The afternoon sunlight filtered faintly through the tall windows of the dormitory, casting long shadows across the neatly arranged room. Evan sat cross-legged on his bed, while Fred lay sprawled on his own, staring at the ceiling with his hands folded behind his head.
"So," Fred said lazily, breaking the silence, "what do you think the ranking tournament's going to be like?"
Evan opened his eyes and glanced at him."Why?"
Fred rolled onto his side, excitement flickering in his eyes."Think about it. One-on-one matches. Arena style. That's how tournaments usually go, right? Everyone fights everyone else, the strong rise, the weak fall."
Evan shook his head slowly.
"That would take too long," he replied calmly. "There are fifteen hundred first-year students. Even if they cut corners, such a format would take weeks. The academy wouldn't waste that kind of time."
Fred frowned."Then what about something big? Like a battle royale? Everyone thrown into one place. Last ones standing win."
Evan paused.
"That's more efficient," he admitted, "but also flawed."
"How so?" Fred asked, sitting up.
"If teaming up were allowed, students could exploit it. Backgrounds, factions, grudges—everything would come into play. The academy won't design something that can be gamed so easily."
Fred scratched his head, then grinned."Still, if it is a free-for-all, we should team up. Better ranking for both of us."
Evan gave him a sideways glance."We'll see."
Even as he said that, Evan knew one thing for sure—the academy would never allow anything simple. Whatever awaited them would be brutal, efficient, and merciless.
As the hour drew closer, the air itself seemed heavier.
Realizing they didn't want to be late, both of them stood up and made their way out. The corridors were filled with students moving in the same direction, voices overlapping, excitement barely contained.
The venue was a massive hall connected to the training grounds—a place designed not just for announcements, but for crushing expectations.
The moment Evan and Fred stepped inside, they were swallowed by noise.
Groups of students clustered together, whispering, speculating, boasting.
"I heard someone from Class A refined more than three hundred units already."
"That's nothing. There's a guy who crossed five hundred units."
"Top-grade talent, no doubt."
Evan's gaze shifted as a particular conversation caught his attention.
"Class A… top-grade talent… two-third of Tier 1 requirement already…"
Fred leaned closer and whispered, "They're talking about him."
"Who?" Evan asked.
"Rylan Ashford," Fred replied quietly. "Fire affinity. Top-grade. Word is, he refined more than six hundred and fifty units this month alone."
Evan noted the name.
Rylan Ashford.
Someone worth remembering.
As the murmurs continued, a sudden shift rippled through the hall.
The gates opened.
A group of senior students walked in.
Second-years.
Third-years.
They moved with discipline, steps measured, eyes sharp. Their presence alone silenced the hall. No one needed to announce who they were—the pressure they carried did that for them.
These were not rookies.
They were survivors.
The first-year students unconsciously straightened their backs. Conversations died instantly. The only sound left was the echo of footsteps as the seniors moved to the side and took their seats, their gazes sweeping across the crowd like blades.
A question burned in every first-year's mind.
Why are they here?
Moments later, the instructors arrived.
Justin.
Christine.
And several others.
Everyone stood up as one.
The instructors took their seats on the elevated platform, granting them a commanding view of the entire hall. Above and beyond them, on the shadowed edge of a nearby building, two figures stood quietly.
One was the Dean of Broken Sword Academy, Dean Arcturus Vale—a man whose name alone carried weight across the federation.
Beside him stood an old man, his posture relaxed, eyes half-closed, as if watching a casual performance rather than a tournament that would shape futures.
He was Eldric Nightfal.
Neither spoke.
They merely observed.
Instructor Justin stepped forward.
The moment he did, silence became absolute.
Not a single student dared to breathe loudly.
Justin scanned the sea of faces, clearly satisfied, before speaking.
"Welcome," his voice echoed, calm yet carrying overwhelming authority, "to the First-Year Ranking Tournament."
No cheers.
No applause.
Only focused attention.
"This tournament," Justin continued, "will determine your standing, your future resource allocation, and your initial value within the academy."
He paused, letting the words sink in.
"The tournament will consist of two phases."
A ripple of tension spread.
"Phase One," Justin said, "is a test of will."
At those words, several students stiffened.
"In this phase, an instructor will release their aura. All first-year students will be subjected to it simultaneously."
A murmur broke out—but it died instantly under Justin's gaze.
"Those who collapse," he continued coldly, "will be eliminated."
Fred swallowed.
Evan's eyes narrowed.
"The last one hundred students standing will advance to Phase Two."
One hundred.
Out of fifteen hundred.
Justin's voice hardened."The rest will be considered unranked."
A chill ran through the hall.
"No rank means no additional merits," Justin said. "You will survive only on your base treatment."
Several students' faces went pale.
"You've already tasted how quickly merits disappear," Justin went on. "But the true importance of merits will only be revealed once you gain access to deeper academy privileges."
He let the silence stretch.
"Now," he said, shifting tone slightly, "there is something else."
Justin gestured to the side.
"Besides the students who passed the examination, the academy has directly admitted several individuals this year."
Gasps echoed.
"As such," Justin announced, "please welcome them."
Four figures stepped forward.
The hall buzzed.
"A direct admission…?"
"No exam?"
"They must be monsters."
Justin began introducing them one by one.
"Lysandra Vale," he said first, nodding toward a calm, silver-haired girl. "Ice affinity. High-grade. Exceptional control."
Lysandra inclined her head slightly, expression indifferent.
"Marcus Drevin," Justin continued. "Lightning affinity. High-grade. Combat-oriented."
A sharp-eyed young man smirked faintly.
"Orion Blackwell," Justin said next. "Shadow affinity. Rare."
Whispers exploded.
Shadow affinity.
Rare.
Dangerous.
"And finally," Justin said, his tone shifting subtly, "Kael Rowan. Earth affinity. Top-grade."
Fred's eyes widened.
"Four of them…" he muttered.
Justin let the reactions settle.
"These students," he said, "will participate in the ranking tournament alongside you."
The pressure in the hall doubled.
"If you wish to stand above others," Justin concluded, "you must stand above them as well."
With that, he turned.
"We will now move to the training grounds for Phase One."
The massive doors opened.
The tournament had officially begun.