As Ronan and Orin stepped forward to receive the announcement of their third-place victory, a wave of applause rolled across the campgrounds. It wasn't thunderous like the cheers given to the first-place team, but it was enough. Enough to make the tightness in Orin's shoulders loosen slightly. Enough for Ronan to feel the pressure sitting on his chest ease, if only for a moment.
The evening air carried the scent of trampled grass, sweat, campfire smoke, and roasted meat from nearby food stalls. Light from the crystal lamps hanging around the arena cast long golden shadows across the stage.
They had done it.
Against all odds, they had clawed their way here.
Then—
"Doesn't it all seem a little too convenient?"
The voice sliced through the cheers like a blade.
The applause faltered.
Heads turned.
Ronan felt the brief warmth inside him vanish instantly.
The crowd shifted uneasily.
"First, they bring out sixty Rank Three herbs!"
Another voice joined.
"Then twenty-one Rank Three monster cores! When exactly did they have time to do all that?"
"And let's not forget how little we actually saw of them on the projection screens!"
The murmuring spread rapidly, whispers crashing into whispers until it became a sea of noise.
Ronan slowly turned.
His jaw tightened.
Out of the crowd, Soren rose from his seat.
A smug smile curled across his face.
Of course.
Orin turned as well, but his movement was slower. The moment he shifted his weight, pain shot through his injured leg. His expression twitched for a fraction of a second before he hid it, though his body betrayed him with a faint limp.
His eyes moved across the crowd.
Curious faces.
Suspicious faces.
Confused faces.
People who had cheered for them moments ago now whispered behind raised hands.
Ronan felt his stomach sink.
He opened his mouth, thoughts scrambling together, searching for something to say—
But Soren was already moving.
Step.
Step.
Step.
He descended toward the stage at a leisurely pace, almost as if he enjoyed making people wait.
"We all saw Orin's team with Aurelia's group on the first day," he announced loudly, spreading his hands. "They didn't hunt anything that entire day or night."
His eyes swept toward the audience.
"So explain this to me."
He paused.
"How did they suddenly collect twenty-one monster kills and sixty herbs?"
Another pause.
"All within two days and one night?"
Silence.
Then he lifted his chin.
"I demand an investigation."
Gasps rippled outward.
"What if he's right?"
"I barely remember seeing them on the screens."
"No... that doesn't seem possible..."
"They could've hidden something—"
Others immediately objected.
"Don't be ridiculous."
"They fought for those injuries."
"You're accusing them without proof."
The camp descended into noise.
Ronan's fingers slowly curled into fists.
He hated this feeling.
Standing still while everyone talked around him.
Watching suspicion spread like poison.
Suddenly—
"That's quite an accusation to make without evidence."
The voice wasn't loud.
But somehow it cut through the chaos instantly.
Soren turned sharply.
His face darkened.
"Their actions were suspicious," he replied. "That's why I raised the concern. If I already had proof, they would've been found guilty."
He folded his arms.
"That is exactly why they should be questioned."
At that moment, movement appeared near the edge of the camp.
An old man entered.
He wasn't hurried.
He simply walked.
Yet the crowd instinctively moved aside for him.
A middle-aged man followed a few steps behind.
The elder looked at Soren and smiled faintly.
"What a unique way of thinking, young man."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"Shall we see how they hunted, then?"
The middle-aged man immediately nodded and dashed toward a nearby tent.
Moments later—
Flicker.
Flicker.
Two of the three massive projection screens lit up.
The crowd stared.
Then exploded.
"What?!"
"Two Orins?!"
"Two Ronans?!"
"Are they clones?!"
"Wait—there are multiple of them everywhere!"
Ronan stared at the screens himself.
His own face looked back at him.
Several of them.
Even after using the skill so many times, seeing it from the outside still felt strange.
The old man glanced toward him.
"Explain."
His calm eyes rested on Ronan.
"Why is your clone stronger than most?"
Ronan took a slow breath and stepped forward.
His heartbeat had settled.
Panic would only make things worse.
"I use a skill called Phantom Clone."
The murmurs immediately rose.
Ronan continued calmly.
"Unlike ordinary cloning spells, mine allows me to summon up to four clones."
On the screens, one Ronan was fighting while another gathered herbs in the distance.
"They aren't mindless copies."
He looked toward the audience.
"They think independently."
"They have their own pride."
"Their own limitations."
"They can act separately from me while still working together."
A student frowned.
"And they don't disappear?"
Ronan nodded.
"No time limit."
The crowd stirred again.
