The arena was even more packed for his second match. Word had spread about the "Alchemist Warrior," and people wanted to see if he could handle a real mage opponent.
Helena Darkwater stood across from him, wearing light armor that crackled with electrical charges. She was tall, athletic, with dark hair bound in a tight braid and eyes that sparked with literal electricity. Her Bronze Rank - Mid Stage aura pulsed with lightning-aspect mana.
"Marcus Aldrich," she said formally. "I've seen your reputation. One-punch victories, brutal efficiency. But I won't let you close enough to land that punch."
"We'll see," Marcus replied.
The referee, Professor Aldwin again, stepped between them. "Same rules as before. Three clean hits or surrender. Begin!"
Helena immediately backflipped away, creating distance. Her hands moved through spell gestures, and a bolt of lightning shot toward Marcus.
He dove to the side, the lightning scorching the arena floor where he'd been standing. The protective wards activated, absorbing the excess energy that would have been fatal without protection.
Marcus charged forward, but Helena was already moving, circling around the arena's perimeter. Another lightning bolt forced him to dodge.
The crowd was cheering, excited by the ranged combat spectacle.
Marcus tried to close distance three more times, each attempt countered by Helena's superior mobility and ranged attacks. She was good—really good. Every movement calculated, every lightning bolt precisely aimed to cut off his approach vectors.
But Marcus was learning. He watched her footwork, noticed her tells before casting, identified patterns in her evasion routes.
On his sixth approach, Marcus feinted left. Helena moved right to maintain distance, exactly as he'd predicted.
But instead of following through on the charge, Marcus pivoted and threw a chunk of loose arena stone at her feet.
She stumbled slightly, her next lightning bolt going wide. That half-second of disruption was all Marcus needed.
He closed the distance in a burst of Bronze Rank speed, his fist aimed for her shoulder—a tournament-legal strike that wouldn't cause serious injury but would count as a hit.
Helena saw it coming and tried to dodge, but she was still recovering balance from the stumble. Marcus's punch connected solidly.
"Point to Aldrich!"
The crowd roared. Helena backed away, breathing hard, reassessing. "Lucky shot."
"Skill," Marcus corrected.
The next exchange was more cautious. Helena knew Marcus could close distance if she made mistakes, so she played defensively, throwing lightning bolts while maintaining maximum range.
Marcus applied what Lyra had taught him—unpredictable movement, constant pressure, forcing Helena to react rather than act. He threw more debris, created dust clouds by scraping his foot against the arena floor, used every environmental factor available.
Helena landed a lightning bolt on his arm. The protective wards absorbed most of it, but his arm still went numb.
"Point to Darkwater!"
One to one. Next point would determine who had match advantage.
Marcus shook feeling back into his arm, his mind racing. Helena was too fast for direct pursuit, too skilled for simple feints. He needed something unexpected.
He charged directly at her again, exactly like his failed earlier attempts. Helena smiled, recognizing the pattern, and began her evasion routine.
But this time, Marcus stopped charging halfway, planted his foot, and punched the ground with Bronze Rank enhanced strength.
The arena floor cracked, sending a shockwave of debris and dust exploding outward. Helena, mid-dodge, ran directly into the dust cloud and lost visual contact.
Marcus didn't hesitate. He moved through the dust using sound and mana sense to track her position. Found her trying to get clear of the debris field. Grabbed her wrist before she could cast.
"Yield or get hit," he said quietly.
Helena looked at his other fist, cocked back and ready, then at the referee who was preparing to call the point. She could let him hit her and hope to recover, or she could surrender now and preserve energy for potential rematches if she made it to finals through the loser's bracket.
"I yield," she said.
"Winner by surrender: Marcus Aldrich!"
The crowd's reaction was mixed—some disappointed that the match ended without a dramatic final strike, others impressed by Marcus's tactical adaptation.
Helena pulled her wrist free and offered her hand to shake. "Well fought. That ground-pound trick was creative."
"You were winning until then. Your lightning magic is impressive."
"Not impressive enough, apparently." She smiled ruefully. "Good luck in the next rounds. You'll need it—the semi-finals have some seriously strong fighters."
As Marcus left the arena, he was intercepted by tournament organizers. "Mr. Aldrich! Congratulations on your victory! Would you be willing to give a quick interview for the academy newspaper?"
"No."
"But—"
"I said no."
He pushed past them, heading back to the preparation rooms. More attention, more scrutiny, more people wanting to analyze his techniques and background.
This was exactly what he'd been trying to avoid.
In the preparation room, Professor Kellan was waiting. "Impressive match, Marcus. You're learning quickly."
"Thank you, Professor."
"Your next opponent will be announced tomorrow after the other matches conclude. But I can tell you now—you'll be facing either Darius Ironforge, Bronze Peak Stage, or Sarah Windwhisper, Bronze High Stage." She studied him. "Both are significantly stronger than your previous opponents. You'll need to be at your best."
"I'll be ready."
After Kellan left, Marcus sat alone, thinking. Two matches down, several more to go. Each victory brought more attention, more expectations, more risk of his secret being discovered.
But dropping out now would cause even more questions. He had to see this through, win the tournament, collect his prize, and then fade back into anonymity as the "talented but reclusive alchemist."
That was the plan, anyway.
Marcus changed out of his combat armor and headed back to his warehouse. He had alchemy commissions to complete, contracts to review for his Phantom identity, and cultivation to maintain.
The tournament was taking time away from his real priorities—advancement, wealth accumulation, survival preparation. He needed to accelerate his progress.
That evening, Marcus activated his 100x Effect and spent thirty minutes creating a batch of enhancement potions that would sell for 50,000 gold total. Then he reviewed new assassination contracts.
Baron Blackwood was still available—Silver Rank Low Stage, 45,000 gold bounty. Marcus decided to take it. The tournament gave him perfect cover—everyone would assume he was busy with matches, not hunting nobles at night.
He'd scout the Baron's estate tomorrow during the day, strike tomorrow night after his next tournament opponent was announced, and be back in time for his semi-final match.
Efficient. Dangerous. Exactly the kind of calculated risk his paranoia normally avoided.
But he was falling behind schedule. The tournament was a distraction he couldn't afford for long.
Marcus checked his current status:
Cultivation: Bronze Rank - Mid Stage (84%) Alchemy: Bronze Rank Alchemist (Certified) Wealth: 365,000 gold (after equipment purchases) Tournament Status: Round 2 complete, advancing to semi-finals Phantom Contracts Completed: 26 total
He needed to reach Bronze Peak Stage soon, then push for Silver Rank. Every day at Bronze Rank was a day of vulnerability.
Marcus lay down on his cot, his mind already planning tomorrow's activities. Tournament preparation in the morning, estate scouting in the afternoon, assassination at night, return before dawn.