The news of the "Silver Wing Breach" hit the Academy like a physical shockwave. By the time the morning bells chimed, every terminal in the Bronze Wing was buzzing with the same headline: Kaelen Vance Under Investigation for Vault Tampering.
Ken walked through the breakfast hall, his posture slumped and his eyes hooded as if he hadn't slept a wink. He picked at a tray of gray, synthetic protein mash, listening to the frantic whispers around him.
"They say the Architect found Vance's signature all over the sub-level logs," one student whispered.
"No way," another replied. "Vance is arrogant, but he's not suicidal. Why would he steal a dead relic?"
Ken hid a smirk behind a spoonful of mash. Selene's work was flawless. She hadn't just planted a signature; she had woven Vance's specific mana-frequency into the "echo" of the heist. In a world ruled by magical forensics, a frequency match was a signed confession.
"Vaelstron!"
The barked command came from behind him. Ken turned slowly, blinking in feigned confusion. It was a Proctor, flanked by two peacekeepers in white-and-gold ceramic armor.
"The Combat Trials for the Lower Wing begin in ten minutes. You're scheduled for the opening bracket," the Proctor stated, his lip curling in a sneer. "Try not to die in the first thirty seconds. It's bad for the cleaning drones' schedule."
Ken nodded sheepishly and followed them.
The Dueling Grounds were a massive, open-air arena carved into the side of the floating island. A shimmering translucent dome held the atmosphere in, while below, the clouds of the Dominion drifted by like ghost ships. The "Gold" students sat in the high galleries, shielded by luxury boxes, while the Bronze students were forced into the dirt pits of the arena floor.
"Match 1: Dorian Vaelstron vs. Mike 'The Burner' Thorne," the announcer boomed.
Ken stood in the shadows of the staging tunnel, watching the fight. Mike—the same Mike who had stolen Ken's coat—was a powerhouse in his own right, but against Dorian, he looked like a child. Dorian moved with the brutal elegance of a predator, his golden mana-blade slicing through Mike's fire-shields like they were paper. Within two minutes, Mike was pinned to the obsidian floor, a smoking scorch mark on his chest.
Dorian didn't just win; he humiliated him. He looked up at the royal box, where the Empress's observers sat, and raised his blade in a silent boast.
"Match 2: Ken Vaelstron vs. Jaxen Reed."
The crowd went silent, then a wave of mocking laughter rolled through the stands. Jaxen Reed was a Silver Wing student who had been demoted for disciplinary issues—a "fallen" noble with a Rank-B Earth affinity and a chip on his shoulder the size of a mountain.
Ken shuffled out onto the sands. He looked tiny compared to Jaxen, who was already coating his arms in thick, jagged stone armor.
"A 0.8?" Jaxen spat, slamming his fists together. The ground beneath them trembled. "The Academy really is getting desperate if they're letting palace runts into the pits. I'm going to bury you before the first bell, Prince."
Ken didn't look at Jaxen. He looked at the air. Using the Void-Coded Key he had integrated the night before, he could see the "Stress Points" of the arena's gravity field. He could see exactly where the mana-lines were weakest.
"Begin!"
Jaxen didn't hesitate. He roared, plunging his hands into the sand. A wall of stone spikes erupted from the ground, racing toward Ken with the speed of a freight train.
Ken didn't dodge. He "tripped."
To the audience, it looked like a pathetic accident. He stumbled over his own feet just as the spikes reached him. By sheer "luck," the stone passed inches over his head, shattering against the arena wall.
"Stay still, you rat!" Jaxen yelled, his face turning purple with rage. He leaped into the air, his stone-encased fist glowing with brown energy. He intended to end the fight with a single, crushing blow.
Ken looked up. In the split second before Jaxen landed, Ken's right eye flickered with a single silver ring. He didn't use his core. He reached out and tapped a specific node in the air—a gravity-stress point he had identified earlier.
Gravity Shift: 0.1%
It was a tiny adjustment. To anyone watching, nothing changed. But to Jaxen, the world suddenly tilted. His momentum shifted by a fraction of a degree. Instead of crushing Ken, Jaxen's weight carried him past his target. He hit the sand at an awkward angle, his own stone armor providing too much inertia.
There was a sickening crack as Jaxen's ankle gave way under the weight of his own spell. He tumbled across the arena, a chaotic mess of rock and limbs, before coming to a stop in a cloud of dust.
He didn't get up.
The arena was silent. Then, the laughter started—louder than before.
"He tripped over himself!" someone yelled from the Gold gallery. "The 0.8 didn't even touch him and he folded!"
The Proctor walked over to Jaxen's unconscious body, then looked at Ken, who was currently sitting in the sand, rubbing his "sore" bottom and looking terrified.
"Winner... by technical default... Ken Vaelstron," the Proctor announced, sounding like he wanted to vomit.
Ken scrambled to his feet, bowing awkwardly to the mocking crowd. As he walked back toward the tunnel, he caught Isabella Thorne's eye. She wasn't laughing. She was staring at the spot where Ken had "tripped," her eyes narrowed in deep, dangerous suspicion. She had seen Jaxen's flight path change. She knew physics didn't work that way.
Ken ignored her. He reached the darkness of the tunnel and let his face go cold.
"First match secured," Selene's voice whispered in his ear. "The betting pools are in a frenzy. Everyone is betting on you to lose the next round by an even more pathetic margin. We've made three million credits on the spread."
"Keep the money moving," Ken whispered back. "I need to buy the cooling components for the Second Relic. And Selene?"
"Yes?"
"Make sure the Architect stays focused on Vance. I felt him watching the arena. He's starting to look for patterns in the 'luck'."
Ken walked deeper into the shadows, the "Lazy Prince" once again. He had won a fight without throwing a single punch, and in the process, he had become the Academy's favorite joke.
It was exactly where he wanted to be.
End of Chapter 7.