"Phantom Clone..."
"I heard it's powerful..."
"Powerful, sure, but the drawbacks are terrible."
Someone in the crowd sighed.
"I learned it once. Worst decision I ever made."
His friend blinked.
"You did?"
"Because of the binding restrictions, I can't learn other cloning spells anymore."
"Ouch."
Ronan stepped back.
Beside him, Orin let out a quiet breath before moving forward.
His limp was more obvious now.
Each step pressed against whatever injury lay beneath his clothes.
Still, he lifted his chin.
"My technique is different."
He looked across the audience.
"It's called Shadow Clone."
Instantly, whispers spread.
"The Viridion Clan's technique?"
"No way..."
Orin nodded.
"It's based on Phantom Clone, but there are major differences."
He raised his hand.
"I can create up to eight clones."
A collective inhale swept through the audience.
"Each one is a perfect replica."
Silence.
Then—
"What?!"
"Eight?!"
A student nearly cried.
"If only we could learn that..."
Another let out a defeated sigh.
"Viridion clan exclusives..."
Orin gave a small shrug.
"But mine aren't perfect either."
His fingers lightly tapped his arm.
"They only last four days."
"And they consume an absurd amount of Aether."
The excitement instantly died down.
"Oh."
"Never mind."
"That sounds painful."
Even Ronan snorted quietly beside him.
Orin shot him a sideways glance.
"Something funny?"
Ronan looked away.
"Nothing."
The old man turned toward Soren.
His gaze sharpened.
"Are your suspicions satisfied now?"
Soren's face had gone stiff.
His jaw visibly tightened.
His fists clenched hard enough for his knuckles to whiten.
"...Yes."
The word practically squeezed out through his teeth.
"They are."
The elder smiled.
"Good."
He turned around.
"Then let us continue."
As Ronan and Orin stepped off the stage, both immediately bowed.
"Thank you," Ronan said quietly.
There was restraint in his voice, but his throat felt strangely tight.
He had no idea who the old man truly was, but he had stepped in when they couldn't defend themselves.
Orin lowered his head slightly.
"We owe you."
The elder simply nodded.
No grand words.
No unnecessary gestures.
Just a small nod.
Then he walked away.
Soon, one of the instructors stepped onto the stage and cleared his throat.
The amplifying crystal hummed softly.
"Now then," he announced, "participants may begin auctioning their loot. Students and instructors may purchase any materials of interest."
Excited whispers spread instantly.
"Of course," the instructor continued, "you may also choose to keep your items and sell them elsewhere or exchange them through the academy for skills and resources."
A few students immediately sat straighter.
"Let us begin with our first-place team."
His voice rose.
"Tavin Aldercrest, Serena Viridion, and Elenor Flamecrest!"
The crowd erupted.
The trio walked up confidently beneath waves of cheers.
Tavin casually waved before touching his storage ring.
Light shimmered.
Then—
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Items began appearing atop the display table.
Five Rank Three monster cores.
Five monster hides.
Five pairs of claws.
Ten Rank Three herbs.
The crowd surged forward immediately.
Voices overlapped.
"I'll take the claws!"
"Two hundred tokens!"
"No, three hundred!"
Within minutes, the monster materials vanished into eager hands. Only the herbs remained, eventually being exchanged for academy tokens after an elderly staff member calmly examined each one.
As the auction continued, movement appeared at the edge of Ronan's vision.
Ronan looked up.
Aurelia.
Kellan.
Selyra.
They approached slowly.
Aurelia's fingers twisted together briefly before stopping. Kellan looked awkwardly away while Selyra shifted uneasily beside him.
The atmosphere felt strange.
Heavy.
Before anyone could speak, Orin broke the silence.
"I don't blame you."
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
He reached into his storage ring.
Two sheathed swords appeared in his hands.
"You were probably pressured by Soren."
For a moment, Aurelia froze.
Then she slowly accepted the swords and handed over two small storage rings.
"...Thank you."
Silence lingered.
Then her eyes dropped toward his leg.
"How's it holding up?"
Her voice had softened.
Orin patted his thigh.
"It'll heal."
He paused.
"...Eventually."
Aurelia stared at him for a moment.
Then her gaze shifted toward Ronan.
Ronan had barely spoken this entire time.
He stood beside Orin with folded arms, quietly observing everyone.
A faint crease appeared between Aurelia's brows.
"But why resonate with him?"
She blinked.
"He doesn't even look injured."
Ronan's eyebrow twitched.
"...Excuse me?"