[18th June]
The Fourth Round—
Had already begun.
Not on the battlefield.
But in the minds of everyone watching.
The announcement echoed across the entire stadium, spreading far beyond it through screens, feeds, and conversations.
And with it—
Came doubt.
A quiet, creeping kind.
"Random draw?"
People repeated it.
But very few believed it.
The audience wasn't stupid.
They had watched enough matches, enough tournaments, enough politics behind power to understand one thing—
When something too perfect happens…
It usually isn't random.
Because out of twenty-five contestants—
Out of countless possible combinations—
The draw had created that matchup.
Rey.
Versus—
Raviel Ashcroft.
Even hours later, the tension hadn't died.
It had only settled deeper.
Like a storm waiting to break.
And that wasn't the only one.
The third match carried its own weight.
The Flame Elementalist—nicknamed the Flame Demon—
Against Gravion.
Two fights.
Two collisions.
Too early.
Too precise.
Rumours spread like wildfire.
"Fixed."
"Scripted."
"Deliberate."
But no one said it too loudly.
Because everyone remembered—
The Host.
His tone.
His presence.
Cold enough to shut down questions before they formed.
In the noble stands, tension wasn't hidden.
It couldn't be.
Edvarin Valemont sat still, but his fingers tapped faintly against the armrest.
A small detail.
But enough.
Earlier, there had been confidence.
Even pride.
But now—
There was only uncertainty.
Because Rey had shown everything.
Or at least, that's what it looked like.
His strength was visible.
Measured.
Understood.
But Raviel—
Was still an unknown.
A Spirit Master.
A category that didn't follow the same rules as others.
His power wasn't just physical.
It wasn't just technique.
It was something else entirely.
Something harder to read.
Harder to predict.
And that made the matchup dangerous.
Not just for Rey—
But for expectations themselves.
—
Meanwhile, in the stands, Rey found himself in a different kind of trouble.
Calls flooded in.
Messages stacked endlessly.
Rey's phone vibrated again.
And again.
His mother.
Friend.
Even unknown numbers.
Everyone wanted something.
A response.
A reaction.
An answer.
But he gave none.
The screen dimmed.
Ignored.
Because none of them mattered right now.
He sat alone.
A corner seat.
Away from the noise.
Eyes closed.
Back straight.
Breathing slow.
The world outside faded.
The stadium.
The voices.
The tension.
All of it—
Muted.
Inside—
Only one thing moved.
Mana.
It flowed through him like a quiet river.
Controlled.
Guided.
His skill—
Voidrest.
It wasn't flashy.
It wasn't aggressive.
But right now—
It was invaluable.
His exhausted reserves began to recover.
Slow at first.
Then faster.
His breathing synchronised with the flow.
Each inhale drawing in more.
Each exhale stabilised what he had.
Fatigue loosened its grip.
Muscles relaxed.
Mind sharpened.
Not fully restored.
But enough.
Rey opened his eyes slightly.
Just enough to let reality seep back in.
'Good.'
But his thoughts didn't linger there.
They returned—
To the problem.
Raviel.
Rey replayed everything.
Every movement.
Every strike.
Every reaction during Fenlor's match.
'At base… I can match him.'
That conclusion didn't change.
But it didn't matter.
Because Raviel didn't fight at the base.
The moment he used his spiritual power—
Everything changed.
That was the real fight.
And that was where Rey fell short.
He leaned forward slightly.
Elbows resting on his knees.
Fingers interlocked.
'Mana… can match it.'
That was his advantage.
But talent—
Was the variable.
Raviel wasn't just using power.
He was refining and amplifying it.
'If I use mana the same way…'
Rey's jaw tightened.
'He'll still be ahead.'
Because someone like Raviel—
Wouldn't just gain strength.
He would gain more from the same input.
Efficiency.
Control.
Output.
Everything stacked in his favour.
Rey exhaled slowly.
Frustration creeping in.
His options were limited.
Skills?
He couldn't spam them.
Mana?
Finite.
Control?
Still not perfect.
He dragged a hand through his hair.
Slow.
Irritated.
'Think.
There has to be something I'm missing.'
For a few seconds—
Nothing came.
Then—
A flicker.
A memory surfaced.
Morning training.
The 20th Set.
Rey froze.
He hadn't used it in battle yet.
Not even once.
His eyes closed again.
Focus snapping inward.
Mana moved.
The pathway—
Complex.
Layered and precise.
But familiar.
Too familiar.
Because it wasn't just learned.
It was engraved.
Whatever Aiden had done—
It wasn't normal teaching.
