[16th June]
The new day arrived with an unease that clung to every contestant's chest.
The change in elimination rules.
Two rounds in a single day.
Eight hundred reduced to two hundred.
No one could ignore what today meant.
Yet the capital looked no different from before.
Morning routines continued.
Shops opened.
Servants rushed through noble districts, finishing their tasks before the tournament began.
Life moved forward, indifferent to the tension beneath it.
In the noble quarter, one such residence was already awake.
Both servants moved efficiently between rooms, completing their duties before the Lord's arrival.
Below the house, hidden from the world—
Rey trained.
The underground room felt tighter than usual.
Rey moved through the space with his bow in hand, feet sliding across the stone floor.
He tried again to shoot while moving.
It failed.
The space was too small.
His balance broke the moment he released the string.
Still, he didn't stop.
This weakness bothered him more than most.
If his opponent ever closed the distance, stopping to shoot could cost him everything.
He tried again.
And again.
Nothing changed.
He felt stuck, as if he had reached a wall he couldn't push through yet.
Mana control, at least, had improved.
He could now pour mana into his arrows with far less resistance, his proficiency rising steadily.
But movement and release together still refused to cooperate.
After several more attempts, he exhaled slowly.
Enough.
"One last shot," he murmured.
Patience.
Control.
The words settled his breathing.
Rey knocked a wooden arrow and closed his eyes.
He focused inward.
Mana responded to his call, slow but obedient.
It flowed toward his hand, meeting slight resistance, yet far less than before.
Carefully, he guided it into the bow.
From there, it spread into the arrow itself.
Fine cracks formed along the shaft.
Too much.
He immediately pulled back a fraction, preventing a premature burst.
Rey opened his eyes, aimed at the dummy, and released without any sight enhancement.
The arrow shot forward.
It pierced straight through the dummy's chest—
Then shattered violently as it exited.
Wooden fragments exploded across the room.
Rey twisted aside on instinct.
A shard struck the wall behind him, humming faintly with residual mana.
He stared at it for a moment, then sighed.
"Never doing that again."
Wooden arrows couldn't withstand his current strength or mana.
The arrows his uncle gave him were different.
Balanced.
Durable.
Reliable.
In real matches, he never had time to charge mana this much anyway.
Quick infusions.
Controlled force.
That was safer.
He cleaned the room swiftly, stored the dummy, and headed upstairs.
By the time he returned, he was already dressed.
Bow and quiver rested against his back.
His dagger was hidden beneath his coat.
He checked the time.
8:15 AM.
'Still early.'
Hosric wouldn't arrive for another ten or fifteen minutes.
Rey moved toward the dining table.
The butler glanced at the wall clock and then at Rey.
"Young Master, you're early today," he said calmly.
"The meal will be ready shortly."
Rey nodded and waited.
Minutes later, the table was filled with dishes.
Everything was set—except the seat Hosric usually occupied.
Rey began eating quietly.
He took his time, tasting each dish.
Spicy.
Salty.
Warm.
It grounded him.
Only after nearly half the table was cleared did Hosric enter.
He paused slightly, surprised to see Rey already eating, then sat down as his tea was served.
Rey bowed lightly while continuing his meal.
Hosric accepted it without comment.
Another presence entered the room.
Fenlor.
Rey hadn't seen him in days.
Fenlor's expression was subdued, as if he had just endured a long lecture.
He sat beside Rey, glanced briefly at his father, and sighed.
Rey said nothing.
He simply slid a full plate toward him.
Fenlor looked at it, then smiled faintly and began eating.
Rey slowed his own pace, a small smirk forming.
Hosric watched the two of them over his teacup, amused.
They finished sooner than expected.
Soon after, all three left the house.
The ride to the stadium was smooth.
Traffic was lighter than usual.
They arrived early.
Hosric headed toward the Noble Gallery.
Rey and Fenlor entered the grounds together.
Only a few dozen contestants were present.
Fenlor leaned against a railing, staring at his phone with a bored expression.
Rey watched him for a moment.
"Fenlor, are your friends here yet?" he asked.
Fenlor looked up.
"No. Why?"
"If they come, you can go with them," Rey said casually.
"Most of you are in Sections A and B. I'm in Section C."
Fenlor frowned slightly.
"But you'll be alone."
"I prefer it that way," Rey replied honestly.
"You being with your friends is better."
Fenlor studied him, then smiled.
"They're already three. One more won't matter."
"Staying with you isn't bad either."
Rey shook his head lightly.
"You know how I am. Training comes first."
"I'll rest a bit, then head home after."
Fenlor sighed, then chuckled.
"Fine. But promise me one thing."
Rey looked at him.
"After the tournament ends," Fenlor said, smiling,
"you're coming to the party. No excuses."
