The arena was far too crowded.
Krai struggled through the sea of bodies as everyone pushed and pressed, desperate to secure a place with a clear view of the fight. It was hardly surprising—many powerful noble heirs were scheduled to fight today. No one wanted to miss it.
Rick stayed close, following Krai and the others through the chaos. After a fair amount of effort and irritation, they finally managed to find a spot where the arena floor was visible.
Just in time.
"Hello everyone!"
The announcer's voice rang out, cheerful and loud, echoing across the stands. "Today is the fourth day of the tournament, and it is going to be a very exciting one!"
The crowd responded with eager noise.
"Now, without any delay, let us welcome the first twenty contestants for the first ten matches!"
The announcer raised his arm and pointed toward the gate.
Students began to emerge one after another.
Among them was Erik Van Elich, son of Duke Noel Van Elich. Beside him walked Rune Van Dister, daughter of Duke Cristin Van Dister. And finally—
The moment he appeared, the atmosphere shifted.
The Crown Prince, Henry Van Asther, stepped forward, calm and composed, unmistakable even among nobles.
The crowd erupted.
"Crown Prince!"
"Crown Prince!"
The chants thundered through the arena. Henry responded with a polite wave of his hand toward the audience.
But when the matches began, the excitement quickly drained away.
There was no real fight.
The two nobles from duke families—and even the Crown Prince—never truly clashed with their opponents. One by one, their challengers surrendered immediately, unable or unwilling to face such overwhelming status and power.
Rick felt a faint sense of disappointment.
The fourth day, which he had been most eager to watch, ended not with thrilling battles but with effortless victories and silent withdrawals.
Because of that, Rick did not even bother coming to the arena on the fifth day. Instead, he stayed behind, focusing on training and practicing his exercises for the entire day.
But the sixth day was different.
Even though most students were no longer interested—since the third-year matches were over and there were no particularly famous noble in fourth year—Rick still felt excited.
Because today…
It was the day the a Spirit-Master entered the tournament.
Normally, every type of student participated in the tournament matches—
except Spirit Masters.
The reason was simple. Summoning a spirit required time, concentration, and careful focus, none of which were easily maintained in the chaos of a live tournament. A spirit could not simply be called instantly and forced into battle. Because of this limitation, Spirit Masters usually avoided competing.
However, there was one exception.
The fourth-year Spirit Master student participating in the tournament is also the one who had won the previous tournament on Foundation Day, proving beyond doubt that the rules did not bind true talent.
And because of that…
Rick was very excited to watch this match.
When Rick arrived at the arena, he found it almost empty.
Only a handful of students had gathered—understandable, considering there were only forty-four students in the fourth year. The instructors were still preparing the stage for combat as Rick quietly took a seat in the front seating area, close to the arena floor.
His roommates hadn't come. They had no interest in the match.
Even the instructors present were few, though Rick noticed with some relief that the Headmaster was still there, watching patiently despite the lack of audience.
"Thank you to everyone who came to watch," the announcer said, his voice echoing through the mostly silent arena.
"Now, without any delay, let's begin the first match."
Two fourth-year students stepped out from the waiting area.
Rick sat a little distance away, but he could still sense it—
the dormant presence within them.
Yet judging by their expressions, neither of them seemed particularly eager. With the number of spectators so low, the match felt less like a tournament and more like a friendly spar.
Rick noticed the disappointment on their faces.
"Are you both ready?" the instructor asked.
Both participants nodded.
"Then-"
The instructor raised his voice but,
"....give it your all!"
The words echoed across the empty arena
sharp, powerful, and sudden—
sending a shiver through everyone present.
Both students standing on the stage glanced toward Rick, their eyes briefly settling on him in confusion.
"I came here despite my friend telling me not to," Rick said calmly. "So you better show me a worthy fight—so I can tell them what they missed."
He continued in a steady voice.
For a moment, everyone was confused.
Then—
One of the contestants laughed.
"What are you laughing for?" the other asked.
"Oh, nothing," he replied casually. "I was just thinking… our batch is considered the weakest in the academy, and barely anyone ever comes to watch our fights. And suddenly, we get a junior cheering for us."
He smiled as he spoke.
"Is that really such a big thing?" the other student said. "After years of fighting without anyone cheering us on, even one person is reason enough."
As he spoke, he drew his sword.
"I suppose in that case," the first student said, drawing his own blade, "we should put some extra effort into this."
A faint smile appeared on his face.
"Start!"
At the instructor's command, the two of them moved at once.
The match became intense immediately—steel clashing against steel as their swords collided again and again. Both fighters moved quickly, their footwork sharp and precise.
Rick watched closely, thoroughly enjoying the scene.
This was a proper fight.
A real battle between two Aura Masters.
"Well," a voice murmured from above, "and here I prepared a speech for them."
Nuel, wearing a small smile, watched from his seat.
"Well, anyway… at least they're taking this seriously. And I'm thankful to him for that."
His gaze shifted toward Rick.
"One by one, he's really showing me something interesting," Nuel thought. "I wonder what he'll show me next."
But then—
Nuel's smile faded slightly.
"But still…" he muttered softly, looking around the arena. "Only this many students came to watch."
He let out a quiet sigh.
"Fourth year is by no means weak. Out of forty-four students, eight have reached the level of Aura Master. And rest of them can even use Sword Aura, if only for a short time."
His eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
"And among them… there is also one student who is very close to reaching the level of a Sword Master."
The real reason no one showed much interest in the fourth-year matches was simple.
They were being overshadowed.
The third years were on an entirely different level.
Out of nearly two hundred students, fifty-seven had already reached the level of Aura Master, and many of them possessed the potential to become Sword Masters by the following year. Compared to such overwhelming numbers, the fourth year simply faded into the background.
