Thirty kilometers.
By now, even the trees seemed tired.
The path leveled out into a moss-covered ridge, where stone pillars marked Checkpoint Three—a wide clearing framed by floating orbs pulsing with passive mana, projecting a soothing hum. Some students already lay sprawled on the grass. Others leaned against trunks, pouring water over their heads, too tired to care about dignity.
Team Blanche and Team Silas arrived close together, their pace slower now—not out of fatigue, but caution. The worst was behind them.
For now.
Blanche gave the signal, two fingers raised and rotated once. Rest formation.
Yuxin immediately face-planted into a patch of moss and refused to get up.
Ruka sat down gently beside her, setting her plushie on her lap like a meditation statue.
Vila… wandered. Then perched high up in a low tree, chewing something with glazed indifference.
Rea, naturally, started humming again and made a game out of hopping from stone to stone like a frog princess on caffeine.
Silas said nothing.
But he didn't stop her, either.
He just sat—back straight, hands on knees, like someone resting between war councils.
Blanche remained standing.
Until finally—quietly—she walked over to where Silas sat, and lowered herself beside him.
Neither spoke for a while.
The forest breeze did the talking. That, and the low chatter of Rea trying to convince Ruka to let her "redecorate the plushie's outfit with battle scars."
Eventually, Blanche broke the silence.
"We need to talk about Kael."
Silas didn't look up. But the name alone shifted his posture slightly—his eyes narrowing just enough to signal awareness.
"Go on."
"I spoke with Seryn earlier," Blanche began. Her tone was even, but her eyes—focused. "She claims Kael is her primary reason for joining the tournament. Not for victory. Just to keep him from winning."
Silas frowned.
"Curious. Because Kael told me the same thing—flipped."
Blanche blinked.
"What?"
Silas's jaw flexed once.
"When I encountered him earlier—he made it very clear that he wasn't here for status. He wants to win only to force the academy to recognize the Pit. Formally. Publicly."
Blanche's eyes darkened. She looked toward the horizon, toward the miles still ahead.
"So they're both here for the same reason."
"But opposite outcomes."
"Exactly."
A pause passed between them.
"She asked for our help," Blanche admitted. "Seryn. Not directly—but… she implied she wants us to be the counterbalance. If she fails, she expects us to stop Kael."
"Did she offer anything in return?"
"Not really. Just logic."
Silas exhaled slowly.
"Sounds like her."
"You've worked with her before?"
"In council dealings. She talks like a noble, but plays like an alchemist. Everything measured. Everything is toxic if taken wrong."
Blanche tilted her head slightly, intrigued.
"And Kael?"
Silas's gaze dropped to the ground for a moment. Then rose again.
"Kael doesn't measure anything. He breaks it. On purpose. Because if it still stands after, it deserves to."
He looked over at her.
"His strength isn't just in force—it's in chaos. And momentum."
"You mean he forces people to react."
"Exactly. If you fall into his pace, you've already lost."
Blanche considered that.
Then slowly, deliberately, she spoke again.
"So what happens if he wins?"
Silas didn't answer right away.
But the silence said enough.
Eventually:
"The academy will have to fulfill his wish. The Pit becomes legitimized. And with it, a combat system outside regulation. He'll build a faction based not on control, but on survival. On damage."
Blanche nodded.
"And if Seryn wins?"
"She'll legalize Viridia Hollow and make alchemy, enhancement, and control into a sanctioned industry. The East will drown the other factions in information warfare and regulation."
They both fell quiet again.
This wasn't a game anymore.
"So either way," Blanche said, finally, "the balance breaks."
Silas stood then—slow, but deliberate.
"Unless someone outside that system wins."
Blanche stood too.
"You mean us."
Silas glanced over at her, expression unreadable.
"You, specifically. They already see you as the next noble-class anchor. You hold too many eyes."
"You're not exactly invisible, Silas."
"I don't need to be," he replied flatly. "I just need to make sure you survive long enough to matter."
Blanche looked at him.
For a long time.
"Are you planning to protect me now?"
"No," Silas said. "I'm planning to challenge you. In the bracket. On equal footing. Not while Kael's fists are still breaking the board."
The faintest smile tugged at Blanche's lips.
"Fair enough."
The wind shifted before she appeared.
Soft, sharp, and scented faintly of crushed mint and midnight—Seryn Eloweth stepped through the treeline like a rumor dressed in silk. Her cloak barely brushed the moss. Her expression was composed, eyes half-lidded in that glassy stillness she wore like perfume.
Blanche noticed first.
She nodded once in silent acknowledgment, but didn't speak.
Silas, however, turned toward her. Calm. Acknowledging, if not welcoming.
"Seryn."
She tilted her head, then offered a half-smile. Faintly strained.
"Silas. I see you made it through the chaos."
"We handled it," he replied. "I assume you did too."
"Naturally," she said, gliding a few more steps into the clearing.
For a moment, she looked like she was actually going to sit down near the group. Her eyes scanned the space next to Silas—calculated, unhurried.
And then—
a footstep.
Heavy.
Deliberate.
Dragging air with it like the weight of a dropped hammer.
And from the opposite path, Kael Dymont emerged—shoulders squared, bandages tied haphazardly around one forearm, sweat glistening like he'd jogged straight through hell and enjoyed it. His jacket hung open, and his presence didn't walk—it pressed.
Seryn froze mid-motion.
Her face didn't shift much. But something cold passed behind her eyes like a curtain drawing tight.
"...Wonderful," she muttered, tone flat.
Kael took exactly three steps forward, then grinned like a lion who just smelled blood in a tea party.
"Yo."
No one answered.
"What? I don't get a 'glad you're alive'?"
Seryn inhaled slowly through her nose.
She turned—not quite facing him—chin raised slightly, voice suddenly dipped in cold lavender.
"If I'd known you were behind me, I would've slowed down. Maybe let a trap do the talking."
Kael's grin widened.
"Aw, you missed me."
"About as much as I miss ulcers."
He stepped further into the checkpoint, eyes drifting across the lounging group. Yuxin didn't look up from where she was lying, but she did make a subtle gagging motion. Rea giggled and whispered something about "bad ex energy."
Kael stretched his arms once, bones cracking loud.
"Anyway, looks like everyone's chilling. I'll crash too."
"No one asked," Seryn replied without looking at him.
"Didn't say they did."
Silas stepped in—not urgently, not forced. Just... calm.
The way a neutral force speaks when the tension hits a simmer.
"This is a rest zone. Temporary truce until Checkpoint Three ends. That applies to everyone."
Kael rolled his neck.
"Fine by me. I'm not gonna start throwing people around. Yet."
Seryn exhaled again—this time more dramatic, borderline theatrical.
"Delightful. Truly. Just what I needed."