¯s shoulder. Aaron, with his longsword buzzing with energy, met Jon¡¯s katana with a powerful parry. The impact sent a shockwave through Jon¡¯s arms, forcing him to stumble back.

    Aaron smirked, his confidence only growing. "You¡¯re just as fast as ever, Jon, but you can¡¯t break through. You never could."

    Jon¡¯s jaw tightened as he felt the frustration building inside him. His attacks weren¡¯t landing with the impact he needed. Aaron was stronger, and his mana defense was making up for the slowness of the longsword. Jon had faced Aaron¡¯s brute strength countless times, but this was different. Aaron had grown, too.

    "He¡¯s toying with Jon," Newt remarked, joining Mark and Annabeth at the viewing window. His eyes were fixed on the arena, watching the back-and-forth between the two combatants. "Aaron¡¯s letting Jon think he has a chance, but he¡¯s just waiting for the right moment."

    Mark¡¯s fists clenched as he watched. "Jon¡¯s fast, but he needs to think bigger. Aaron¡¯s not just a brute anymore¡ªhe¡¯s been refining his mana transfiguration with every fight."

    Back in the arena, Jon lunged again, his katana aimed for Aaron¡¯s wrist in a bid to disarm him. The strike was fast, precise, and aimed to slip through Aaron¡¯s defense. But Aaron was ready. His longsword moved in a wide arc, deflecting Jon¡¯s blade with a deafening clash. Aaron wasted no time, bringing his longsword down in a crushing overhead strike. Jon barely raised his katana in time, the impact nearly driving him into the dirt.

    "You¡¯re good, Jon," Aaron said, his breath steady despite the intensity of the battle. "But I¡¯ve won more of our fights for a reason."

    Jon¡¯s jaw clenched as he felt the weight of those words. He was running out of options. Aaron was too well-defended, and Jon could feel the fatigue setting in. His speed was still there, but his strikes weren¡¯t making a dent in Aaron¡¯s reinforced defense. He needed something more, something Aaron wouldn¡¯t expect.

    Jon backflipped out of Aaron¡¯s range, landing gracefully a few feet away. Sweat dripped from his forehead as he tried to catch his breath. His katana still vibrated in his hands, humming with mana. But Jon knew it wasn¡¯t enough. Not if he was going to break through Aaron¡¯s defense.

    A thought crossed his mind. It was something he had been practicing in secret¡ªa technique that could change the fight, but at a great cost. It wasn¡¯t just a physical maneuver; it was a *binding vow*, a dangerous last resort. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling his mana swirl inside him. If he could pull it off, it might give him the edge he needed. But if it failed...

    "Is he stalling?" Annabeth whispered, noticing Jon¡¯s sudden stillness.

    "No," Newt said, his eyes widening. "He¡¯s up to something."

    Jon took a deep breath, focusing every last drop of his mana inward. With a burst of power, he poured everything he had into his katana. The blade glowed brighter, more intensely, the edge sharper, but it didn¡¯t stop there. The energy split, and suddenly, in his left hand, a second blade materialized. This one was made entirely of mana, a transparent, glowing katana formed from Jon¡¯s own energy.

    A murmur rippled through the crowd as they realized what Jon had done.

    "He created another sword," Newt breathed in awe. "He¡¯s using all his mana to conjure it."

    Mark¡¯s eyes widened. "That¡¯s... dangerous, a binding word on oneself, If it fails Jon won¡¯t have any mana left."

    Jon stood now, dual-wielding two katanas¡ªone physical, one made entirely of raw energy. His heart pounded in his chest as he faced Aaron. He had sacrificed almost all his mana for this. If it didn¡¯t work, Aaron would crush him.

    Aaron narrowed his eyes, sensing the shift in Jon¡¯s aura. "Desperate, aren¡¯t you?" he said, raising his longsword. "This ends now."

    With a shout, Aaron charged. The two clashed again, but this time, Jon¡¯s speed was almost blinding. His twin blades danced through the air with an agility that caught Aaron off guard. Aaron swung his longsword with all his might, but Jon ducked, weaving around the powerful strikes. His mana katana slashed through the air, aiming for Aaron¡¯s torso. Aaron brought up his longsword to block, but the mana blade was faster, slicing through the gaps in Aaron¡¯s defense.

    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    Aaron grunted as the blade connected, cutting through his reinforced armor. Blood dripped from the wound, but he wasn¡¯t down yet. Aaron¡¯s expression darkened as he realized the fight was far from over.

    Jon pressed his advantage, his movements growing faster, more unpredictable. The physical katana clashed with Aaron¡¯s longsword, while the mana katana sliced at Aaron¡¯s sides, each strike chipping away at his mana defense. Aaron¡¯s armor flickered, cracks forming where Jon¡¯s blades had landed.

    "I¡¯m not done yet!" Jon shouted, his voice filled with determination.

    With a powerful leap, Jon aimed both katanas at Aaron¡¯s exposed leg. Aaron blocked the physical blade, but the mana katana bypassed his defenses, cutting deep into his side. Aaron staggered back, pain flashing across his face for the first time in the fight.

    Mark leaned forward, his heart racing. "He¡¯s getting through!"

    Annabeth¡¯s eyes were wide with realization. "But Jon¡¯s burning out. He¡¯s losing mana fast. If Aaron survives this, Jon¡¯s done."

    Jon¡¯s breaths came in ragged gasps, his body starting to slow. He had given everything he had, but it still wasn¡¯t enough. Aaron¡¯s defenses, though weakened, were still too strong, and Jon¡¯s mana reserves were dangerously low.

    Aaron, sensing Jon¡¯s exhaustion, took a deep breath, his mana surging around him. His longsword glowed brighter as he poured raw power into it, his aura expanding with renewed strength. Aaron steeled himself for the final blow.

    "You fought well, Jon," Aaron said, his voice steady and resolute. "But this ends now."

    With a roar, Aaron charged forward, his longsword cutting through the air with deadly force. Jon raised his katanas to block, but the impact was too much. The mana katana shattered, disappearing into thin air, and the physical katana cracked under the pressure. Jon was thrown back, hitting the ground hard.

    He gasped for breath, his vision swimming as he tried to stand. But his body refused to move. He was out of mana¡ªout of options.

    Aaron stood over Jon, his longsword raised high, the blade glinting in the harsh sunlight. But instead of delivering the final blow, Aaron slowly lowered his weapon, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

    "You always push yourself further than I expect, Jon. Good match. Maybe next time," he said, his voice calm but carrying a trace of respect.

    The training grounds were utterly silent. Everyone had heard the words, and the weight of them hung in the air. Mark, standing on the sidelines, felt a pang of pity for Jon. It wasn¡¯t entirely his fault, after all. The match had been stacked against him from the start. Not only was the pairing a poor one in terms of their combat styles, but Aaron was every bit the prodigy Jon was¡ªand perhaps even more.

    This academy was for the elite. Every student here was exceptional, and the gap between the first and twentieth rank was often less than nine percent in most metrics. Yet even with such narrow differences, a match between the number one and number twenty would always be a mismatch. There was simply no way it would yield any growth for either combatant.

    Mark watched quietly as the medics arrived, helping Jon off the platform. The young fighter was dazed but unharmed¡ªphysically, at least. His pride was another matter. Jon had been outmatched from the beginning, and there was little he could have done to change the outcome.

    The tension in the air grew as the next selection loomed. The eyes of every soon-to-be graduate were once again drawn to the teacher at the center of the training ground. He stood with a clipboard in hand, ready to call out the next combatants and lay down the conditions for their battle.

    "Newton Bridge will face Arran Atkins," the instructor announced, his voice echoing across the arena. "Conditions: Weapon usage disallowed. Mana constructs allowed. Channeling allowed. The combat scenario will end when one opponent is incapacitated."

    Mark¡¯s head snapped towards Newt so fast that he almost felt a strain in his neck. His heart sank. "Forfeit," he muttered urgently to Newt. "You can¡¯t win this."

    Mark¡¯s tone was as stoic as ever, but his eyes betrayed his concern. It was a dangerous fight, and the stakes were high. Arran wasn¡¯t just any opponent. He was ranked second in their class, a powerhouse whose mastery of kinetic mana conversion was unmatched. Newt, ranked fifth, would have to rely on his intellect and strategy to stand a chance.

    Newt, however, didn¡¯t seem fazed. He waved dismissively at Mark, a confident smirk tugging at his lips. "Oh, come on. You really have so little faith in me?" he quipped, his tone light, though there was a spark of seriousness in his eyes. "Relax. Just watch me work. I¡¯ll surprise you."

    With that, Newt made his way toward the platform, leaving Mark and Annabeth in stunned silence. Annabeth, who had been watching quietly from the sidelines, leaned in closer to Mark, her brow furrowed in thought.

    "This is suspicious," she murmured, almost to herself, as she watched Newt¡¯s retreating figure.

    Mark nodded in agreement, his gaze shifting toward Arran, who was already entering the field. "Very suspicious," he echoed. "Why would they pair Newt against Arran now, of all times?"

    It was an unspoken rule, almost a tradition, that the top two students would face each other on the final day of the academy. Their rivalry would be a grand spectacle, a display of power and skill to prove who truly deserved the top spot. But now, Newt was being thrust into an arena where the odds were heavily stacked against him. If he lost, not only would it damage his standing in the upcoming profession awakening trial, but it would also cast a shadow on the reputation of the royal family, of which Newt was a member.

    Arran, on the other hand, was ready. His gaze was locked on Mark as he entered the field, and for a brief moment, their eyes met. Mark could see the fire in Arran''s eyes¡ªhe was eager, maybe too eager. Mark clenched his fists by his side, forcing himself to trust in his friend. Newt wasn¡¯t a fool. He could have forfeited the match and faced lesser consequences, but he hadn¡¯t. That could only mean one thing¡ªhe had a plan.

