My eyelid twitched with a violent, persistent spasm.

  A sour drop of anger settled in the pit of my stomach, boiling hotter with every passing second. Oh boy, seeing that arrogant face made it incredibly hard to hold back. Every instinct I had screamed at me to jump the railing and beat his ass right here and now. But I forced my hands to unclench. I couldn't forget that this boy—this scion of a noble house—had enjoyed the best training money could buy for years.

  He wouldn't be an easy opponent.

  Thoughtfully, I rubbed my chin, watching two men carry a heavy, iron-bound chest into the arena and place it on the sand. According to Lady Ainsworth’s impossible instructions, I had to achieve a "crushing victory," but without killing him.

  That made things infinitely harder.

  Sighing, I leaned against the railing in front of me and took a deep, steadying breath. For the past few months, alongside the desperate search for the Phoenix Ember Root, I had trained my body and my magic to the breaking point just to be allowed to participate in this tournament for Lady Ainsworth.

  Now, it was time to taste the fruits of my labor.

  My first real fight was waiting for me. I let go of the railing and looked at the Marchioness beside me. She was watching me with a smile that was polite, practiced, and didn't quite reach her eyes.

  "Grim, I wish you good luck," she said kindly.

  But I just sneered, staring straight ahead. "I don't need luck."

  With that, I vaulted over the railing. It was time to test a new application of magic I had been experimenting with for weeks.

  As I plummeted toward the arena floor, I channeled mana into the soles of my feet and my calves, reinforcing the muscle and bone. I hit the sand not with a stumble, but with a tremendous, calculated impact. The ground shuddered as if a mini-earthquake had struck the pit, sending a cloud of dust puffing around my boots.

  My opponent looked at me with startled eyes, and the two men behind him stumbled back in surprise. In my mind’s eye, the confirmation of my efforts flashed:

  < Skill improved: Augmentation Magic (Inferior) —> (Beginner) >

  Internally, I rejoiced like a little kid who had just landed a superhero jump. I’d never had the opportunity to test it this precisely before—mostly because I didn't want to jump off a roof and break my legs if I miscalculated—but now was the time to pull out all the stops.

  And luckily, my little stunt had worked in my favor. At least partially.

  Tristan rubbed his fingers together nervously, watching me with sudden suspicion. Don't tell me that little bit intimidated you. Just a moment ago, he had looked at me as if he could defeat me with his pinky finger.

  Frowning, I looked up at the gallery where the Patriarch and his daughter were looking in my direction, whispering urgently to each other.

  "Excuse me! What happens if I accidentally kill your grandson?" I called up, my voice projecting as friendly a tone as I could manage.

  Lady Ainsworth looked down at me, confused, her forehead lined with deep furrows. But Patriarch Ainsworth? He threw his head back and laughed, genuinely amused.

  Before he could answer, a sharp voice barked from behind me.

  "You miserable gutter brat won't even be able to touch a hair on my head. This is your last chance to flee and go cry to your mommy!"

  I turned to face Tristan. His eyes shone with anger, a certain glint of madness reflecting in them. But beneath the bluster, his previous arrogance had given way to a sliver of caution.

  "Put the artifacts on them so we can finally get started!" the Patriarch commanded from the gallery, his voice booming off the stone walls.

  The two men behind Tristan bowed hastily and rushed to the chest they had brought. Carefully, almost reverently, they lifted two objects out. From a distance, they looked like heavy amulets set with a large gemstone. He had said they were artifacts, but what exactly did they do?

  Curiously, I watched as one of the men placed the amulet around Tristan's neck. Suddenly, the gemstone glowed with a blinding white light before settling into a faint, steady luminescence. The other man now stood before me, head bowed.

  "May I please place the artifact on you?"

  A queasy feeling spread in my stomach. The last piece of jewelry placed on me by nobility was supposed to enslave me for life. Even if that one hadn't worked, thanks to Aelthara, who knew what this one would do? Cautiously, I glanced over my shoulder at Lady Ainsworth.

