Ren walked into Room 904, and the temperature in the room plummeted ten degrees.
Vara was hunched over her workbench, soldering a copper wire onto a mana-trigger. She didn't look up initially, but when the cold air hit her, she shivered and dropped her soldering iron.
"Ancestors' beard, Ren!" Vara spun around, grabbing a heavy wrench. "You feel like a corpse that's been marinating in a glacier. What did you do?"
Ren closed the door and locked it. He moved to his bed, stripping off his tunic.
The Abyss Markings on his left side were no longer just black lines. They were pulsing with a slow, hypnotic violet rhythm. Frost was forming on his skin, crystalline and sharp. The air around him seemed to warp, not from heat, but from the sheer gravitational density of the Void energy he had consumed.
"I refueled," Ren said, his voice carrying a strange, hollow echo. "But the tank is leaking. I need you to modify the sheath."
He unstrapped the Void-Sheath and slammed it onto her workbench. The Star-Metal groaned under the force.
"The metal absorbs mana," Ren explained, his eyes locking onto hers. "I need it to absorb excess mana. Specifically, the overflow from my body. If I don't vent this energy, I'll freeze my own blood before the exam starts."
Vara looked at the veins on his chest, then at the sheath. She swallowed hard. She didn't ask where he got the energy. She was smart enough to know that some answers got you killed.
"I can etch a siphon rune on the inner lining," Vara muttered, pulling her goggles down. "It will draw the excess energy into the blade itself. But Ren... if you draw that sword after it's been charged like a battery... it's going to be volatile."
"Volatility is just power looking for a direction," Ren said. "Do it. The exam is in three hours."
***
Three Hours Later: The Grand Arena.
The Grand Arena of Sky Haven was a colossal structure floating on a separate island, tethered to the main campus by four massive chains. It was a biodome, artificially terraformed to resemble a dense, hostile jungle.
Five hundred freshmen stood on the staging platform. The air was thick with tension and the smell of expensive cologne mixed with fear.
To the right, the Nobles stood in pristine armor, their wands and staffs glowing with high-tier enchantments. Lord Valerius was there, his throat bandaged, surrounded by sycophants. He scanned the crowd with manic intensity, looking for the "masked thief."
To the left, the Commoners and F-Ranks huddled together, holding rusted weapons and basic spellbooks. They looked like sheep waiting for the slaughter.
Ren stood at the back of the F-Rank line. He wore his common leather armor, the modified sheath strapped to his back. He felt calm. The siphon rune worked; the freezing cold inside him was being drawn into the Rusted Blade, making the weapon vibrate silently against his spine.
"Welcome, students," a voice boomed from the observation box high above.
Sir Alaric stepped to the railing. His golden armor shone under the magical lights. His face was stern, projected onto massive mana-screens for all to see.
"You believe you are here to learn," Alaric said, his voice cutting through the wind. "You are wrong. You are here to survive. The world below is not kind. It does not care about your lineage or your potential. It only cares about your strength."
He pointed to the jungle below.
"This is The Hunt. Scattered within this jungle are tokens. Copper, Silver, and Gold. Collect them to pass. But be warned... the golems inside have been programmed to simulate real monsters. They will not stop until you are incapacitated."
Alaric paused, his eyes sweeping over the crowd. For a split second, his gaze lingered on the F-Rank section.
"And remember," Alaric added, a cruel smile touching his lips. "Accidents happen in the wild. If you are weak, do not expect the faculty to save you in time. Begin."
***
The floor of the staging platform opened.
"Whoa—!"
Hundreds of students screamed as they were dropped into the teleportation chutes.
Ren didn't scream. He crossed his arms and let gravity take him.
Flash.
The disorientation of teleportation hit him, but his dense inner ear stabilized him instantly.
Ren landed in a crouch.
Squelch.
He was in a swamp. The canopy above was thick, blocking out most of the light. The air smelled of rotting vegetation and stagnant water.
Ren stood up. He scanned his surroundings.
Something was wrong.
According to the briefing, F-Ranks were supposed to be dropped in the "Outer Zone," where the monsters were Tier 1.
But Ren's Nature Sense—amplified by the Void—screamed at him. The mana density here was suffocating. The trees were twisted, their bark bleeding black sap.
This isn't the Outer Zone, Ren realized. This is the Dead Zone. The center of the arena.
A low growl vibrated through the mud.
From the shadows of the mangrove roots, three figures emerged.
They were golems, but not the wooden practice dummies the other students were fighting. These were made of iron and obsidian. Runes glowed red on their chests. Their limbs were bladed.
Hunter Golems (Tier 3).
"Alaric," Ren whispered, shaking his head. "You lack subtlety."
The Head of Security had rigged the teleportation. He had dropped the "suspect" directly into a kill box designed for elite upperclassmen.
The golems lunged. They moved with terrifying speed, their bladed limbs tearing through the air.
Ren didn't draw his sword. He didn't want to reveal the Rusted Blade yet.
Instead, he channeled the Void energy lingering in his broken Core.
Internal Art: Void Step.
He didn't move fast; he removed his friction with reality. He slid sideways across the mud, moving like a glitch in the world.
The first golem's blade missed his neck by an inch.
Ren stepped inside the golem's guard. He placed his open palm on the golem's iron chest plate.
"Dust," Ren commanded.
He released a pulse of Void mana. It wasn't an explosion. It was an erasure.
The iron plate didn't dent. It turned grey, lost its molecular cohesion, and crumbled into powder. Ren's hand passed through the hole he created, gripping the glowing red Core inside the golem.
Crush.
He squeezed. The Core shattered.
The golem collapsed instantly, lifeless.
The other two golems paused. Their primitive AI couldn't process how a target with zero mana signature had just one-shot their comrade.
Ren looked at them. His eyes were briefly black before returning to normal.
"One down," Ren said, cracking his knuckles. "Two to go. And then... I'm coming for the observers."
***
High Above: The Observation Room.
Sir Alaric stood before a wall of crystal screens. Most showed students fighting Tier 1 wolves or climbing trees.
But one screen—Screen 904—was static.
"Sir," an instructor said nervously. "We lost the feed on the Dead Zone. The mana interference is too high."
Alaric stared at the static. He had sent three Tier 3 Hunter Golems to that location. If the student named 'Ren' was just a strong commoner, he would be maimed and evacuated. If he was the monster from the mountain...
"Keep the feed off," Alaric ordered quietly. "If he dies, it's a tragic malfunction. If he survives..."
Alaric's hand rested on the hilt of his sword.
"...then we know the enemy is already inside the gates."
Back in the swamp, Ren stood over the wreckage of three Tier 3 golems. He scavenged the obsidian plating.
"Vara can use this," he muttered, shoving the scrap into his bag.
He looked north, toward the "Safe Zone" where the other students were. He didn't run toward safety. He began to walk deeper into the swamp.
Why survive the hunt when you can become the predator?