    Down in the arena, the air was thick with mana. The atmosphere felt heavy, almost suffocating, as the power coursing through the students began to saturate the space. This wasn¡¯t just a fight; it was a test of who could best manipulate the flow of mana, who could bend it to their will.

    Mark''s mind raced as he analyzed the situation. Newt was ranked fifth in their class, while Arran was ranked second. The gap between them was significant¡ªat least seven percent, if not more. It wasn¡¯t just a matter of combat ability. Arran¡¯s talent in converting mana into kinetic energy gave him an overwhelming advantage. He could burn through mana reserves at an alarming rate and convert that energy into raw physical force, making his strikes nearly impossible to block.

    The matchup seemed lopsided, almost cruel. But Newt wasn¡¯t backing down. That meant he had something up his sleeve, something Mark hadn¡¯t thought of yet.

    "You¡¯ve decided to engage me," Arran¡¯s voice broke through the silence as he settled into a combat stance, his legs spread apart, arms raised, every muscle in his body taut with anticipation. He was ready to unleash the full force of his Inherited technique, Mark could feel the tension from where he stood.

    Arran was a force of nature when it came to raw physical prowess. His ability to convert mana into kinetic energy made him a living weapon. Each strike he delivered could be amplified to inhuman speeds and strengths, a dangerous skill that few could counter. But the flaw in his approach was obvious¡ªhe burned through mana quickly at least he used too. If Newt could drag the fight out long enough, force Arran to waste energy on futile attacks, he might stand a chance.

    Newt, on the other hand, was a different kind of fighter. He wasn¡¯t as physically dominant as Arran, but he was proficient with mana manipulation. Where Arran relied on speed, agility and power, Newt could shape and control the flow of mana with precision. His ability to craft complex mana constructs allowed him to create barriers, traps, and even projectiles that could disrupt an opponent¡¯s rhythm. It wasn¡¯t about strength with Newt¡ªit was about strategy.

    Mark¡¯s mind whirred as he considered the possible ways Newt could approach the fight. One possibility was that Newt would try to bait Arran into expending his mana reserves early. Arran, being the more aggressive fighter, might be tempted to end the fight quickly with a series of devastating blows. If Newt could dodge or deflect them just long enough, he could turn the tide.

    Another possibility was that Newt had developed a new mana construct specifically for this fight. It wouldn¡¯t be out of character for him to spend weeks perfecting a technique tailored to counter Arran¡¯s kinetic strikes, he had a tactic for everyone, Perhaps a barrier that absorbed kinetic energy, or a trap that locked Arran into place, limiting his mobility.

    Annabeth, who had been quiet until now, suddenly spoke up. "Do you think Newt has a counter for Arran¡¯s mana conversion?" she asked, her voice thoughtful.

    Mark hesitated before responding. "If anyone could come up with one, it would be Newt. But that¡¯s a big if."

    Annabeth nodded, her eyes fixed on the two combatants below. "Still, I can¡¯t shake the feeling that something¡¯s off about this whole thing. Why pair them?

    Mark didn¡¯t have an answer. All he could do was watch as Newt and Arran prepared to face off. This fight was going to be different from any they had seen before. Newt might be outmatched, but if there was one thing Mark had learned, it was never to underestimate him.

    Mark¡¯s eyes never left the arena. Every breath seemed to echo in his ears as Newt stood at the center, his posture loose but charged with readiness. Across from him, Arran looked like a coiled spring, his body taut with energy, ready to explode into action. The two of them stood in stark contrast: Newt, the calculating tactician, versus Arran, the overwhelming force of nature.

    The moment the instructor signaled the start, Arran moved, a blur of motion so fast that Mark almost missed it. The raw speed was startling. In the blink of an eye, Arran was within striking distance, his fist flying toward Newt¡¯s head.

    But Newt was ready. With a graceful shift of his weight, he ducked under the blow, his body moving fluidly as if he¡¯d anticipated the strike. Arran¡¯s momentum carried him past, but he pivoted sharply, his foot slamming into the ground, sending a shockwave through the floor as he spun around to face Newt again.

    Mark felt a bead of sweat roll down his temple. Arran¡¯s speed was already impressive, but something about it was¡­ wrong. It wasn¡¯t just his natural speed; it was increasing with every second, as though he was drawing from some inexhaustible well of energy. Mark''s stomach twisted at the thought.

    Newt, meanwhile, remained composed, his eyes narrowing as he analyzed Arran¡¯s movements. He extended a hand, and Mark could feel the hum of mana in the air as Newt began to channel energy into a complex spell. Mark recognized the formation¡ªa full-powered mana binding. If Newt could finish the casting, it would restrict Arran¡¯s movements, giving Newt the control he needed to turn the fight in his favor.

    But Arran wasn¡¯t going to let that happen.

    Before Newt could complete the spell, Arran was on him again, faster this time. His body blurred as he closed the gap, his hand darting out to interrupt the flow of Newt¡¯s mana. The sheer force of his strike was enough to disrupt Newt¡¯s concentration, and the spell shattered before it could fully form.

    Mark clenched his fists. Arran was too fast, his strikes too relentless. Newt was barely managing to keep up, forced into a defensive position. Every time he tried to channel mana for a counterattack, Arran would rush in, disrupting the flow and forcing Newt to retreat.

    Arran¡¯s fighting style was brutal and efficient. His attacks were not wild or reckless; they were calculated bursts of speed and strength, each one designed to keep Newt off balance. His movements were sharp, precise, like a predator wearing down its prey.

    Newt, on the other hand, had adopted a more fluid style. His body moved like water, constantly shifting and adapting to Arran¡¯s relentless barrage. Mark could see the influence of Newt¡¯s training in every dodge and parry. He would slip past Arran¡¯s strikes with minimal movement, using his elbows and knees to deflect attacks whenever he was too close for comfort.

    But no matter how skillfully Newt evaded, Arran was gaining ground. His speed was increasing exponentially with each passing minute, and Newt was running out of space to maneuver. Every strike from Arran was faster, every impact heavier. It was as if he were drawing mana directly into his muscles, fueling his movements with raw power.

    Mark¡¯s heart pounded in his chest. He could see the toll the fight was taking on Newt. His breathing was becoming more labored, sweat dripping down his brow. He was being forced to fight on Arran¡¯s terms, and that was a losing battle. Arran¡¯s ability to convert mana into kinetic energy was overwhelming, and there was no sign of him slowing down.

    Then, in a sudden shift, Arran lunged forward with a devastating punch aimed at Newt¡¯s chest. It was too fast, too powerful¡ªNewt couldn¡¯t dodge it this time.

    But instead of trying to evade, Newt did something Mark hadn¡¯t expected. He stepped into the blow.

    The impact reverberated through the arena, and for a moment, Mark thought Newt had made a fatal mistake. But then he saw it¡ªNewt had caught Arran¡¯s arm in the crook of his elbow, using the force of the punch to pull Arran off balance. In one fluid motion, Newt pivoted, driving his knee into Arran¡¯s side with a brutal precision that sent the larger fighter staggering back.

    Mark¡¯s eyes widened. It was a high-risk move, but it had worked. Newt had used Arran¡¯s own momentum against him, creating an opening where there hadn¡¯t been one. But Mark knew it wouldn¡¯t be enough. Arran would recover quickly, and his speed would only continue to increase.

    Newt seemed to realize this as well. He took a deep breath, centering himself, and Mark felt the air shift. This wasn¡¯t like the previous mana constructs Newt had used. This was different¡ªmore focused, more controlled.

    Arran charged again, his speed almost blurring his form, but this time, Newt was ready. With a flick of his wrist, he cast a mana bind.

    Mark held his breath.

    The invisible tendrils of mana wrapped around Arran, slowing his movements just enough for Newt to strike. Arran struggled against the bindings, but they held firm, giving Newt the opening he needed. He moved in quickly, using sharp elbow strikes and powerful kicks to keep Arran off balance. Each strike was precise, targeting weak points in Arran¡¯s stance and armor.

    But Arran wasn¡¯t going to be held for long. Mark could see the strain on Newt¡¯s face as he poured more mana into the binding, trying to maintain control. Arran was too strong, His muscles bulged as he fought against the restraint, his kinetic energy building to a breaking point.

    With a roar, Arran shattered the mana bind, the sheer force of his mana conversion sending a shockwave through the arena. Newt was thrown back, barely managing to land on his feet as Arran came at him again, faster than ever.

    Mark¡¯s heart raced. This was it. Newt had played his hand, and now he was out of options. Arran¡¯s speed was reaching terrifying levels, and there was no way Newt could keep up.

    But then, Mark saw something. A flicker of determination in Newt¡¯s eyes, a glimmer of resolve. He wasn¡¯t finished yet.

    Newt shifted his stance, planting his feet firmly on the ground as Arran closed in. He was no longer dodging or retreating. He was going to meet Arran head-on.

    Arran¡¯s fist came crashing down, but Newt didn¡¯t move. Instead, he raised his arms, blocking the blow with his forearm, absorbing the impact. The force of the strike sent a shockwave through his body, but Newt held his ground. He had braced himself, using his body like a spring to absorb and redirect the energy.

    And then, in a move that took everyone by surprise, Newt countered. His arms moved like lightning, wrapping around Arran¡¯s outstretched arm. In one swift motion, Newt locked Arran¡¯s arm in place and drove his elbow into the joint, forcing Arran to the ground.