  She nodded reassuringly.

  I wasn't entirely happy about it, but I would trust her. After all, she gave me this chance.

  I nodded to the man, and he got straight to work. He placed the heavy chain around my neck. To my surprise, I realized how much weight it carried; it felt like a shackle on my shoulders. The man's hand carefully grasped the gemstone, and he spoke a series of rhythmic words that I neither understood nor could repeat.

  White light beamed brightly from the stone, blinding me for a moment, before fading just as quickly to a gentle pulse.

  The man retreated with crunching steps, leaving the arena together with his partner and the chest. A heavy iron door sealed the exit with a resounding clang. Presumably, it wouldn't open again until the fight was over.

  Now, only Tristan and I stood in the arena. There was a strange, thick silence in the air; only the shuffling of our feet on the sandy ground broke the quiet. Would it just start like this? How did a duel among the nobility work? Say your name loudly, bow, and then try to murder each other?

  A loud voice interrupted the thought.

  "Alright boys! The artifacts around your necks are protective amulets. You can hurt each other, very much so. But they prevent a fatal hit. As soon as the amulet is triggered, your body will be protected by a barrier that will then shatter with a loud clinking sound," Patriarch Ainsworth explained loudly.

  I almost laughed out loud; of course, they wouldn't let twelve-year-olds fight to the death… or at least not their twelve-year-old.

  "If that occurs, the fight is over. Should anyone disregard this signal and continue to attack, I will kill him myself. We are not animals, after all. And now, I want to see something. BEGIN!"

  The old Patriarch unexpectedly gave the start signal.

  Startled, I turned to Tristan. He was already grinning victoriously. He crouched low, slamming his hands to the sides as a guttural scream tore from his throat.

  "STONE SENTINEL!"

  My eyes widened in shock.

  Liquid rock oozed from the ground, bubbling up like mud before hardening instantly as it gathered at Tristan's feet. Piece by piece, a gigantic stone armor formed around him. It looked as if a stone golem was growing out of him. And slowly but surely, Tristan grew with it. The boy who was barely 1.5 meters tall now towered over me, a hulking mass nearly 2.5 meters high. The stone had grown past his stomach and would soon encase his entire body in twenty centimeters of solid rock.

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  No matter how you looked at it, I was in deep shit.

  Against a stone golem, I would probably already have bad cards. But against a mage wearing a stone golem as an exoskeleton? At the thought, a cold shiver ran down my spine.

  I had to attack before he was completely encased. Since the rock was crawling up his neck at an alarming speed, I was forced to act right now.

  Raising my right arm, I extended my index finger and thumb.

  The raw, untamed power of mana surged into my hand, a tingling energy that vibrated against my skin. It felt like holding a miniature sun, a potent force waiting to be shaped. With a focused thought, I coaxed the mana to coalesce, and a single, perfect drop of water materialized in front of my index finger.

  It hung there, suspended in mid-air, a tiny, shimmering pearl.

  Breathing shallowly, I channeled more and more mana, the sensation growing in intensity until my arm began to tremble. The water droplet grew, morphing into a sphere, its surface reflecting the hazy light of the arena. I focused all my will on compression, forcing the water molecules closer and closer, compacting them into a denser mass than nature intended.

  Beads of sweat began to prickle on my forehead. Maintaining the shape—the perfect sphere—took all my concentration.

  With a mental grunt, I shifted my focus, weaving a rotating tunnel of air around the water sphere. At first, the air currents were gentle, but I quickly increased their velocity, building them into a furious, microscopic tempest. The sphere of water began to spin. Slowly at first, then gaining speed with alarming rapidity. It blurred before my eyes, a dizzying spectacle of potential and power, held together by the force of my will.

  The low hum of the spinning sphere filled the small space, a high-pitched whine like a turbine spooling up. I could almost hear the water molecules screaming against the strain.

