The training grounds of Starcrest Academy rang with the sound of impact.
A deep, bone-shaking boom echoed as Marek's body slammed into the reinforced stone wall, cracks spiderwebbing outward from where his shoulder hit.
Dust fell in slow sheets, drifting through the air like ash.
Marek slid down, boots scraping, teeth clenched hard enough to draw blood.
"Again."
Bran Halvor's voice was calm.
Too calm.
Marek forced himself upright, muscles screaming in protest. His arms trembled as faint bronze lines crawled across his skin—his Body Forging ability activating instinctively, reinforcing bone and muscle.
But it wasn't clean.
The aura flickered.
Unstable.
Bran Halvor stood several meters away, massive arms folded behind his back. His physique looked less like a cultivator's and more like something carved from iron.
No visible aura flared around him, yet the pressure alone made breathing difficult.
"You're reinforcing too late," Bran said. "Your power activates after impact.
That's not adaptation.
That's panic."
Marek spat blood to the side and tightened his fists.
"I—can adjust."
"You will adjust," Bran corrected. "Or you'll break."
Before Marek could respond, the ground beneath him exploded.
Bran vanished.
Then—
CRACK.
A fist slammed into Marek's ribs, lifting him off the ground. His vision went white as his body flew backward, tumbling across the field.
"Kira," Bran said calmly, already turning.
A shrill cry split the air.
"Wind Hawk—formation!"
Above them, swirling currents gathered as Kira thrust her staff forward.
A massive construct of compressed wind formed, wings spread wide, feathers razor-sharp.
The Wind Hawk screamed as it dove toward Bran at terrifying speed.
Bran didn't dodge.
He stepped forward.
And punched.
The wind compressed violently, collapsing inward. The hawk shattered in a thunderous burst, sending a shockwave rolling across the training ground.
Kira screamed as she was thrown backward, sliding across the stone until Tomas caught her.
Tomas grunted under the force, boots digging in.
"You okay?" he asked through clenched teeth.
Kira nodded shakily, chest rising fast.
"Barely."
Bran Halvor turned his gaze toward Tomas.
"And you," he said. "Still hiding behind support."
Tomas's jaw tightened. He raised his hands, runes glowing faintly along his forearms as energy gathered.
"I'm not hiding," Tomas said. "I'm waiting."
Bran's lips twitched—not quite a smile.
"Then wait faster."
He moved again.
This time, Tomas reacted.
The air warped as Tomas slammed his palms together, releasing a burst of condensed force. The ground fractured beneath Bran's feet—
—but Bran didn't slow.
He drove through it.
His shoulder slammed into Tomas's chest, hurling him backward. Tomas rolled, barely managing to dissipate the force before crashing into a pillar.
Silence followed.
Heavy. Suffocating.
Marek staggered to his feet again, aura flaring wildly now. His breathing was ragged, vision blurred, body screaming for rest.
Kira leaned heavily on her staff, knees shaking.
Tomas pushed himself upright, coughing.
Bran Halvor stood alone in the center of the field.
Unmarked.
Unmoved.
"Is that it?" Bran asked.
The question wasn't mocking.
It was disappointed.
Marek snarled and forced more power through his body. Bronze lines flared brighter, skin hardening, muscles swelling unnaturally.
"This time—!"
He charged.
Bran waited.
At the last second, Bran stepped inside Marek's strike and drove two fingers into Marek's collarbone.
CRACK.
The forging shattered.
Marek screamed as his reinforcement collapsed, pain ripping through his nervous system. He collapsed to one knee, gasping.
Bran stepped back.
"Stop," Bran said.
The word carried weight.
Marek froze, shaking.
Kira dropped her staff, panting.
Tomas slumped against the pillar.
The training ground was silent except for labored breathing.
Kira broke it first.
"Teacher," she said hoarsely. "We're… tired.
Can we rest a little?"
Bran looked at her.
Then at Marek.
Then at Tomas.
For a moment, none of them knew what he was thinking.
Then Bran chuckled.
A deep, rough sound.
"Tired?" he repeated. "You're not even bleeding yet."
Kira stared at him in disbelief.
"Sir—!"
Bran raised a hand.
"Still," he said. "You fought longer today."
The tension eased—just a fraction.
"You get five minutes," Bran continued. "Next time, I don't stop until one of two things happens."
The group straightened.
"You bleed," Bran said. "Or you take me down."
Marek swallowed.
"Yes, sir," the three said together.
Bran turned and began walking away.
As he left the field, his expression hardened.
They're holding back, he thought.
Afraid of breaking themselves.
His fists clenched.
But I won't fail them.
Not during the competition.
Elsewhere in Starcrest Academy, the atmosphere was different.
Quiet.
Primyte walked alone through the stone corridors, hands tucked into his coat pockets, expression unreadable.
The sounds of training echoed faintly through distant halls, but none of it touched him.
He passed students bowing respectfully.
He didn't acknowledge them.
His mind was elsewhere.
The weight beneath the academy.
The sealed layers.
The System presence that didn't behave like anything else.
"Not training today?" a voice called.
Primyte stopped.
He turned slowly.
Iris Vale leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, silver hair tied back neatly. Her eyes were sharp, observant—eyes that missed very little.
"Aren't you supposed to be whipping your students into shape?" she asked. "Or did you forget there's a competition coming?"
Primyte raised an eyebrow.
"Oh. Is that today?"
Iris scoffed. "You're impossible."
She stepped closer. "Every other senior is pushing their group to the brink. And you're… wandering."
Primyte smiled faintly.
"They don't need it," he said.
Iris narrowed her eyes. "They don't need training?"
"I've already taught them what matters," Primyte replied calmly.
"And that is?" Iris pressed.
Primyte glanced toward the training grounds, then back at her.
"How not to listen when power tells you to."
Iris frowned.
"That's not a technique," she said.
"No," Primyte agreed. "It's survival."
Iris studied him for a long moment.
"You're confident," she said slowly. "Or reckless."
Primyte shrugged. "Those look the same until results appear."
She sighed. "Just don't let arrogance get your students killed."
Primyte turned away, already walking.
"Don't worry," he said over his shoulder.
"They're harder to break than you think."
Iris watched him go, unease settling in her chest.