With the start of a new batch in Section C, the stadium stirred with restless anticipation.
Five minutes.
That was all the crowd had to look forward to, yet the air felt heavier than usual.
Contestants stepped onto the ground one by one.
Then people noticed it.
Someone was missing.
Whispers rippled through the stands as eyes scanned the entrance again and again.
The delay gnawed at their patience, turning curiosity into unease.
The screen above the arena flashed.
A contestant ID appeared to identify the absentee.
The murmurs died instantly.
ID No. 19,082.
The number blinked repeatedly, bright and unforgiving, yet no name was announced.
No call was made for him to hurry.
The host remained silent.
He knew the situation.
So did the stadium manager standing beside him in the commentary booth.
Rey's disappearance had already caused enough chaos behind the scenes.
And more importantly, his absence still carried the possibility of return.
That alone spared him immediate disqualification.
On the ground, Rey's opponent stood waiting.
A grin tugged at the corner of his lips, carefully restrained.
A free win.
That was what this looked like.
Still, he masked his satisfaction.
A public display of greed would only stain his image.
'Just one more minute, he thought, eyes flicking toward the contestant gate.
One minute and the University is mine. After that… my life is set.'
Time dragged on.
Matches around them began and ended.
Victors left the ground while the timer crept closer to its end.
The referee shifted uneasily.
In a few more seconds, the rules would take over.
Just as he opened his mouth—
The contestant gate moved.
A low mechanical groan echoed across the arena.
Every head turned.
Even the noble houses seated above leaned forward.
Who would dare enter now?
A figure stepped through the opening.
Lean.
Yet strangely heavy.
Unsteady footsteps echoed against the ground, uneven and cautious.
A bow rested against his back, a quiver of arrows clinking softly with each movement.
An overcoat concealed his face.
His posture leaned forward, as if every step demanded restraint, as if he were conserving strength even for walking.
'Rey.'
Hosric froze.
Annoyance twisted into shock as recognition hit him instantly.
That bow, that quiver—he had seen them up close before.
He stood abruptly, gripping the railing of the balcony.
'What the hell are you thinking, kid…Why push yourself this far?'
If Rey were outside the arena, Hosric might have intervened.
But now—
Under the Duke's gaze.
He couldn't even lift a finger without permission.
All he could do was watch.
Rey crossed the ground slowly, every movement drawing the full attention of the stadium.
When he reached his assigned area, his steps evened out, forced into uniformity through sheer will.
The referee stared at him, momentarily stunned.
His opponent frowned, confusion mixing with caution.
"Here is my ID," Rey said, voice hoarse, like it had been dragged out of his chest.
"Quickly start the match."
The referee blinked, snapping out of it.
"Ah—yes. Both contestants confirmed. Please take your positions and prepare."
The stands erupted into discussion.
Speculation clashed with disbelief.
On the ground, Rey's opponent hesitated, studying his condition.
"You alright?" he asked, lowering his voice.
"You don't look ready. You should back out."
Rey didn't turn.
"You don't need to worry," he said quietly as he walked to his position.
"Get ready. It won't take long."
A brief pause.
Then a short laugh.
"Hah. I was going to show mercy," the opponent said, drawing a large black-edged sabre from his back.
"But you're right about one thing."
His grip tightened.
"This will end soon."
The sabre looked oversized against his frame, its dark blade reflecting the arena lights.
Rey reached his spot.
He drew his bow and nocked an arrow.
If he were in normal condition, the outcome might have been obvious.
But now—
Even the audience felt it.
His pale posture.
His sluggish movements.
The poison was written all over his body.
No one believed he could last.
"Both contestants ready," the referee announced, stepping back.
"Battle… begin."
Heat surged through the arena the moment the words fell.
The crowd leaned forward as one.
They stared.
Rey's hands trembled.
The arrow wavered, dipping slightly as if it might slip from his grip at any moment.
His opponent watched for a heartbeat longer—
Then burst forward.
Fast.
Decisive.
Rey's eyes remained hidden beneath the shadow of his coat.
Yet within that darkness, something sharpened.
Faint lines of shadow traced the edges of his gaze.
His pupils narrowed, focus condensing like pressure before a break.
His body shook.
His breath did not.
Calm.
Steady.
His fingers tightened.
The bow creaked as he drew it for the first time.
The opponent was already halfway across the ground.
Rey released.
The arrow flew.
A sharp creak echoed—
The bow's midframe cracked slightly.
Rey clicked his tongue.
The arrow reached its target in an instant.
The opponent raised his sabre, refusing to underestimate Rey despite his condition.
Steel met wood—
A defiant clash rang out.
Sparks exploded.
A violent force erupted forward.
The opponent's advance stopped dead.
His body was thrown back, boots scraping violently across the ground as he was forced several steps away.
The arrow dropped uselessly to the floor.
Wide-eyed, he stared at his sabre.
The point of impact glowed red-hot.
Cracks spidered across the blade.
Only now did he notice the shallow grooves carved into the ground behind him—
Marks left by his own feet being dragged back.