  Now for the hard part.

  Gravity.

  After weeks of testing in my cell and the shop, I finally understood why Ithrak's gravity spell was called Duality. I could push things away and pull them closer. And with enough practice… I could do both at the same time.

  Eyes narrowed in focus, I created a gravity field. Behind the water sphere, I placed a point of intense repulsion, like a compressed spring ready to snap. In front of it, I placed a point of intense attraction, pulling it forward.

  Push and pull. A magical railgun.

  My whole body cramped under the immense burden this spell demanded. Holding three different types of magic in perfect equilibrium was agony. And the fact that only Tristan's head was still exposed put me under tremendous pressure.

  I had to win this fight. For Pip.

  With a grunt of effort, I raised my arm higher, aiming at the diminishingly small target of his head, barely three meters away.

  But Tristan's spell was faster. The liquid rock surged up, sealing around his face. And he didn't wait. The stone giant stumbled toward me, every step shaking the arena floor.

  My stomach cramped. The stone giant raised a brutal, rocky arm and drew it back for a haymaker. If that hit connects, I'm dead. It would feel like brushing my teeth with an anvil dropped from the tenth floor.

  It was time. All or nothing.

  I exhaled deeply, the mana screaming for release, and shouted, “ABYSSAL TEAR!”

  BANG!

  The water sphere tore loose with the sound of a cannon shot. A shockwave rippled outward, kicking up a massive cloud of sand that instantly engulfed the entire arena.

  My legs gave way. I fell weakly to my knees, gasping for air.

  At the edge of my consciousness, I registered the notification, but I pushed it aside.

  < Spell learned: Abyssal Tear (Inferior) >

  I couldn't enjoy my triumph. My ears rang with a high-pitched whine, and my whole head throbbed in time with my racing heart. My legs trembled violently, refusing to hold my weight, and my body swayed precariously. I barely managed to catch myself with my hands before face-planting into the sand. That single spell had demanded almost everything I had. My head spun, my muscles trembled, and my lungs burned from the dust.

  I grit my teeth, forcing myself to stay conscious.

  Now I faced a huge problem. Darkness pressed against my eyelids, and a deafening roar filled my ears. The Patriarch said the artifact would activate with a loud clinking sound, but because of the sonic boom of my spell, I hadn't heard a thing.

  I didn't know if I had hit Tristan, the armor, the wall, or if my spell had simply collapsed in mid-air. But one thing I knew for sure: If I hadn't hit him, my chances of winning this fight were zero.

  I inhaled heavily, but the dust made me cough, robbing me of even more breath. Slowly, the ringing in my ears subsided. I heard people coughing from the dense sand cloud. But I couldn't say who it was or where the sound came from.

  With trembling hands, I pushed myself up from the ground, squinting into the dust cloud, praying to see something.

  Nothing. Just swirling beige fog.

  The tension was eating me alive. I couldn't wait any longer. With the last scrap of mana I could spare, I summoned a gravity pulse, increasing the gravity in the arena for just a second.

  Suddenly, the dust cloud collapsed, dragged violently to the ground.

  The view cleared. I swallowed hard.

  Before me in the dirt lay the massive stone golem. It was motionless. I couldn't see any damage from my angle, and unfortunately, the massive shoulders blocked my view of the head.

  Doubts gnawed at me. Was Tristan even still inside this stone armor? What if he had slipped out? What if he was circling behind me right now?

  Panic seized me. I spun around frantically, searching everywhere for the Adept of House Ainsworth—but I didn't find him. My gaze wandered to the gallery.

  The usually sovereign Marchioness was chalk-white, staring at me in shock. But the Patriarch?

  He looked at me with deep seriousness. His hands glided along his magnificent mustache for a moment… before he completely surprised me with a resounding, booming laugh.

  HE'S LAUGHING?!

  Panicked, I spun around again, expecting a surprise attack—but none came. Totally confused, forehead lined with deep furrows, I walked with wobbly steps around the stone monstrosity.