    Mark watched in awe as Newt transitioned seamlessly into a grapple, using his smaller frame to maneuver Arran into a position where his speed was useless. It was a brilliant display of technique, using leverage and timing to neutralize Arran¡¯s overwhelming power.

    But Arran wasn¡¯t done yet. With a guttural growl, he surged upward, breaking free of Newt¡¯s hold. His speed was still increasing, his movements becoming more erratic and harder to predict. He lunged at Newt again, his strikes wild but devastatingly fast.

    Newt was forced back on the defensive, his body moving fluidly as he deflected each blow with his forearms and knees. It was a brutal dance, every strike from Arran threatening to break through Newt¡¯s defenses. But Newt remained focused, his eyes never leaving Arran¡¯s form.

    Then, with a sudden burst of mana, Arran shifted his weight, driving his knee toward Newt¡¯s ribs. The blow was devastating, sending Newt skidding across the ground. He coughed, struggling to regain his footing, but Arran was already upon him.

    Mark¡¯s heart pounded in his chest. This was it. Arran¡¯s speed was too much. There was no way Newt could win.

    But just as Arran¡¯s fist was about to strike, Newt¡¯s eyes flashed. In a last-ditch effort, he channeled every ounce of his remaining mana into a single, focused spell. It wasn¡¯t a bind or a construct. It was raw mana, unleashed in a concentrated blast aimed directly at Arran¡¯s center of mass.

    The force of the blast was enough to stop Arran in his tracks, his momentum grinding to a halt as the wave of energy slammed into him. For a moment, the arena was silent, the air thick with the aftermath of the mana clash.

    Mark held his breath, waiting for the dust to settle, his eyes locked on the two figures at the center of the arena.

    When the dust cleared, Newt was standing, his body battered and bruised, but still upright. Arran, on the other hand, had been forced back several paces, his chest heaving as he struggled to recover from the blow.

    Mark exhaled slowly. It wasn¡¯t over yet. But for the first time since the fight began, Newt had gained the upper hand.

 Stand your Ground

    Newt stood his ground, chest heaving, body battered from the relentless onslaught. The crowd around the arena was hushed, eyes glued to the unfolding spectacle. Newt had managed to turn the tide, landing a blow that had staggered Arran for the first time in the entire battle. For a fleeting moment, Mark felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe Newt had finally gained the upper hand. Maybe he could win.

    But Arran¡¯s expression didn¡¯t falter. Instead, a slow, dangerous grin spread across his face. He straightened up, brushing the dust from his chest like it was a minor inconvenience. "Not bad, Newt," Arran said, his voice carrying a mix of respect and mockery. "I¡¯ll give you credit where it¡¯s due. You¡¯ve kept me on my toes. But this¡­"

    He paused, his grin widening as he cracked his neck and then his knuckles, a low chuckle escaping his lips. "This is where you fall behind."

    Before Newt could respond, Arran muttered something under his breath. The words were lost in the din of the crowd, but Mark saw the motion¡ªthree quick hand signs, precise and deliberate. Mark¡¯s stomach dropped. He¡¯d seen that technique before. His worst fears were confirmed when Arran whispered, "Second gear."

    The change was instantaneous. The air around Arran grew heavy, oppressive, the very mana in the atmosphere doubling in intensity. Mark felt the pressure from where he stood; the floor beneath Arran¡¯s feet cracked, fissures snaking out from where he stood. His aura flared, a brilliant surge of power that sent ripples through the arena.

    Newt¡¯s eyes widened in alarm, and Mark¡¯s heart raced. "Shit¡­" Mark muttered under his breath. He knew what was coming.

    Arran moved before anyone could blink. His speed, already terrifying, now seemed supernatural. Newt barely had time to react, throwing up mana constructs¡ªwalls of energy designed to slow Arran¡¯s advance. But it was futile. Arran tore through them like paper, his fist smashing through each barrier as though they were nothing but air.

    Newt''s breath came in ragged gasps, desperately trying to buy himself time. But Arran was unstoppable. In the blink of an eye, he was upon Newt, grabbing hold of his arm with a vice-like grip. The force behind the grab was so powerful that Newt could hear the creak of bones from where he stood.

    With a brutal yank, Arran flung Newt across the field. Newt¡¯s body hit the wall of the arena with a sickening thud, the stone cracking under the impact. Dust and debris rained down, obscuring Newt from view. Mark¡¯s heart sank. He had seen his friend take hits before, but nothing like this. Nothing that brutal.

    The crowd gasped, whispers spreading like wildfire. Was it over?

    But Arran wasn¡¯t done. Mark¡¯s breath caught in his throat as Arran crouched low, his body a coiled spring ready to unleash devastating force. He pushed off the ground with incredible speed, launching himself at Newt like a missile. His movements were eerily precise, his body twisting mid-air as he came down, aiming to finish Newt with a move that Mark had seen only once before: the Manual Clutch.

    It was a terrifying technique, reminiscent of a deadly spinning grapple. Arran¡¯s body spiraled in the air, his legs locking around Newt¡¯s torso in a crushing grip. The momentum sent them both spinning downward, crashing into the ground with bone-shattering force. The dust and debris kicked up in a violent whirlwind as Arran drove Newt headfirst into the ground, the sheer impact leaving a crater in the floor of the arena.

    Mark¡¯s breath hitched in his throat. Silence. Not a single murmur from the crowd. All eyes were fixed on the devastation. The arena floor was cracked and broken, dust hanging thick in the air. Mark couldn¡¯t see Newt through the debris, but every instinct told him it was over. No one could survive that. No one could get up after something like that.

    A moment passed. Then another. The dust slowly began to settle, and Mark¡¯s heart sank further. Newt was down. Even from this distance, Mark could see his limp form lying in the wreckage. His head was bowed, his body unmoving.

    "It¡¯s over," someone whispered from the crowd. Mark didn¡¯t want to believe it, but it was hard to deny. Arran stood over Newt¡¯s crumpled form, his breathing heavy but steady. He had done it. He had won.

    But then, just as the silence became unbearable, there was a movement.

    Newt stirred. Slowly, agonizingly, he staggered to his feet, his legs shaking under the weight of his own body. Blood dripped from a gash on his forehead, trailing down the side of his face, but his eyes¡­ they were still burning with defiance.

    Mark felt a jolt of disbelief. How? How was Newt still standing?

    Newt wiped the blood from his face with a trembling hand, his body swaying unsteadily. But his eyes never left Arran. With a deep, ragged breath, he clasped his hands together, his voice echoing through the arena. "Mana Assault!"

    The words hung in the air, and for a moment, nothing happened. But then Mark felt it¡ªa shift in the atmosphere, a pulsing energy radiating from the ground beneath their feet. Across the arena, mana began to glow in different areas, like sparks of light coming to life.

    Arran¡¯s eyes widened in surprise, and Mark saw him take a step back, uncertain. Then the ground beneath Arran¡¯s feet lit up, glowing symbols appearing in rapid succession. Arrays.

    "Impossible," Arran muttered, his voice barely audible over the sudden crackle of mana in the air.

    Before Arran could react, the arrays activated. Beams of light shot out from the ground, forming projectiles that honed in on Arran from every angle. They came fast, too fast for even Arran¡¯s enhanced speed to dodge them all.

    Arran¡¯s body twisted as he tried to evade the onslaught, but the sheer number of projectiles made it impossible. One struck him in the shoulder, another grazed his leg, each one exploding on impact, sending shockwaves through the arena. The once-imposing fighter was now on the defensive, his movements frantic as he tried to fend off the barrage of mana-fueled attacks.

    Mark watched in awe. This wasn¡¯t just a random attack. Newt had set this up. Every array had been placed strategically, every projectile timed perfectly. It was a trap, and Arran had walked right into it.

    Arran¡¯s face twisted in frustration, his body flickering as he struggled to dodge the projectiles. Each explosion chipped away at his defenses, wearing him down. For the first time, Arran looked vulnerable.

    But he wasn¡¯t out yet.

    With a furious roar, Arran gathered his remaining mana, channeling it into a powerful barrier. The projectiles slammed into it, causing the air around them to warp and distort from the force of the impact. But Arran¡¯s barrier held, his sheer willpower keeping it intact.

    Mark¡¯s heart raced. He could feel the tension in the air, the raw energy crackling between the two fighters. Newt¡¯s trap had worked, but could he sustain it long enough to finish Arran off?

    Arran gritted his teeth, his eyes blazing with fury. With a sudden burst of strength, he shattered the barrier, sending the last of the projectiles scattering in all directions. The air rippled with the aftershock of the explosion, and for a moment, both fighters stood motionless, breathing heavily.

    Newt¡¯s face was pale, his body trembling from the effort it had taken to maintain the Mana Assault. But despite the toll it had taken, he wasn¡¯t done. Mark could see the determination in his eyes, the fire that refused to go out.

    Arran, on the other hand, was breathing heavily, his body showing signs of wear. His once-unstoppable momentum had slowed, and though he was still standing strong, Mark could see the cracks in his armor¡ªboth literal and figurative.

    The arena fell into a tense silence once more. The crowd, which had been so certain of Arran¡¯s victory moments ago, was now on edge, unsure of what would happen next. Mark¡¯s heart pounded in his chest, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Newt had given everything he had. This was it.

    Arran straightened, his eyes narrowing as he stared at Newt. "You¡­ you¡¯ve surprised me," he admitted, his voice low and filled with a grudging respect. "But this won¡¯t be enough. You can¡¯t keep up with me."

    Newt didn¡¯t respond. He simply wiped more blood from his face, his gaze never wavering.

    Arran¡¯s grin returned, though it was laced with exhaustion. "Fine then. Let¡¯s finish this."

    With that, he surged forward again, though this time his speed was not as overwhelming. Newt braced himself, his hands glowing faintly with mana as he prepared for the final clash.