From a single exchange.
His entire perspective shifted the moment he truly looked at his opponent.
Earlier, he had seen a man relaxed, confident that Rey's condition would hand him an easy victory.
Now—
He was staring at an unpredictable beast, one that could strike without warning.
Rey was already knocking his second arrow.
The opponent clenched his fists, teeth grinding as he prepared to rush forward and close the distance.
Then—
A sharp sting bloomed across his cheek.
It came so suddenly that his body reacted before his mind did.
He raised a hand.
Blood.
Only a thin line, but warm, real.
A few seasoned fighters in the stands inhaled sharply.
They had seen it.
An arrow so fast it blurred through the air, invisible to most eyes, grazing his face with surgical precision.
A warning.
Rey calmly knocked a third arrow.
The string brushed against his fingers—and for a split second, he didn't feel it.
His grip tightened instantly, forcing sensation back through sheer will.
He didn't release it.
Not yet.
"Don't even think about moving," Rey said, his voice cold and flat.
"The next arrow won't miss."
The arrowhead trembled slightly.
Not from doubt.
From strain.
"Thigh. Arm. Gut," he continued.
"Anywhere is fine."
The opponent swallowed.
Control had shifted completely.
"Drop your weapon," Rey said.
"And don't try to be clever."
His eyes shook beneath the shadow of his coat.
But his intent didn't.
"I'm not taking chances."
The sabre trembled in the man's grip.
He had thought about testing his luck.
But the moment their eyes met—
He understood.
This wasn't intimidation.
If he moved, an unbearable pain would arrive first.
"…I forfeit."
The words scraped out of his throat.
Silence swallowed the arena.
He lowered his weapon slowly, teeth clenched hard enough to ache.
He had watched Rey's previous matches.
Studied the recordings.
He was certain he could evade.
Certain he could last.
Now he realised—
He had been wrong from the start.
The stadium didn't react at first.
It was too sudden.
One arrow.
That was all it took to decide the most-anticipated endurance match.
"A—The winner is Contestant 19,082!"
The referee's voice finally broke the stillness.
The stands erupted.
Cheers, disbelief, shock, exhilaration—colliding into noise that shook the arena.
If this had happened in the early rounds, they might have dismissed the opponent as weak.
But this was the final selection match.
Ending it with a single arrow was unthinkable.
Movement rippled through the noble gallery.
The Duke remained seated, expression unchanged.
Behind him—
Marcus stood frozen.
Shock twisted his features as his mind tried, and failed, to make sense of what he had just witnessed.
'How…How did the poison fail?
How could someone who isn't even a proper martial warrior bypass a threat that even an Acolyte would struggle against?'
His nails dug into his palm.
Blood seeped through his clenched fist.
'If this was our mistake… no one responsible will be left alive.
And him—
I'll find another chance. I can't let him grow. Not until one day, he stands in front of our young master.'
"Marcus."
The Duke's voice was calm.
Too calm.
"What exactly is going through your head right now?"
Marcus stiffened.
"Don't think your actions escape my sight," the Duke continued, never turning around.
"And don't forget the contract between the houses."
A crushing pressure descended instantly.
Marcus dropped to one knee, breath torn from his lungs.
"If even a single scratch reaches our family because of you," the Duke said evenly,
"Death will be mercy compared to what I'll do."
Marcus trembled.
"R—Right away, sir," he forced out.
"I will control myself. I'll send someone to clean—"
"Do it yourself," the Duke cut in.
"I don't want more heads rolling in this gallery."
The pressure intensified.
"And withdraw all the eyes you placed on him.
If you continue, don't expect anyone you send to come back alive."
The pressure vanished.
Marcus collapsed forward, gasping, before bowing deeply.
"Yes… Sir."
He wiped the blood from his hand with a handkerchief and retreated after receiving permission.
As he left, a faint glint passed through his eyes.
Scheming.
The Duke noticed it.
He sighed quietly.
Then his gaze shifted downward.
Rey was leaving through the gate.
His steps were unsteady.
The moment he was out of sight, the act collapsed.
Rey leaned against a wall and slid down, strength abandoning him entirely.
His arms throbbed as if they might tear from his shoulders.
His joints felt stiff, unnatural.
His vision wavered.
'So… this was my limit without them…'
His breath came shallow.
'Maybe that's true.
But I still made it this far.'
A faint, exhausted smile tugged at his lips.
'He was right… I can do better. Even without the help of skills.'
Heat burned through his body.
Feverish.
His vision dimmed further as officers hurried toward him.
'The next matches… might be impossible…'
Darkness crept in.
'…Hope I get to see them again after this.'
Just before consciousness slipped away—
A familiar voice reached him, distant yet clear.
"Hoh… looks like the lesson wasn't wasted after all," it said lightly.
"It brought out the best you could manage."
A pause.
"Not bad, kiddo."
Rey's awareness faded.
A faint smile remained on his face as he lost consciousness, surrounded by officers and contestants.