  The head was still attached. But there was a massive, gaping hole in the center of it.

  The rock looked like a mushroom that had exploded from the inside out. Carefully, I leaned over. Upon closer inspection, through the jagged crater in the twenty-centimeter thick rock, I could actually see Tristan's face.

  He was out cold. His eyes were rolled back into his skull, showing only the whites. His face was ghostly pale, and a trickle of blood ran from his split lip down his chin.

  H-had I won? Was that why the Patriarch laughed?

  Nervously, I turned around and looked up at the gallery.

  The Patriarch looked down at me, still chuckling, then clapped his hands loudly.

  "JULIUS! ENSURE A HEALER COMES IMMEDIATELY. AND HAVE A FEAST PREPARED. HAHAHAHA!"

  The old Patriarch roared the command and stormed out of the arena not a second later.

  My eyelid twitched in irritation. What is wrong with this old bastard…?

  Shaking my head, I turned around and sat down heavily on the stone block of the golem's chest. It might be incredibly disrespectful to use a defeated opponent as a chair, but I really needed a break.

  My lips curled up, and a loud, incredulous laugh escaped my throat. Oh man, I couldn't quite believe it yet. I won my first fight. And not against just any idiot, but against the trained Adept of a noble house.

  Though, if that shot had missed… I would have been truly screwed.

  Lost in thought, I massaged my temples. Suddenly, the support beneath me vanished. I fell hard onto my tailbone with a yelp. Startled, I turned around and saw Tristan lying on the ground, the stone armor gone. Had his magic dissolved because he was unconscious?

  Staring down at his motionless form, confusion washed over me. My victory had to be enough. It just had to be. While I possessed raw power in spades—enough to punch through stone like wet paper—I was a glass cannon. I had one shot, maybe two, before I was empty. I lacked the repertoire, the defensive spells, the tactical finesse. Without Sir Crownfield’s formal instruction to bridge the gap between instinct and intellect, the upcoming Adept Tournament would chew me up and spit me out.

  I slowly lay down on my back in the sand, staring through the massive glass dome into the blue sky. When would the healer come? When would I finally find out what happened next?

  The soft, muffled thud of footsteps sinking into sand told me I was about to find out.

  A few moments later, Lady Ainsworth blocked my view of the sky, grinning down at me. "My nephew is still alive, isn't he?" she asked mischievously.

  Exhausted, I rolled my eyes. "He didn't even land a hit, and yet I almost died from exhaustion. So it comes pretty close to a draw…" I muttered sarcastically.

  "Oh no, Grim. That was an overwhelming victory. An incredible one, even. You can't know, but among the Adepts there is only a singl—Hm." She paused, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. "Maybe two, who can boast a stronger defense than Tristan. And you destroyed it with a single blow."

  With wide eyes, I looked at her. "D-does that mean I get to compete as an Adept for House Ainsworth?" I asked cautiously, clumsily picking myself up from the sand.

  "The final word naturally lies with my father. But since he's having a banquet prepared, I assume it's either for you or for Tristan's funeral," she giggled, amused.

  Funeral?! They wouldn't execute the boy just because he lost the fight, would they? WOULD THEY?!

  "Don't say you're going to kill Tristan because he lost…" I asked, my voice uncertain.

  But Lady Ainsworth just looked at me, flabbergasted. "For heaven's sake, no. That was just a joke. As if my father would have his family executed…" she sneered, shaking her head. "In my youth, I delivered a single, well placed kick to the heir of an important noble family. Let's just say I ensured his lineage would end with him—deservedly, I might add. And my father didn't punish me for it—he gave me his prize breeding stallion. He found the irony…exquisite. "

  She said it casually, though she sounded a little shocked by her own memory.

  And I'm competing as an Adept for this crazy old geezer? I hope that wasn’t a mistake…

  "Come, Adept of House Ainsworth. It is time we celebrate your victory."