    The ground trembled beneath their feet as they collided once more, a final exchange of blows that sent shockwaves rippling through the arena. Mark could barely keep up with their movements, each strike and counter-strike coming faster than the last.

    Arran''s raw strength was terrifying, but Newt¡¯s precision and adaptability were keeping him in the fight. Every move Arran made was met with a well-placed counter from Newt, his elbows and knees striking with devastating accuracy.

    For what felt like an eternity, the two were locked in combat, neither willing

    to give an inch. The crowd was on the edge of their seats, watching in awe as the two titans clashed in a battle of skill, speed, and sheer willpower.

    And then, with one final, bone-shaking strike, the fight reached its conclusion. Arran swung with all his might, aiming for Newt¡¯s head, but Newt ducked, spinning on his heel and delivering a brutal knee strike to Arran¡¯s midsection.

    The impact was enough to send Arran stumbling backward, gasping for breath. His legs wobbled, and for the first time since the fight began, he fell to one knee.

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    Mark couldn¡¯t believe his eyes. Arran, the unstoppable force, had been brought to his knees. And Newt, battered and bloody, was still standing.

    The arena fell silent, the outcome finally clear. Newt had done it.

    The arena erupted in cheers, the sound of victory washing over the crowd like a wave. Mark could barely hear himself think. Newt had done it¡ªor so it seemed. Arran was on one knee, clearly exhausted, his reserves spent after the brutal fight. Mark allowed himself a brief exhale of relief. This fight was over.

    But then, in an instant, everything changed.

    Arran¡¯s left arm rose slowly, his fingers curling into a familiar symbol¡ªthe sign for three. Mark¡¯s eyes widened in disbelief, his heart sinking. Before he could process what was happening, Arran vanished from his spot, his body blurring out of existence. He reappeared beside Newt in mid-spin, his left leg cutting through the air like a scythe. The sickening thud of his boot connecting with Newt¡¯s temple echoed across the arena.

    The impact sent Newt flying across the field, his body crashing into the ground with brutal force. The cheers stopped. A collective gasp filled the air as Newt¡¯s limp form skidded to a halt. He lay motionless on the ground, unconscious, like a marionette whose strings had been severed. The silence was deafening.

    Mark¡¯s stomach twisted painfully. His friend, who had fought so valiantly, was crumbling before his eyes. He couldn¡¯t believe it. Arran had more left¡ª*so much more*¡ªand Newt had never stood a chance against it.

    Smoke-like vapor began to rise from Arran¡¯s body, his wounds sealing themselves before the eyes of the stunned audience. His muscles relaxed, his breathing steadied, as if the fight had been a minor inconvenience. Slowly, Arran turned his gaze toward Mark and Annabeth, his eyes gleaming with something between amusement and malice.

    A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. He mouthed the words, slow and deliberate, ¡°You should have fought me yourself.¡±

    Mark felt his pulse quicken, anger flaring in his chest. Before he could stop himself, he slammed his palm against the glass screen in front of them, the force of the impact rattling the entire viewing panel. Annabeth flinched at the sudden movement, her eyes darting toward Mark, concern etched across her face.

    ¡°Mark¡ª¡± she began, her voice soft, but hesitant.

    He didn¡¯t look at her. His eyes were glued to Arran, who was now calmly walking off the testing area, not even bothering to look back at the unconscious Newt. Mark¡¯s mind raced, analyzing every moment of the fight, replaying each strike and counter, searching for weaknesses, vulnerabilities¡ªanything that could explain how Newt had lost so decisively, and how he himself might fare better if he had to face Arran.

    Arran¡¯s speed, his precision, his seemingly endless mana reserves¡­ it was overwhelming. But there had to be something. No one was invincible. Mark had seen it¡ªjust a glimmer. For a moment during the fight, Arran¡¯s defenses had cracked. When Newt had set up the Mana Assault, Arran had been surprised, his movements slowing for just an instant. His recovery had been swift, but the shock in his eyes had been real. That was something. That was a crack.

    ¡°Mark.¡± Annabeth¡¯s voice was firmer this time, snapping him out of his thoughts.

    He blinked, finally tearing his gaze away from Arran¡¯s retreating figure. He looked at Annabeth, her expression a mixture of worry and frustration. She hesitated for a moment, as if unsure whether to speak her mind, but eventually, she pressed on.

    ¡°You couldn¡¯t have known,¡± she said quietly. ¡°None of us could have. Newt fought his hardest. He¡­ he just wasn¡¯t ready for whatever that was.¡±

    Mark clenched his fists, his jaw tight. He wanted to argue, to say something¡ªanything to make sense of what had just happened. But Annabeth was right. Newt had fought with everything he had. And it wasn¡¯t enough.

    ¡°I should¡¯ve stepped in,¡± Mark muttered, his voice low. ¡°I should¡¯ve been the one fighting him.¡±

    Annabeth shook her head. ¡°And what would that have changed? Arran¡¯s power¡­ it¡¯s on another level, Mark. You saw it. He wasn¡¯t holding back. He wasn¡¯t playing around.¡±

    Mark remained silent, his thoughts churning. She was right, again. Arran¡¯s sudden spike in power, the way his wounds healed, his speed¡ªit was all too much. But even so, something about the way he fought felt off, like there was more to it than raw strength. There had to be a strategy, some way to counter him. No one was unbeatable.

    As Mark¡¯s thoughts raced, the instructor¡¯s voice boomed over the arena speakers, calling for the next match. Two new names echoed across the stone walls, signaling the next pair of students who would enter the ring. The attention of the crowd shifted, but Mark barely registered the announcement. His mind was still locked on Arran and the brutal conclusion of the fight.

    Annabeth touched his arm gently, her golden-brown eyes soft with concern. Her auburn hair, tied back in a loose ponytail, gleamed in the fading light of the arena as she spoke. "I¡¯m going to check on Newt," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper, as if speaking too loudly would make the situation worse. "You should come too."

    Mark nodded, but his feet were cemented to the ground. He watched the arena, the dirt still unsettled from the earlier fight, where Newt had fallen. His mind raced, piecing together what had just happened. Arran¡¯s sudden shift in tactics, his near-inhuman speed, the cold precision of his final strike¡ªit all gnawed at Mark, like a puzzle begging to be solved. He couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that something more was at play.

    Annabeth hesitated, her slender hand lingering in the air between them, as if she might reach for him again. But instead, she withdrew, her lips pressed into a tight line. She gave him one last look, the kind that said more than words could, and then turned, striding across the field toward the medics tending to Newt. The flicker of worry on her face was unmistakable.

    Mark barely noticed her leave. His mind had circled back to Arran. The way Arran had vanished just before striking¡ªit was no mere trick of speed. Something deeper, something more refined, allowed him to move like that. And then the healing. The vapor that had risen from his skin as his wounds sealed almost instantly¡­ no ordinary student had access to that kind of technique. Even among the top-tier graduates, such skills were rare.

    A roar erupted from the crowd as the next match began, but Mark wasn¡¯t watching. His mind was too consumed by the fight that had already taken place. He needed to understand how Arran had so easily dismantled Newt. If it came down to it, and he had to face Arran himself, he couldn¡¯t afford to fall the same way.

    His eyes drifted back to where Newt had collapsed. Arran had torn through Newt¡¯s defenses as though they were paper, exploiting every opening, every weakness. It wasn¡¯t just brute strength or even raw speed¡ªArran had studied Newt. He had waited for the perfect moment to strike, and when it came, he didn¡¯t hesitate.

    Mark clenched his fists. He couldn¡¯t allow himself to be caught off guard like that. Not if his own fight against Arran was inevitable. He needed to find a weakness, a flaw in Arran¡¯s technique, something that would give him an edge when the time came.

    ¡°Mark?¡±

    Annabeth¡¯s voice jolted him from his thoughts. She was back, her face paler than before, her eyes clouded with worry. ¡°Newt¡¯s stable,¡± she said, though her tone betrayed her unease. ¡°But¡­ he¡¯s not waking up anytime soon.¡±

    Mark felt a lump form in his throat, his chest tightening. ¡°He¡¯ll pull through,¡± he murmured, though he wasn¡¯t sure if he was saying it for Annabeth¡¯s sake or his own.

    Annabeth pressed her lips together. She glanced at the arena, where the next fight was already underway, but her mind was clearly elsewhere. "I know you¡¯re thinking about fighting Arran," she said quietly. "But you can¡¯t just rush into this. You have to think it through."

    Mark''s jaw tightened. She was right, of course, but the burning desire for retribution was hard to ignore. Arran hadn¡¯t just beaten Newt¡ªhe¡¯d humiliated him. There had been no mercy, no consideration, just a cold, calculated dismantling. And now, Mark could feel it in his bones¡ªArran was coming for him next.

    ¡°I¡¯m not going to be reckless,¡± Mark said, his voice a low growl. ¡°But I won¡¯t just sit around and wait, either. Arran has a weakness, and I¡¯m going to find it.¡±

    Annabeth sighed, her brow furrowed with worry. ¡°Just¡­ be careful, alright?¡±

    Mark didn¡¯t answer. He knew he¡¯d have time to prepare before he faced Arran again. But as he glanced at the center of the arena, the loud voice of the announcer calling out the next match caught his attention.

    "Mark Anthony will spar Silvercloud!"

    Mark¡¯s  rose a brow in surprise. He knew that name. Silvercloud, one of the top six graduates from the previous year. His Awakened profession was as an assassin-type fighter, a poison user, was well-known throughout the academy. The murmurs from the audience confirmed it¡ªeveryone was surprised. Silvercloud wasn¡¯t just a fighter. He was a challenge, especially since Mark had not gone through the Profession Awakening ceremony yet.