It was like permanent.
Rey followed the flow carefully.
Then—
Activated it.
A shift.
Instant.
His body lightened.
Not just in feeling—
In function.
Every movement felt reduced in resistance.
Sharper.
Cleaner.
His perception sharpened.
Time didn't slow—
But it felt like he could react faster within it.
His muscles responded more quickly.
His balance stabilised.
'This… is far beyond the 15th.'
Not a small improvement.
A leap.
But then—
The cost hit.
Mana drained faster.
Rey cut it off immediately.
His breathing broke for a second before stabilising again.
Useful.
Extremely.
But not sustainable for long.
Still—
A piece of the gap had closed.
Rey leaned back slowly.
Eyes narrowing.
But strength—
His hand clenched.
That was still the problem.
Raviel would overpower him.
That much was certain.
No matter how refined his movement became—
If he couldn't match the force behind it—
He would lose ground.
Rey tilted his head back.
Staring at nothing.
'I said I'd knock him down.'
Not defeat.
Just once.
Just enough to break that image.
To prove—
He wasn't untouchable.
But right now—
That promise felt… distant.
His gaze lowered.
And landed on something he hadn't considered seriously in a while.
His status.
The interface flickered faintly in his vision.
Stats.
Numbers.
Growth.
Then—
One line.
It stood out immediately.
[Allocable Stat Points: 298]
Rey's pupils tightened slightly.
For a moment—
He just stared at it.
Almost three hundred points.
Neither small nor insignificant.
Enough to change something.
Enough to tip the balance.
'I almost forgot…'
A quiet realisation settled in.
He wasn't just training.
He wasn't just adapting.
He could still evolve.
Right now.
Immediately.
His fingers flexed slightly.
As if the decision was something physical.
Strength.
Speed.
Endurance.
All within reach.
But then—
A memory surfaced.
Sharp.
Clear.
A warning.
Aiden's voice.
'Don't distribute recklessly.'
This wasn't a system built for convenience.
This was his body.
Every stat increase—
Changed something real.
Too much imbalance—
Could destabilise him or even damage him.
He remembered that moment.
That earlier impulse.
The strain of the unnatural shift.
Rey exhaled slowly.
Long.
Controlled.
This wasn't just power.
This was a risk.
Immediate gain—
For potential long-term damage.
But the fight ahead—
Wasn't long-term.
It was now.
His eyes hardened.
Because for the first time since the draw—He wasn't just thinking about surviving the match.
He was thinking about forcing an outcome.
One moment.
One opening.
One strike that would land—
No matter what.
His gaze locked onto that number again.
298.
A resource, a weapon and a gamble.
And right now—
It might be the only thing that could bridge the gap.
Rey leaned forward again.
Elbows on knees.
Hands clasped.
Still.
Silent.
But inside—
His mind wasn't searching anymore.
It was deciding.
Because whatever choice he made here—
Would decide more than just a match.
It would decide—
How far he was willing to go… to stand in front of Raviel.
Rey didn't answer immediately.
He called out to Aiden for a solution, but he received the opposite of what he was seeking.
Aiden's words didn't just question him—
They pinned him down.
Locked him in place.
Forced him to look.
"…What makes you so desperate to win this match?" Aiden's voice echoed again, calm… but sharp.
"Is it victory… or revenge?"
Rey's lips parted slightly—
Then closed.
No words came out.
Because the answer… was already there.
And he didn't like it.
Aiden didn't wait.
"Even you know it.
This isn't about winning.
It's about revenge."
A pause.
"And that makes it pointless."
Rey's fingers slowly curled.
His nails dug into his palm.
"Defeating him might give you momentary peace," Aiden continued, steady, almost cold.
"But after that?
Do you think someone like him will just… let it go?"
A flicker.
A memory.
That night.
That suffocating pressure.
"He won't.
He'll come for you.
Not himself… but through others."
"Acolytes."
"Maybe worse."
"People far beyond your current reach."
Rey's jaw tightened.
His breathing slowed—
But heavier.
"And then what?"
Aiden pressed.
"You run?"
"You hide?"
"You rely on us every time?"
Silence.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
"And even if you escape that…"
Aiden's tone dropped further.
"What about your family?"
Rey's eyes trembled.
Just for a second.
"You think damage only comes physically?"
"They'll go for what you care about."
"And when that happens…"
A pause.
"…what will you do then?"
Rey's chest rose sharply.
His thoughts—
Fractured.
"Burn again in revenge?"
"Lose more?"
"Repeat the same cycle?"