Yet—
That did not mean they were weak.
In terms of raw strength and experience, the fourth years were still formidable. They had earned their power through relentless effort.
At least, that was what Nuel believed, even as he let out a quiet sigh.
"The winner has been decided!"
The announcer's voice rang through the arena.
But only one sound answered it.
Rick's clap. Rick's cheer.
His voice echoed through the stands, lonely yet unwavering.
As the first match concluded, the second was about to begin. Rick leaned forward in his seat, eager—he had truly enjoyed the fight.
Then—
"Hello, junior."
Rick turned.
The two students from the first match were walking toward him.
"Senior…?" Rick said, confused. "What brings you here?"
"Oh, nothing much," one of them replied with a grin. "We just thought we'd stay and watch a few matches with our junior."
Rick smiled.
"In that case," he said, "let's enjoy it."
"Yeah," one of them said, and the three of them sat down together, eyes returning to the arena.
Two new students stepped onto the stage.
And with them came loud voices from the stands.
"You two better give a good fight!"
"Yeah! Or I'll kill you!"
"Do your best, senior!"
"Don't let our only supporter down!"
The three fourth-years were shouting with everything they had, laughing as they stood and waved from their seats.
The fighters on stage glanced toward the noise.
"…What are those guys doing?" one of them muttered.
"I don't know," the other replied, drawing his sword. "But I'm feeling oddly hyped from their cheering."
Across from him, his opponent unsheathed his blade as well " From three of them?"
"Well," he said with a small smile, "compared to zero spectators, three is a big number."
His eyes sharpened.
"Looks like we'll have to take this seriously."
Steel rang as both swords came free.
After that, many fights followed one after another.
Rick continued cheering alongside the fourth-year seniors, and with each match, their number slowly increased. Some students joined Rick, standing beside him and shouting their support. Rick laughed with them, enjoying the atmosphere.
He was no longer the only one cheering.
With every passing match, more students who had come simply to pass time began to take interest in the fourth-year fights. Gradually, the number of voices cheering for them grew.
Even though it was still small compared to other days, it was far better than the empty arena they had faced at the beginning.
"By the way," Rick asked, glancing at the seniors beside him, "who's the strongest in your year?"
One of them thought for a moment.
"Well… in terms of raw strength, it's me," he said casually. "But if you're talking overall—then it's definitely Michale."
"Michale?" Rick repeated. "But I didn't see his name in the tournament."
"That's because he didn't apply," another senior replied.
Rick blinked. "Why not?"
"Well," the senior said with a tired expression, "according to him, there's no need. He's confident he would win anyway."
"That's… quite a bold thing to say," Rick muttered.
"Well, he has the power to back it up," the senior replied. "He's very close to reaching the level of Sword Master."
Rick stiffened.
"Sword Master…?"
"And beyond that," the senior continued calmly, "is Grandmaster—a level only a handful have reached in the entire Asther Kingdom."
Before Rick could ask more—
"Now then! It's time for the final match!"
The announcer's loud voice echoed through the arena.
"Look," one of the seniors said, smiling, "it's finally time for the match you've been waiting for."
Two figures stepped onto the stage as the instructor raised his hand.
At the signal, the match was about to begin.
But—
"No one's moving," Rick noticed.
"since you're a Spirit Master, I'll give you time." one of them said.
"Go ahead. Summon your spirit."
"That rightnous is going to cost you someday but it's not my problem."coldly as he raised his hand, beginning the summoning.
"Here we go again?" one of the seniors whispered sharply.
"What is she doing?" Rick confused, "Why isn't she attacking?"
"She's is Greta and she thinks that in a duel both people should fight equally." one of the senior with a hand on his head.
Rick exhaled heavily. "But her opponent is the previous tournament winner. Mercy won't save her here. She can't afford to underestimate him."
One the senior replied. "That's true. He can summon a high–mid ranking spirit," he said quietly. "And that's why Greta is going to lose." His voice carried no doubt—only tension.
The arena fell silent as the summoning circle completed.
At last, Vron's spirit emerged.
And immediately—something was wrong.
The spirit did not roar. It did not advance. The moment it materialized, its form shuddered violently. Its eyes widened in pure panic, and it staggered backward, as if it had seen something unspeakable. A sharp, unnatural whine escaped its throat before it scrambled behind Vron, clinging to him like a terrified child.
A chill ran through the arena.
"Student Vron," the instructor said slowly, his gaze fixed on the spirit, "explain this behavior. If you cannot command it, then admit defeat."
"Hey… what are you doing?" Greta asked, disbelief etched across her face.
Vron's hands trembled. "I… I don't know," he said, his voice strained. "It's not listening to me. It's shaking. It's afraid—terrified of something."
The spirit let out a low, broken cry, its entire body quivering, refusing to even look forward.
There was no battle.
In the end, Vron admitted defeat.
But in the arena at VIP area, Nuel sitting there in a deep thought, "That wasn't normal," he thought.
"That spirit wasn't merely scared—it was overwhelmed. Panicked. As if it sensed something far beyond this world… something even I can't feel." Noel with a faint, unsettling smile that touched his lips.
Though disappointed by the absence of a true fight, Rick felt a strange thrill pulse through him. For the first time, he had witnessed a real spirit—and its fear lingered far longer than the match itself. After bidding farewell to his seniors, he left the arena.
Thus, the sixth day ended—filled with shock, mystery, and quiet anticipation.
The seventh day passed calmly, with students presenting magic theory, explanations, and technology.
And like that seventh day also ended and now with every participant being decided. It was finally time for the main event on the Foundation Day.