    Annabeth¡¯s eyes widened in shock. ¡°Mark¡­ he¡¯s dangerous.¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± Mark replied, his voice steady. ¡°But I¡¯m ready.¡±

    His classmates, clustered watching form above nearby, began wishing him luck, offering words of encouragement. But Mark¡¯s focus had already shifted. He wasn¡¯t just fighting for himself. He was representing his class, his friends. This wasn¡¯t just another sparring match¡ªit was a proving ground.

    ¡®¡¯START¡±

    --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Mark stood at one end of the arena, his muscles tense, every sense heightened. The crowd roared around him, but their noise was distant, irrelevant. His sharp, storm-grey eyes locked onto Silvercloud. This fight wasn¡¯t just another sparring session. The stakes were higher¡ªboth for his pride and for his reputation. Across the field, Silvercloud waited, a dangerous smirk playing on his lips.

    Silvercloud was tall and wiry, his silver hair tied back in a loose ponytail that gleamed under the arena lights. He wore a simple, sleeveless tunic, leaving his arms bare, each one decorated with faint scars, memories of countless battles. His eyes, a vivid green, gleamed with anticipation. In his hands, two thin daggers twirled lazily, their edges already beginning to glow with an ominous green mist.

    ¡°Well, Mark Anthony,¡± Silvercloud said, his voice carrying easily over the din of the arena. ¡°They say you¡¯re something special. Let¡¯s see if that¡¯s true.¡± His lips curled into a mocking grin. ¡°I¡¯m here to test you, after all.¡±

    Mark didn¡¯t respond. Instead, his gaze flicked downward, his hands making subtle movements as he began discreetly planting the first of his mana points. A faint shimmer rippled beneath the dirt, unseen by the naked eye, but he knew they were there. His trap was already in motion.

    Silvercloud¡¯s grin widened. ¡°Oh, are we starting with the quiet tricks already?¡± He twirled his daggers, the green mist now thickening into a more distinct vapor. ¡°Fine by me. Let¡¯s see how long you last.¡±

    The signal rang out, and Silvercloud exploded into motion.

    Mark barely had time to react as Silvercloud closed the gap in an instant. His first strike came from the right, a diagonal slash aimed at Mark¡¯s neck. Mark dodged, ducking low just as the blade sliced through the air where his head had been. But Silvercloud was relentless. His second dagger followed immediately, aimed for Mark¡¯s ribs.

    Mark pivoted, deflecting the strike with his forearm, feeling the cold bite of the poisoned blade scrape against his skin. It wasn¡¯t deep, but it was enough to send a sharp burn through his veins. He had to be careful¡ªthose daggers were more dangerous than they looked.

    ¡°You¡¯re faster than I thought,¡± Silvercloud muttered, but there was amusement in his tone. ¡°Good. This might be fun.¡±

    Mark¡¯s eyes narrowed, his hand brushing the air behind him as he planted another mana point. He wasn¡¯t just reacting¡ªhe was building his trap, piece by piece, waiting for the right moment to spring it.

    Silvercloud attacked again, this time spinning quickly, his daggers cutting through the air in a whirlwind of strikes. Mark dodged the first two, but the third came too fast. The edge of Silvercloud¡¯s blade cut into  his shoulder, and immediately, Mark felt the sharp sting of poison seeping into his bloodstream.

    The crowd gasped as they saw the strike land, but Mark didn¡¯t flinch. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stay focused. The poison was fast-acting, but he had faced worse. He had to hold out.

    Silver grinned as he saw the brief flicker of pain on Mark¡¯s face. ¡°Oh, did you feel that? My poison works quickly, you know. I¡¯d give it about a minute before your body starts to shut down.¡± He tilted his head, mockingly. ¡°Maybe less, depending on how strong you are.¡±

    Mark wiped the blood from his shoulder, his expression unreadable. He planted another mana point with his left foot, careful to keep his movements subtle. He could feel the energy of his trap building beneath the surface, but he needed more time.

    ¡°Still quiet?¡± Silvercloud laughed, darting forward again. This time, he unleashed a flurry of rapid strikes, his daggers flashing in the light as he aimed for Mark¡¯s throat, his chest, his legs¡ªanywhere he could land a hit. Mark dodged and parried with precision, his movements fluid, but the poison was starting to take its toll. His limbs felt heavier, his reflexes just a fraction slower than they had been at the start.

    ¡°You¡¯re slowing down,¡± Silver taunted, his eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. ¡°That poison is working wonders. Don¡¯t worry, it is not one of my lethal types.¡±

    Mark blocked another strike, feeling the impact reverberate through his arm. His breathing was becoming labored, but his mind remained sharp. He had enough mana points planted¡ªnow he just needed to lure Silvercloud into the center of the field.

    With a burst of energy, Mark leaped backward, creating some distance between them. Silvercloud paused, watching him with narrowed eyes.

    ¡°Running now?¡± Silvercloud asked, his voice dripping with condescension. ¡°I thought you were supposed to be clever. I didn¡¯t take you for a coward.¡±

    Mark ignored the taunt. Instead, he raised his hand, gathering mana in his palm. Silvercloud¡¯s eyes flickered with interest as he watched the energy swirl, but he didn¡¯t move.

    Mark slammed his palm into the ground, sending a shockwave of energy rippling through the arena. The mana points he had placed earlier activated in unison, creating a web of glowing lines that pulsed with power. Silvercloud¡¯s eyes widened as he realized what was happening, but he was already standing in the middle of the trap.

    ¡°Damn it¡ª!¡± Silver leaped back, but it was too late. The web of mana surged upward, forming tendrils of light that wrapped around his legs, binding him to the ground.

    The crowd erupted in cheers, but Mark wasn¡¯t done. He could feel the poison coursing through his veins, making it harder to concentrate. He had to finish this quickly. Raising his hand again, he began channeling energy into the trap, tightening the tendrils around Silver¡¯s body, draining his strength.

    But Silvercloud wasn¡¯t finished either.

    With a snarl, Silver plunged both of his daggers into the ground, sending a pulse of green energy through the earth. The poison vapor that had been swirling around his blades expanded, forming a thick cloud that enveloped both fighters. Mark coughed as the noxious fumes filled his lungs, his vision blurring as the poison attacked his body from within.

    Silvercloud grinned, despite being trapped. ¡°You think you can hold me with this!? I¡¯ll poison you before you can even finish your spell.¡±

    Mark gritted his teeth, struggling to maintain focus as the poison sapped his strength. His mana trap was working, but it wasn¡¯t enough. Silver¡¯s poison was too potent, too fast-acting. If he didn¡¯t act now, he would lose.

    With a final burst of energy, Mark raised his hand and unleashed a concentrated blast of mana. The tendrils of light tightened around Silver, squeezing the life out of him, but the poison cloud was relentless. Mark¡¯s vision swam, his legs buckling as the strength drained from his body.

    ¡°I¡­ can¡¯t¡­ lose,¡± Mark muttered through clenched teeth, his hand trembling as he struggled to stay upright.

    Silvercloud gasped, the tendrils crushing his chest, but his grin never faltered. ¡°You already have.¡±

    Mark staggered, his vision darkening as the poison took full effect. His body felt like lead, his movements sluggish. He could barely breathe, his lungs filled with the toxic vapor. The crowd¡¯s cheers grew distant, muffled, as if he were hearing them from underwater.

    But then, through the haze, Mark¡¯s mind cleared for a brief moment. He realized that Silvercloud , too, was struggling. His movements were growing slower, his breath more labored. The poison was working on both of them, but Mark¡¯s trap was draining Silvercloud¡¯s energy faster than the poison could take him down.

    With one final push, Mark gathered all of his remaining mana into a single, desperate attack. He raised his hand, channeling the energy through his body, and released it in a blinding flash of light.

    The arena erupted in a deafening roar as the blast engulfed Silvercloud, shattering the poison mist and leaving the assassin sprawled on the ground, unconscious. Mark collapsed to his knees, gasping for air, the poison still coursing through his veins, but the fight was over.

    The crowd¡¯s cheers were overwhelming now, but Mark barely heard them. His vision swam, his body trembling from exhaustion and the lingering effects of the poison. But he had won.

    He glanced over at Silvercloud¡¯s prone form, breathing heavily. ¡°That¡­ was close.¡±

    As the medics rushed to tend to both fighters, Mark let out a sigh of relief. This wasn¡¯t the end. he allowed himself a brief moment of victory. He had won, and for now, that was enough.

 With less than seven

    The infirmary hummed with an overwhelming silence, broken only by the rhythmic beeping of medical monitors and hushed murmurs of concern. Mark lay on the bed, his once-vibrant body now a ghost of its former self¡ªpale and fragile, stripped of vitality by the poison that coursed through his veins. The harsh lights above created an almost sterile tableau, contrasting starkly with the warmth of shared moments that had defined his life until now.

    Annabeth moved through the room, her pace frantic, heart pounding with the weight of anxiety and flickering hope. The walls were lined with stark medical equipment¡ªmonitors displaying numbers that felt like judgment rather than assurance¡ªand the sharp scent of antiseptic filled the air. Yet beneath this sterile exterior, the atmosphere bristled with personal urgency, each moment thick with the fear of impending loss. Her hands trembled slightly as she clutched her pendant, the weight a reminder of her connection to Mark and the bond they shared. Her gaze darted between Mark''s still form and the door, her nerves frayed as she awaited the healer¡¯s arrival.

    ¡°Come on, Elara, where are you?¡± Annabeth murmured under her breath, her eyes anxiously flitting to the clock. Each tick seemed to echo, stretching time into an agonizing eternity, amplifying her worry.