Rey paused.
Then nodded.
"Alright. But check if they're here first."
Fenlor laughed and made the call.
A moment later, he lowered his phone.
"They're nearby," he said.
"Told me to wait by the gate."
Fenlor cut the call and told Rey the details.
Rey had already heard most of it, but he still nodded.
A few minutes later, Fenlor left to meet his friends, waving once before disappearing into the growing crowd.
Rey remained where he was.
A faint smile appeared on his face as he watched his cousin reunite with them, laughter breaking through Fenlor's earlier gloom.
He turned away soon after.
The crowd kept swelling as time passed.
Eight hundred.
Then closer to nine hundred.
The central ground slowly filled, invisible barriers dividing it cleanly into four sections.
Everyone standing there knew what was coming.
The results.
A hundred eliminations.
A number that once felt small now carried a weight heavier than steel.
Silence crept across the stadium.
Not the noisy silence of impatience—but the tight, suffocating kind.
Then—
A single notification sound rang out.
Then another.
Then dozens more.
Messages began pouring in.
Some contestants froze as their phones lit up.
Others broke into relieved laughter, joy spilling out uncontrollably.
A few clasped their phones with trembling hands, rereading the message again and again as if afraid it might disappear.
But not everyone received one.
As the flow of notifications slowed, the air grew heavier.
Those still waiting swallowed hard.
Rey stood calmly among them.
He was confident—but not careless.
Even he knew that inspection-based eliminations carried uncertainty.
Moments later, his phone vibrated.
Rey checked it.
His eyes widened slightly.
His contestant ID glowed faintly, bold letters confirming his progression.
He had passed.
Relief settled quietly in his chest.
Around him, reactions split sharply.
Those who passed exhaled, some slumping to the ground in exhaustion.
Those who didn't—
Their faces drained of colour.
Roughly a hundred contestants stood frozen, phones dark, hands trembling.
Despair spread like a disease.
"As you can already guess," the Host's voice echoed calmly,
"Those who received the message will proceed."
A pause.
"Now, let us begin Round Six. We still have two rounds left today."
Most contestants steadied themselves.
They clenched their fists.
Bit down their emotions.
Accepted reality.
But not all.
A sudden shout cut through the air.
"No… no… no—!"
A contestant staggered forward, eyes bloodshot.
He drew his weapon.
The blade flashed.
Someone nearby screamed as a shallow cut opened on his hand.
Blood splattered.
The surrounding contestants backed away instantly—not in panic, but with sharp awareness.
"No… I won! I won fair and square!" the man screamed, tears streaming down his face.
"Why me?! Why was I eliminated?!"
His grip shook violently.
Rational words reached him.
But his mind was already collapsing.
Before anyone else could intervene—
A voice descended from above.
Cold.
Flat.
Absolute.
"Do you think this tournament is a joke?"
The Host.
Gone was the cheerful tone.
Gone was the warmth.
His gaze alone locked onto the man.
The contestant froze.
Sweat dripped down his forehead.
His breath stuttered.
Those who understood power felt it instantly.
An invisible pressure descended.
The air itself felt heavier.
Some contestants staggered back—not from fear, but instinct.
"Perhaps," the Host continued calmly,
"I was too lenient. Too approachable."
He raised a single hand.
One finger pointed downward.
The contestant slammed into the ground.
Not thrown.
Pressed.
A sound like bone meeting stone echoed.
He coughed violently, blood spilling from his mouth.
His body convulsed.
Every attempt to move ended in failure.
Rey felt it.
A crushing force pinning the man down, denying even breath.
The Host's expression never changed.
After a few seconds, he lowered his hand.
The pressure vanished.
The contestant remained motionless, twitching weakly, blood soaking the ground beneath him.
"Guards," the Host said calmly,
"Remove him. Get him treated. Any delay, and his life won't last long enough to matter."
Two guards rushed in, lifting the limp body and dragging him away.
The stadium was silent.
Then—
"Everyone, clear the ground," the Host continued.
"Round Six begins in fifteen minutes."
His gaze swept across the contestants.
"If anyone else wishes to repeat his actions," he added evenly,
"Step forward now. I will handle it personally."
No one moved.
Not a whisper.
Contestants left the ground quickly—orderly, controlled, deeply shaken.
Rey glanced back once.
His thoughts were steady.
'That pressure…'
Acolyte Rank—at least.
Possibly higher.
But still—
It wasn't the same.
The chill the Duke radiated with a single glance still felt deeper.
Colder.
More absolute.
'Not the same level,' Rey concluded.
Yet the message was clear.
This tournament was no game.
And the final two rounds were no longer just about strength—
They were about survival.
By the end of today, the gates to the University would open.
And many dreams would end at those doors.