The words didn't shout.
They didn't need to.
They landed anyway.
"That burden…" Aiden finished quietly,
"…is far heavier than losing here."
Silence.
Complete silence.
Then—
"…If you still want to do it," Aiden added,
"You can allocate the stats."
"But don't dump everything."
"Keep at least fifty."
"That's the minimum I'd recommend."
The system panel still floated faintly in Rey's vision.
[Allocable Stat Points: 298]
It felt…
Tempting.
Too tempting.
Rey stared at it.
Unmoving.
Then slowly—
He exhaled.
And closed it.
"…I get it," he muttered.
Low.
Rough.
His fist tightened—
Then slammed into the ground.
Crack.
A spiderweb of fractures spread beneath his knuckles.
His shoulders rose.
Fell.
Once.
Twice.
Frustration burned inside him.
Hot.
Violent.
But this time—
He didn't let it explode.
He stood up.
Slowly.
His mind wasn't calm.
Not yet.
But it was… clearer.
Revenge?
He still wanted it.
Of course he did.
But not like this.
Not at this cost.
Without another word, Rey turned—
And walked out of the stadium to find some peace.
The noise faded behind him.
Step by step.
Outside, the air felt different.
Lighter.
Cooler.
He walked without direction.
Through empty paths.
Past scattered crowds.
Ignoring everything.
Time passed.
He didn't count it.
Didn't care.
Only when the tightness in his chest eased—
Did he finally stop.
"…Tch."
A faint click of his tongue.
"Getting emotional over this…"
He ran a hand through his hair.
"…pathetic."
But even as he said that—
His breathing had stabilised.
When he returned—
Almost half an hour had passed.
Without hesitation, he headed straight for the medic hall.
The door slid open.
…Empty.
Rey paused.
His brows furrowed.
Fenlor's bed—
Was empty.
No family.
No movement.
No sound.
A flicker of unease crossed his face.
He immediately pulled out his phone.
Called.
The line connected.
"Oh, Rey?" Hosric's voice came through, slightly hurried. "I was about to call you."
Rey's shoulders eased just a little.
"…What happened?"
"Fenlor's fine," Hosric replied quickly.
"Willa took him home."
Rey blinked.
"He woke up earlier," Hosric continued. "But the doctors said he still needs rest."
"With all the crowd coming and going, Willa didn't want to risk it."
"So after getting permission… she took him back."
Rey exhaled slowly.
A weight lifted.
"…Good."
A small pause.
Then Hosric spoke again, softer this time.
"I tried calling you."
Rey glanced away.
"…Yeah."
"Listen," Hosric continued,
"Don't stress too much about the match."
Rey didn't respond.
"We believe in you," he added.
"And even if you don't win…"
A faint chuckle.
"I doubt your grandfather will care about that."
Rey's gaze lowered slightly.
"He'd rather see you walk back unharmed…"
"…than try to win like Fenlor did."
Silence.
But this time—
It wasn't heavy.
"…Got it," Rey said.
They spoke a little longer.
Nothing important.
Just enough.
Then the call ended.
Rey stood there for a moment.
Still.
Then turned—
And left.
His steps were steadier now.
As he walked past the other side of the hall—
He caught a glimpse.
Gravion.
Davin.
Recovering.
Rey didn't stop.
Didn't speak.
Just walked past.
By the time he returned to the stands—
The sun had shifted.
High.
Bright.
Unforgiving.
The fourth round had already begun.
The arena roared again.
Rey took his seat.
Quietly.
A timer floated above the arena.
Counting down.
8 minutes.
His match was getting closer.
Too close.
But this time—
His mind wasn't clouded.
Winning?
He let that go.
Revenge?
…Not gone.
But controlled.
Now—
He had a different goal.
Make him feel it.
Not defeat.
Not glory.
Pain.
Pressure.
Resistance.
Rey leaned back slightly.
Eyes half-lidded.
He still had advantages.
Speed.
Range.
Control.
And that was enough.
"I don't need to win…" he murmured under his breath.
"…I just need to make sure you don't walk out clean."
His gaze slowly lifted—
Toward the highest stand.
Where the Duke sat.
Where Raviel would be watching.
Rey's eyes sharpened.
Cold.
Focused.
'This won't be your stage alone.'
The timer ticked down.
5 minutes.
A faint smile touched his lips.
Not warm.
Not friendly.
Something sharper.
"…I'll make sure of that."
The wind brushed across the arena.
Carrying tension with it.
And this time—
Rey didn't resist it.
He embraced it.