    ¡°Your pacing is more unsettling than the poison itself,¡± Mark quipped lightly, trying to muster a smile despite his weakness. His words emerged like a flicker of light in an otherwise dim room, heartening Annabeth even as she fought against despair.

    Annabeth shot him an incredulous look but couldn¡¯t bring herself to argue. The gravity of the situation held her in its grip. ¡°You should be resting, not joking around. This is serious, Mark!¡±

    At last, the door creaked open, and Elara stepped inside. Her healer''s robe flowed around her as she entered, every movement teeming with a calm authority that stood in stark contrast to Annabeth''s jittery energy. The healer''s eyes narrowed at once, assessing Mark¡¯s condition with an intensity that sent a shiver down Annabeth¡¯s spine.

    ¡°Elara!¡± Annabeth rushed to her, a lilt of desperation coloring her voice. ¡°Thank goodness you¡¯re here. Mark has been poisoned. It¡¯s wreaking havoc on his mana and his body. We need your help¡ªnow!¡±

    With measured calmness, Elara edged closer to Mark. ¡°I understand. I will act swiftly to stabilize him and detoxify the poison. Please, step back.¡± The way she held herself radiated confidence, a reassuring contrast to the swirling anxiety in Annabeth''s heart.

    Annabeth''s hands trembled as she retreated, her breath shallow. She watched intently while Elara positioned herself at Mark¡¯s side, the healer¡¯s hands glowing with a gentle, green light¡ªa beacon of hope in the shadow of despair. As she began to chant softly, the rhythmic incantations filled the room, creating an almost musical undertone that soothed Annabeth''s fraying nerves. She imagined this melody weaving around Mark, encasing him in safety.

    ¡°Mark, I¡¯m going to put you to sleep temporarily,¡± Elara murmured, her voice like a balm. ¡°This will allow me to work more effectively.¡±

    Mark''s eyes fluttered open momentarily, capturing Annabeth''s gaze with a look of trust, vulnerability evident in their depth. He attempted to speak, but the poison had dulled his words to a mere whisper. A mixture of fear and love flooded through Annabeth; she wanted to tell him it would be okay, to reassure him, but all she managed was a small nod as he let his eyelids grow heavy, drifting into a deep, peaceful slumber cradled by Elara¡¯s magic.

    Holding her breath, Annabeth remained vigilant as Elara began her intricate work. The healer¡¯s movements were deliberate, her magic forming a protective cocoon against the insidious poison that threatened to consume Mark. The monitors beeped steadily, a stark reminder of the precarious balance between life and death.

    ¡°How long will this take?¡± Annabeth whispered, horror and hope mingling in her tone. Her eyes glued to Mark¡¯s face, searching desperately for any hint of improvement. She felt sheer terror rise in her chest at the thought of losing him.

    Elara¡¯s gaze remained focused, but a flicker of reassurance shone from her eyes. ¡°It will take time. The poison has wrought significant damage, but I have slowed its progression. I need to monitor him closely and perform purification rituals to ensure it is fully purged.¡±

    Annabeth clasped her hands tightly, her knuckles pale from the pressure. ¡°I just hope he¡¯ll be okay. He has endured so much. If his mana is completely drained, it might jeopardize his chances of awakening a strong profession." The very thought sent waves of fear crashing down upon her, and she nearly bit her lip until it bled.

    Understanding resonated in Elara¡¯s expression. ¡°I get how tough this is for you. When I first awakened as a Doctor, I worried about my worth in combat situations. My abilities felt like a disadvantage at times. Over time, I realized we all have unique strengths, and even the most unexpected can lead to profound impacts.¡± Her voice was steady, calming like spring rain, and Annabeth found herself clinging to every word.

    A softness graced Annabeth¡¯s features as Elara¡¯s words seeped in. ¡°It¡¯s just hard seeing him like this, so diminished. He¡¯s always been the strongest person I know. I have faith he¡¯ll fight through this, but that doesn¡¯t ease my heart.¡± Tears threatened to spill, but she blinked them back, focusing instead on the glowing magic surrounding Mark.

    The door swung open again, and Reyna stepped in, her face painted with concern. Zeroing in on Mark¡¯s condition, she approached, urgency written all over her. ¡°How¡¯s he doing?¡±

    Annabeth opened her mouth to speak, but Elara cut in, her expression serious yet hopeful. ¡°He¡¯s stable for now. I¡¯ve managed to slow the poison and initiate its removal, but he¡¯ll need plenty of rest. His body must continue this fight on its own.¡±

    Relief washed over Reyna¡¯s features, her rigid posture softening. ¡°Good. Mark¡¯s one of the most stubborn people I know. If anyone can weather this storm, it¡¯s him.¡± She crossed her arms, a protective gesture that felt natural whenever Mark was concerned.

    A small, grateful smile broke through Annabeth¡¯s worry. ¡°True, he¡¯s tenacious. Even sick, he refuses to back down.¡± The memory of Mark insisting on training despite his condition flashed through her mind.

    Elara chuckled softly, warmth infiltrating her voice. ¡°That determination can be the key to overcoming challenges. I¡¯ve seen it often¡ªthose who seem weakest often possess a surprising strength.¡± She focused intently on Mark, the glow of her magic intensifying as she guided it into his body.

    Reyna nodded, a grin tugging at her lips. ¡°Remember that time he insisted on finishing a training session despite running a fever? He thought he could just will the illness away.¡± Her fond chuckle echoed through the tense atmosphere, momentarily lifting the air with lightness.

    Annabeth laughed, the sound a blend of relief and nostalgia. ¡°Yes! He nearly collapsed from exhaustion. But that stubbornness is part of what makes him remarkable.¡± Her heart swelled with affection as she spoke; she thought about how lucky she was to know someone as passionate and resilient as Mark.

    As Elara continued her healing work, the conversation flowed, a welcome distraction stitching the fabric of hope into the atmosphere. With anecdotes and shared laughter, Annabeth and Reyna filled the space with warmth, momentarily repelling the shadows of dread. Yet, the worry lingered; it was an uninvited guest haunting the corners of their minds, unyielding.

    * * *

    In the training room, two elderly men adorned in regal robes sat in contemplative silence, engrossed in what they had just witnessed through a one-way viewing window. Their faces reflected an engaging mix of respect and analytical scrutiny, much like that of scholars admiring a rare text.

    One man, silver-haired and sharp-eyed, broke the silence. ¡°He performed admirably against an awakened opponent. Even with Silvercloud restrained, Mark''s skill and determination shone through.¡± His voice held a tone of approval, as if he were rehearsing the praises he would share in upcoming discussions.

    His companion, slightly younger but equally burdened by wisdom, nodded thoughtfully. ¡°Indeed, he showed tremendous promise. Yet, we must not forget Mark¡¯s father¡ªa once-in-a-lifetime genius. His legacy will benefit the empire for decades to come.¡± The gravity of that statement lay heavily between them, both men aware of the legacy they discussed.

    The first man stroked his chin, eyes glued to the window. ¡°True, yet we must not underestimate Mark¡¯s potential. He may well eclipse his father¡¯s legacy. His performance today hints at a rare talent, one that could reshape our understanding of mana in combat.¡± Excitement tinged his voice, as if envisioning the future.

    The second man raised an eyebrow, skepticism lacing his voice. ¡°While his potential is undeniable, legacy is forged through experience, skill, and sacrifice. Mark¡¯s journey is in its infancy. We should be cautious in our judgments.¡± He leaned back, his solemn demeanor underscoring his warning.

    A sigh escaped the first man, conceding the point. ¡°You¡¯re right; it¡¯s premature to make direct comparisons. Still, his performance is encouraging. It will be fascinating to observe how he develops.¡± Their attention returned to Mark in the infirmary, invested in the unfolding story of a potential hero.

    * * *

    Back in the infirmary, hours dragged by, punctuated by the steady rhythm of Mark¡¯s breathing. Annabeth, Reyna, and Elara remained vigilant, their conversations a blend of shared strength and whispered hopes for Mark¡¯s recovery. The monitors beeped steadily, each sound eerily reinforcing the resolve that they would not leave his side.

    As night surrendered to dawn, the soft glow of the infirmary lights illuminated the room, a gentle reminder of resilience and the promise of a new day. Annabeth and Reyna exchanged gentle smiles, their bond strengthened in the lingering shadows of uncertainty. They took turns resting lightly against each other, the quiet hum of companionship a comfort as they held vigil for their friend.

    Elara, having completed her initial treatment, remained vigilant at Mark¡¯s side, monitoring his progress as if he were a delicate ember needing nurturing. Her presence offered assurance, a calm anchor amid the storm of worry surrounding them. With every soft pulse from the monitors, her hope bloomed a little brighter.

    Breaking the stillness, Reyna nudged forth a wry smile. ¡°Mark¡¯s never been one for half-measures. His relentless pursuit of excellence is both frustrating and impressive.¡±

    ¡°Absolutely,¡± Annabeth chuckled softly, her heart warming at the thought of him. ¡°It''s that driving force within him¡ªhis greatest strength and sometimes his downfall. Yet, it''s precisely what makes him extraordinary.¡± She felt an undeniable pride swell in her chest, a mixture of admiration and love for her friend.

    Elara nodded in agreement. ¡°Such determination can lead to remarkable achievements. As long as he has support and a touch of luck, he¡¯ll navigate through this.¡± She cast a glance at the monitors, aware that every passing moment counted.

    With each passing hour, the weight in the infirmary began to lighten, hope glimmering steadier as Mark¡¯s condition improved. As the shadows began to wane, Elara bid her farewells, checking Mark one last time to ensure the poison was purged. Both girls expressed heartfelt gratitude for her efforts, and she returned their thanks with a soft smile before exiting the room, leaving the two friends alone in the sanctuary of friendship.

