The Gauntlet is Thrown
The Tournament of First Blood was the Azure Star Academy's traditional kickoff event—a series of non-lethal duels meant to establish the pecking order among the incoming students. It was an event fueled by pride, and it was the perfect venue for Kaelen to deliver a public, crushing blow to Orion's burgeoning ego.
The dueling arena was packed. The air thrummed with a mix of anticipation and noble arrogance. Kaelen sat in a private box, aloof from the other students, observing the proceedings with an analytical detachment. He knew the Hero's fatal flaw was not weakness, but an absolute, unshakeable belief in his own invincibility, a belief that made him entirely predictable.
Kaelen had prepared meticulously. He had used a substantial, if disguised, portion of his new Arcane Gold Ingots to bribe the tournament masters. Not to fix the outcome, but to fix the matchup—ensuring his challenge against Orion would take place as the main event, under the bright, scrutiny-heavy light of the midday sun.
Orion, still wearing the counterfeit Sunsteel Gauntlets, was already the star of the show. He had crushed his previous opponents—mostly lesser nobles and overconfident mages—with a brutal, overwhelming display of amplified strength, making him appear untouchable. The corruption Kaelen introduced was working perfectly; it was providing Orion with an immediate, addictive burst of power, but it was also overriding his sense of technical skill, turning him into a predictable, blunt force.
The crowd roared as Orion defeated his fifth opponent. He stood in the center of the ring, chest heaving, the Gauntlets gleaming, accepting the adulation with an arrogant, self-satisfied grin.
Kaelen rose slowly from his seat, his presence silencing the murmurs in his section. He descended to the arena floor, his steps measured and utterly calm, presenting the sharpest contrast to the Hero's kinetic energy.
He paused just outside the ring, meeting Orion's gaze. "A powerful display, Hero. You use that strength well. Though," Kaelen drawled, a subtle disdain lacing his voice, "I've seen better displays of brute force from a trained ox."
Orion's grin vanished. His face hardened, the veins in his neck bulging. The comment, spoken with casual contempt, cut him deeper than any insult about his birthright ever could.
"Kaelen Varrus," Orion spat, tightening the fist in the counterfeit Gauntlet. "I hear you've discovered how to read textbooks this year. You confuse that with strength. You want to see strength? Step into the ring. I'll dismantle that expensive jacket along with your pride in less than a minute."
Kaelen offered a cold, predatory smile. "I accept your challenge, Hero. Let us see if your destiny is as ironclad as your ego."
The Rules of Engagement
The crowd was electric. The Trash Noble challenging the Hero—it was the confrontation of the century. Lyra, seated in the audience, watched with a face of pale dread, knowing Kaelen was not a fool. Elara, beside her, closed her eyes briefly, whispering a desperate, silent prayer for the Hero's safety, trapped by her compromise. Seraphina watched from the training area, her expression unreadable, clutching the Arcane Maintenance Kit Kaelen had given her days before.
The arena master, a nervous lecturer, announced the rules: no killing blows, no elemental fusion above Tier-Two, and first to be knocked out of the ring or admit defeat loses.
Kaelen stepped onto the scorched earth, drawing a sleek, non-magical rapier—a weapon utterly unsuited for a confrontation with a Greatsword-wielding brawler like Orion. He dismissed the rapier instantly, allowing the weapon to vanish into his Shadow-Weaving pocket. He wouldn't need physical steel.
"I won't bother with weapons, Orion," Kaelen announced, his hands spread, empty. "I don't require external tools to defeat something as predictable as raw power."
This was the final, unforgivable insult. Orion roared, the counterfeit Gauntlets sparking with uncontrolled power as his Aura Amplification flared wildly. He was entirely consumed by rage.
The Calculated Defeat
Orion attacked with the furious simplicity Kaelen had predicted. He didn't use finesse; he used the speed and raw, amplified force the corrupted Gauntlets provided, aiming for an immediate, fight-ending slam.
"Aura Strike!"
Orion charged, moving faster than any student had a right to, his fist trailing a dazzling comet of golden energy. The air cracked with the force of his blow, aimed straight at Kaelen's head.
Kaelen didn't dodge. He stood perfectly still, his eyes boring into Orion's, and waited until the exact final microsecond.
Then, Kaelen moved. Not backward, but sideways, pivoting just enough for the crushing fist to pass inches from his ear. His movement wasn't powered by strength, but by pure Stygian Mana-infused foresight—the ability to calculate the exact geometric vector of Orion's attack.