    Soon, the tranquility of the room enveloped Annabeth and Reyna, sleep claiming them as exhaustion took hold after the emotional turmoil of the night. Annabeth dreamt of Mark, her heart racing as they fought side by side, mana swirling around them like a protective aura.

    Not long after, a figure slipped quietly through the door, casting a glance around before grabbing two wool blankets from a nearby table and draping them over the sleeping friends. A gentle smile graced his features as he watched their peaceful expressions, recalling the countless times Mark had been the source of their strength.

    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    ¡°How long are you just going to watch me?¡± Mark¡¯s voice broke the silence,

    ¡°Don¡¯t mind me; simply checking in. I¡¯m sure Annabeth would love to hear about your caring nature, staying up to make sure they are safe ¡± Newt chuckled lightly, his expression one of mischief.

    ¡°That wouldn¡¯t change a thing,¡± Mark retorted, slowly leaning back against his pillows. ¡°

    ¡°She has eyes only for you," Newt retorted, teasingly. It felt good to share this banter, to lift the weight off his chest, even as he battled the residue of the poison still coursing through him.

    ¡°I don¡¯t foresee that changing anytime soon. How are you feeling, anyway?¡± Newt asked, concern edging his tone as he stepped closer.

    ¡°Better than a few hours ago,¡± Mark replied, moving cautiously as he shifted in the bed. ¡°I knew they wouldn¡¯t allow lethal poisons in sparring. Still, I didn¡¯t expect one this potent¡ªit nearly drained me of all my mana.¡± He grimaced, recalling how he had fought to conserve energy, every ounce of mana critical in his struggle.

    ¡°Regardless, we can both agree on one thing,¡± Newt said, an eyebrow raised, his playful demeanor easing the atmosphere.

    Mark looked at him expectantly. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±

    ¡°I was fantastic! I¡¯ve just rewatched the fight¡ªit was epic!¡± Newt¡¯s eyes gleamed with pride, and Mark couldn¡¯t help but laugh at his enthusiasm.

    Mark burst out laughing, their camaraderie wrapping around him like a warm embrace. ¡°You were incredible! Everyone was captivated by your skill. Your mana projection? Flawless. And your defensive moves? Executed as if you anticipated every attack. Pure brilliance!¡±

    Mark paused, locking eyes with Newt, who wore a teasing grin. ¡°It finally clicked, right?¡± he said, his palm slapping his forehead in realization.

    ¡°Neewwwttt!¡± Mark playfully protested, finally understanding what Newt had done.

    ¡°Oh, please,¡± Newt teased. ¡°I acted out of love! A loveless man like you wouldn¡¯t understand.¡± His laughter filled the room, a light antidote to Mark''s lingering vulnerability.

    The room filled with a momentary silence before they erupted into laughter again, the sound echoing off the sterile walls. Newt stood up stiffly, a playful wince crossing his features as the laughter cleared the tension.

    ¡°Get some rest, Mark. She¡¯ll need you tomorrow to cheer her on.¡± Newt clapped a comforting hand on Mark''s shoulder before stepping back, a gesture of solidarity and friendship.

    Mark watched Newt stroll out before sinking back into his pillow, drifting towards sleep as he gazed at the ceiling. It felt surreal to be awake, the hum of life around him grounding him in the moment.

    ¡°She needs both of us,¡± he murmured, surrendering to the embrace of dreams.

    As dawn broke, Mark mused to himself, glancing at the clock: 5:40 AM. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, fatigue falling away like a wisp of smoke. A deep breath revealed substantial mana reserves¡ªover half, but still shy of full capacity.

    His eyes closed, focusing inwardly. Awakening as a professional offered a glimpse into a world of insight¡ªaccess to skills, strength, speed, health points, and mana points¡ªa gift that came with experience.

    After a quick shower, he donned a crisp white sweatshirt and matching joggers, intent on being more of a supporter today, just as Newt suggested.

    ¡°Maybe I should craft a flag with Annabeth¡¯s face on it and get Newt to wave it around,¡± he chuckled to himself as he headed to the door, colliding with a startled nurse in the hallway. This sudden collision reminded him of how blithely unaware he could be, lost in the whims of his mind.

    ¡°Good morning, Mr. Mark! You look much better,¡± she exclaimed, her bright smile reinforcing his sense of recovery.

    ¡°Good morning, Stacey. That I do! Thank you for all the care. Is the doctor available? I¡¯d like to be discharged, please.¡± His words spilled with eagerness, the anticipation of freedom fueling his determination.

    ¡°If you wait just down the hall for a moment, I¡¯ll check on the doctor¡¯s availability,¡± she smiled, relief evident on her features as she witnessed his improved spirit.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± he returned with appreciation, settling in the waiting area. His heart raced with an eagerness to reunite with his friends outside the sterile confines.

    Unbeknownst to him, Stacey released the breath she had been holding. Glancing back at him, she noted the impressive mana levels he possessed¡ªfive times what she had on her best day. Despite his earlier affliction, he radiated strength, even if he hadn¡¯t fully recovered.

    Mark closed his eyes, practicing meditation while he waited, absorbed in his focus until a voice pulled him from his thoughts.

    ¡°Meditation¡¯s effective for steadying the mind,¡± came a soft voice, welcoming and familiar.

    Mark nodded, glancing up at the doctor who approached. ¡°Doctor.¡±

    ¡°Let me quickly examine you. Then you¡¯ll be free to go.¡±

    With deep purple irises, the doctor studied Mark intently for a few minutes before allowing his gaze to soften. ¡°You¡¯re cleared. Avoid using mana until you¡¯re back to full capacity.¡±

    ¡°Noted, thank you,¡± Mark replied, the thrill of freedom igniting within him as he approached the elevator. The doors opened to reveal Annabeth and Reyna¡ªfreshly dressed and vibrant, excitement written across their faces.

    ¡°So that¡¯s where you both disappeared to,¡± Mark mused, a smile breaking through, wide and genuine.

    ¡°Mark!¡± Annabeth nearly launched herself at him, her joy contagious and enveloping him like a warm embrace.

    ¡°If this is the reception I get, I might have to reconsider my stance on hospitals,¡± he whispered playfully in her ear before setting her down. The connection felt electric, and he savored the moment.

    ¡°I was genuinely worried. I knew you¡¯d be fine, but still,¡± she confessed, relief washing over her as she placed her hand on his arm, grounding him.

    ¡°I know, and I¡¯m sorry for worrying you,¡± he replied, his voice steadying. He then glanced at Reyna, still lingering in the elevator doorway.

    ¡°You look well,¡± he remarked, extending a warm smile.

    ¡°Thanks for checking in on me,¡± Reyna grinned, relief palpable in her expression as if a great weight had been lifted.

    ¡°Let¡¯s head out. Newt is waiting for us downstairs. He just got discharged, too.¡± The thought of camaraderie spurred him forward, eager to rejoin the world outside the hospital.

    ¡°Okay, let¡¯s go!¡± Mark replied as he took Annabeth¡¯s hand, entwining their fingers as they moved towards the elevator side by side¡ªtheir shared strength reinforcing the bonds that united them.

    As they strolled down the sterile

    corridors, sunlight began to filter through the windows, illuminating their path ahead. Rather than viewing hospitalization as a setback, Mark felt it was a reality check he needed; he was not number one just yet, far from it.

    ¡°Finally, the great four have assembled! A round of applause, everyone!¡± Mark facepalmed as Newt began to clap loudly, ignored by the hospital staff bustling around.

    ¡°Newt, this is a medical center,¡± Reyna whispered sharply with a slight glare.

    ¡°Annnnd? It¡¯s not every day all four of us are together like this, since someone decided to take different electives¡­ that''s you, Reyna. Just so we¡¯re clear, you broke the group.¡± Mark quickly walked over to Newt, putting his friend in a light headlock while dragging him toward the exit.

    ¡°You know that¡¯s a sore subject for her. You don¡¯t need to make her feel bad about it,¡± Mark chastised, letting go of Newt¡¯s neck while lightly tapping him on the head.

    ¡°Oh, come on, what¡¯s a little light jabbing amongst friends? After the day we had yesterday, the mood could do with a little lifting.¡±

    ¡°I guess you¡¯re right,¡± Mark muttered, still not happy about Newt¡¯s remark.

    He respected Reyna for taking a bold step in choosing her path. As friends, they should support each other¡¯s decisions. Mark glanced behind, noticing Annabeth and Reyna deep in conversation. He couldn¡¯t hear them, though he had long ago mastered lip-reading¡ªhe made it a point not to use such skills on friends. Waving at them, he called out, ¡°Annabeth, Reyna, come on! We need to get to the arena for good seats.¡±

    Both girls soon rejoined them, and the group made their way to the cafeteria, already open for a quick bite. After eating, they headed toward the training arena, securing their preferred seats. The arena looked eerily pristine, as if the massive battles fought the day before had never happened¡ªsuch was the prowess of mana wielded by powerful professionals.

    The group chatted for an hour, with Newt and Annabeth discussing battle strategies she might use in her upcoming fight. Newt¡¯s mana pool and fighting style closely resembled Annabeth¡¯s, except for her use of *Sanctum*, a unique ability only she possessed.

    Hours passed quickly as the arena filled with excited spectators. Several classmates came over to check on Mark and Newt, with Arran and Newt even sharing a fist bump. The mood was lively, anticipation for the match doubling from the previous day. Suddenly, the bell chimed loudly, bringing about an immediate silence.

    **Collins Griffith vs. Annabeth**

    **Battle Condition: No Restrictions**

    Mark rose to his feet swiftly, looking over to Annabeth and offering her his hand. She took it, allowing him to pull her firmly to her feet.

    Mark leaned in close, whispering in her ear Annabeth smiled and replied excitedly, ¡°A deal¡¯s a deal!¡± before hurrying down the stairs toward the arena.

    ¡°Thanks for making this fight even more difficult,¡± Griffith muttered with a smirk.

    ¡°You¡¯re welcome, Griffith,¡± Mark shot back with a grin and a playful salute, earning a scoff from Griffith as his friends cheered him on.

    ---

    The crowd buzzed with anticipation as Annabeth and Griffith stood at opposite ends of the arena, eyes locked. The air between them crackled with energy, thick with the weight of the battle about to unfold. The moment the bell rang, signaling the start, Griffith wasted no time. He dashed forward with blinding speed, his superior physical ability apparent as he closed the distance with a single leap.

    Annabeth knew his tactics well¡ªhe wanted the fight up close, where his strength would give him the upper hand. But she had no intention of allowing that. With a sharp inhale, she stretched out her hand, her mana flaring to life as ethereal blue energy condensed into a bow at her fingertips.

    She conjured her first mana arrow with lightning speed, releasing it in a burst of energy. The arrow flew straight at Griffith, aimed at slowing his advance. But Griffith was no novice. He slid to the side, dodging the projectile with ease, his feet barely touching the ground before he surged forward again, aiming to close the gap.

    ¡°Not so fast!¡± Annabeth muttered, her fingers already forming another mana arrow.

    This time, she conjured three arrows at once and fired them in quick succession, their glowing trails weaving through the air like streaks of light. Griffith frowned, realizing Annabeth¡¯s intent. She was trying to create space, forcing him to deal with the projectiles while she moved back, maintaining her distance.

    Griffith grinned, eyes glinting with determination. He raised his hand, dark purple mana swirling around his arm like a cyclone. With a sharp motion, he swatted the incoming arrows aside, his own mana projection materializing as a barrier to deflect the attacks. The arrows exploded on contact, scattering mana sparks into the air, but Griffith was unphased, pressing forward with unrelenting speed.

    Annabeth¡¯s heart raced as she continued her retreat, focusing on maintaining the gap between them. With every step back, she fired more mana arrows, each one curving through the air with precision. But Griffith countered each shot, his mana projection forming short-lived shields to block or deflect her attacks.

    ¡°You can¡¯t keep running, Annabeth,¡± Griffith taunted as he weaved through her projectiles. ¡°Sooner or later, I¡¯ll close the distance.¡±

    Annabeth narrowed her eyes. ¡°Who says I¡¯m running?¡±

    With a sudden pivot, Annabeth stopped retreating. She planted her feet firmly on the ground and channeled her mana, concentrating the energy into a single arrow far larger than the others. Its tip glowed an ominous blue, pulsating with raw power.

    Griffith, sensing the shift in her strategy, braced himself. He could feel the weight of the mana building within her arrow. As Annabeth let it fly, the air hummed with a sharp, piercing sound, the arrow cutting through the arena with lethal intent.

    But Griffith was ready. With a quick motion, he slammed his fists together, conjuring a dome-like shield of mana around him. The arrow struck the barrier with immense force, the impact reverberating through the arena as the mana arrow exploded into a burst of energy. The crowd gasped as dust and debris scattered into the air.

    For a moment, it seemed like Griffith had been hit. But as the dust cleared, his shield held firm. He grinned from behind the barrier, his voice dripping with confidence. ¡°Nice try. But you¡¯ll need more than that.¡±

    Annabeth cursed under her breath. Griffith¡¯s defenses were strong, and as much as she hated to admit it, that was always his strong suit, what he lacked in attack potency he made up for on defense, he was steadily closing the gap between them.

    Griffith seized the moment and charged forward again. This time, he was closer¡ªtoo close. Annabeth barely managed to leap to the side, her mana bow dissipating as she dodged his incoming punch. The force of his strike sent tremors through the ground, splintering the arena floor beneath him, He had enhanced his attack with Mana.

    ¡®When did he learn to do that?¡¯ She thought Genuinely caught of Guard, by the Mana infused punch, it wasn¡¯t something most people could do, it required precise Mana control to create results like that.

    Annabeth skidded across the ground, her feet digging into the dirt as she regained her balance. Griffith was relentless, already swinging at her again, each punch laced with mana that crackled through the air. She ducked, rolled, and jumped, evading him by inches, but the strain was evident. Griffith¡¯s physical prowess was impressive, but alas Annabeth had been sparing with the monster for years, this wasn¡¯t enough to rattle her..

    ¡°Enough of this!¡± Annabeth hissed, frustration boiling over. She slammed her palms together, channeling mana into the earth below. The ground rumbled in response, and before Griffith could react, a jagged wall of stone erupted between them, momentarily separating the two.

    Griffith staggered back, surprised by the sudden shift in terrain. But Annabeth wasn¡¯t done. She channeled more mana, using it to  manipulate the boulders and debris around the arena, hurling them toward him with rapid precision.

    Griffith''s grin faded, his expression hardening as he quickly formed a mana shield, blocking the barrage of debris. The stones exploded against his barrier, but the constant onslaught was slowing his advance.

    Annabeth seized the opportunity. She retreated further, summoning a new wave of mana arrows. This time, she wasn¡¯t aiming to slow him down¡ªshe was aiming to wear him out. Her arrows rained down like a storm, forcing Griffith to stay on the defensive, his mana shields flickering with every impact.

    ¡°You¡¯re stalling, Annabeth!¡± Griffith growled, frustration lacing his voice. ¡°It won¡¯t work!¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll see about that,¡± Annabeth retorted, her breath labored but her focus unbroken.

    Griffith, sensing the need to turn the tide, took a deep breath and called upon his mana reserves. His aura flared, and in one swift motion, he shattered the ground beneath him. The force of his mana sent shockwaves through the earth, splintering the arena floor and sending rocks and dirt flying into the air.

    Annabeth stumbled as the ground shifted beneath her feet, her mana arrows faltering. Griffith used the momentary distraction to launch himself into the air, crashing down toward her with terrifying speed. His fist, charged with concentrated mana, struck the ground where Annabeth had stood moments before.

    The impact created a massive crater, debris flying in all directions. But Annabeth wasn¡¯t there. She had darted to the side at the last second, using her agility to avoid the blow. Now, breathing heavily, she knew it was time to change tactics.

    She couldn¡¯t win in a prolonged battle at close range. It was time ¡­¡­.

    Drawing in a deep breath, Annabeth extended her hand, fingers splayed wide. The ground beneath her feet shimmered with energy as her mana surged. Her signature ability, *Sanctum*, activated. Her aura intensified, the air around her crackling with raw, unbridled power.

    Griffith¡¯s eyes widened as he felt the shift in the atmosphere. He could sense Annabeth¡¯s mana reserves doubling, then tripling, as her absorption ability kicked in. He gritted his teeth, knowing this was her ace in the hole.

    ¡°Time to end this,¡± Annabeth whispered.

    With a wave of her hand, hundreds of mana bullets materialized in the air, hovering around her like a deadly swarm of bees. Each bullet glowed with intense blue energy, vibrating with lethal intent. Griffith knew he couldn¡¯t let her unleash them. He raised his arms, channeling mana into his strongest defensive technique¡ªa dome-shaped barrier that wrapped around him, constantly reinforced by his own mana acting as a battery.

    Annabeth didn¡¯t hesitate. With a mental command, the mana bullets flew toward Griffith, their speed blinding, their trajectory erratic. They pelted his shield relentlessly, each impact sending waves of energy rippling across the barrier.

    Griffith groaned, pouring more mana into his defense. The dome flickered but held firm, though cracks were beginning to form along its surface. The sheer volume of Annabeth¡¯s attack was overwhelming, and Griffith knew he couldn¡¯t hold out forever.

    But Annabeth wasn¡¯t finished. She stretched out both hands, drawing in even more mana from the environment. Her *Sanctum* ability granted her unparalleled control over energy, and with a final burst of power, she unleashed the remaining mana bullets in one concentrated blast.

    The force of the attack was incredible. The air itself seemed to vibrate as hundreds of mana projectiles struck Griffith¡¯s barrier in unison. The dome buckled, cracks spider-webbing across its surface. Griffith roared, his arms shaking as he poured every last drop of his mana into maintaining the shield, the sheer heat generated, scorched the ground around him, even his hands and were not spared

    For a heartbeat, it seemed like he might succeed. But then, with a deafening crack, the barrier shattered. Mana exploded outward, and Griffith was thrown back, skidding across the arena floor. He gasped for breath, his body drained, his mana reserves nearly depleted.

    Annabeth, panting heavily, stood tall. The arena was silent, the ground around them scarred by the battle. The trees and boulders they had used for cover were shattered, and the energy from their fight still lingered in the air like static.

    Griffith groaned as he struggled to his feet, his legs trembling. He looked at Annabeth, a mixture of respect and frustration in his eyes. ¡°I¡¯ll give you this¡­ you¡¯re tougher than I thought.¡±

    Annabeth smiled, though exhaustion was clear on her face. ¡°Thanks. You didn¡¯t make it easy.¡±

    With a final nod, Griffith conceded. ¡°This round is yours, Annabeth.¡±

    The crowd erupted into cheers, their voices filling the air as the match came to its dramatic conclusion, it was a fantastic display of technique and skill.

    Annabeth looked up to were she Knew Mark was  and yelled out.¡± I did it with 7 minutes to spare, now you have to tell me.¡± She yelled out, before making her way out of the arena, once again proving why she was considered a genius blessed by Mana