Too fast, Orion. The Gauntlets are making you too heavy, too reliant on the straight line.
The Hero's momentum carried him far past Kaelen. Orion, stunned by the miss, executed a sloppy, enraged spin, aiming a heavy, sweeping kick.
This time, Kaelen met the attack. As the kick connected with his thigh, Kaelen instantly channeled a precise, microscopic wave of Shadow-Weaving energy. The energy didn't block the kick; it momentarily nullified the kinetic friction between his leg and Orion's, redirecting the immense force of the blow back along Orion's own axis of rotation.
The effect was devastating. Orion, already off balance from his failed charge, found his own kick amplified and turned against him. He stumbled violently, a look of pure confusion on his face.
Kaelen capitalized instantly. He pressed his advantage, not with an attack, but with a psychological maneuver.
"Your strike is flawed, Hero," Kaelen taunted, his voice calm, ringing over the suddenly silent arena. "Your reliance on that trinket has destroyed your fundamentals. You are no longer fighting; you are flailing."
Rage fueled Orion's next sequence. He abandoned the Greatsword, relying entirely on the Gauntlets and his amplified Aura. He unleashed a furious, devastating flurry of five punches, each one capable of cracking stone.
Kaelen didn't need to be stronger. He only needed to be smarter. He executed the Whisper Step—a movement technique he'd used as the Tyrant to bypass the defenses of entire armies. Using minimal, controlled bursts of Masked Mana to temporarily increase the elasticity of the air directly around his body, Kaelen sidestepped, ducked, and parried the five blows with impossible grace, moving like liquid shadow.
The final punch in Orion's combination, a wild, wide haymaker, was the one Kaelen waited for. As Orion's arm extended, his guard dropped entirely.
Kaelen struck with the only physical maneuver he needed: a feather-light tap to Orion's solar plexus, using a technique called the Zero-Point Strike. He channeled a thread of pure, condensed Stygian Mana—less than a hundredth of his full power—and injected it directly into the pressure point. The feeling was not pain, but instantaneous, localized sensory overload.
Orion froze, his eyes wide, his powerful lungs temporarily seizing up. The immense, corrupting power of the counterfeit Gauntlets, which should have protected him, was entirely useless against Kaelen's precise, internal strike.
Kaelen pressed his fingertips against Orion's chest, leaning in close so only the Hero could hear the venomous whisper.
"The world needs a Hero, Orion. But it will get my Hero. You are nothing but a tool, and you are broken."
With a final, effortless push, Kaelen leveraged the last of Orion's momentum. The Hero stumbled backward, his amplified legs unable to coordinate, and he crashed heavily outside the boundary of the ring.
Defeat and Disillusionment
Silence descended over the Assembly Hall, absolute and shocking. The Hero, the golden boy, the wielder of destiny, was defeated—and not by a powerful mage or a rival warrior, but by the despised noble, Kaelen Varrus, who had defeated him without drawing blood, without resorting to flash, and without breaking a sweat.
The arena master, pale with disbelief, reluctantly raised Kaelen's hand. "The victor… Lord Kaelen Varrus!"
Kaelen pulled his hand away and walked toward the ring's exit, ignoring the stunned silence. He had achieved his purpose: he had publicly demonstrated his terrifying superiority in skill and intellect, casting a permanent pall of inadequacy over Orion's destiny.
Orion, struggling back to his feet, ripped the counterfeit Gauntlets off his fists and threw them across the ring in a fit of pure, crippling humiliation. He was left with only the bitter taste of failure and the crushing certainty that Kaelen Varrus knew secrets—secrets of power that the Hero's pure path would never reveal.
The arrogance is replaced by desperation, Kaelen registered with chilling satisfaction. He will now seek the forbidden path I offered him.
As Kaelen was leaving, he passed by the main student seating. He noticed Elara was weeping silently, her faith in the Hero's absolute victory shattered. Lyra stared at Kaelen with a mixture of terror and renewed devotion. Seraphina, standing alone, watched Kaelen with cold, intense study—her loyalty to Orion damaged, her focus now shifting to understanding the man who could defeat the Hero so completely.
Kaelen had successfully destroyed the Hero's morale and simultaneously reinforced his control over the other three. The true reign of the Regressed Tyrant, a rule built on psychological dominance rather than brute force, had officially begun.