The massive doors leading to the training grounds swung open with a low metallic groan.
A wave of cool air rushed in, carrying with it the faint scent of stone, metal, and something sharper—residual aether pressure that lingered permanently in places meant for combat.
Without needing instructions, the fifteen hundred first-year students began moving.
No one spoke.
The earlier excitement had long vanished, replaced by a quiet tension that pressed against everyone's chest. Even Fred, who usually couldn't keep his mouth shut for more than a few minutes, walked beside Evan in silence, his expression unusually serious.
The training grounds of Broken Sword Academy were vast—far larger than any practice field the first-years had seen before.
A circular arena dominated the center, carved directly into reinforced stone. Runes faintly glowed along the edges, forming layered barriers designed to withstand destructive force. Surrounding the arena were tiered observation platforms, already occupied by instructors, senior students, and several indistinct figures whose presence alone radiated authority.
Evan's eyes lifted briefly.
On the highest platform, partially obscured by shadow, stood two figures.
Dean Arcturus Vale.
And the old man—Eldric Nightfal.
Neither spoke.
Neither moved.
Yet Evan could feel it.
They were watching everything.
"Feels… heavy," Fred muttered under his breath, rolling his shoulders as if trying to shake off an invisible weight.
Evan nodded slightly. "That's intentional."
The students were guided into the arena in a massive semicircle, rows upon rows stretching across the stone floor. When everyone had taken their places, the instructors stepped forward, positioning themselves evenly along the perimeter.
Instructor Justin stood at the center.
His gaze swept across the crowd—fifteen hundred young awakened, each carrying ambition, fear, and expectation.
"Phase One will begin shortly," Justin announced.
His voice carried effortlessly, amplified by aether rather than any device.
"This phase does not test your combat ability."
Several students relaxed—only to stiffen again at Justin's next words.
"It tests your foundation."
He raised one hand.
"Those who believe raw talent alone will carry them forward… will learn otherwise."
Justin stepped back.
Another instructor stepped forward instead.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, with iron-gray hair and eyes like polished stone. His presence was far heavier than Justin's—less refined, more oppressive.
Fred's breath hitched slightly.
"Who… who is that?" he whispered.
Evan's expression hardened.
"Aura specialist," he replied quietly. "And a strong one."
The instructor stopped at the edge of the arena.
He did not speak.
He simply closed his eyes.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then—
Boom.
An invisible force slammed outward.
It wasn't wind.
It wasn't sound.
It was pressure—pure, crushing, overwhelming.
Evan felt it instantly.
It was as if the air itself had turned solid, pressing down on his shoulders, his chest, his spine. His knees trembled slightly as his body instinctively resisted.
Around him, reactions exploded.
Students gasped.
Some cried out.
Others dropped to one knee almost immediately, faces pale as blood rushed to their heads.
"This is… aura?" Fred gritted out, teeth clenched.
Evan focused inward.
Aura pressure was not just physical—it attacked the mind, the will, the very sense of self. Weak foundations crumbled under it. Shallow refinement offered no protection.
Evan activated his breathing rhythm, slowing his heartbeat.
Aether within his body circulated steadily.
His Star Refiner ability remained passive, silent—but the stability it had given him over the past month was unmistakable.
Five seconds passed.
Ten.
The pressure increased.
Students began collapsing.
One by one, bodies hit the stone floor, instructors swiftly stepping in to drag them away before they were trampled.
Fred's breathing turned ragged.
Veins bulged on his neck as he fought to stay upright, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened.
"Don't fight it blindly," Evan said quietly, not turning his head. "Anchor yourself."
Fred grunted, forcing himself to slow down.
Across the arena, Evan noticed movement.
Rylan Ashford stood tall, flames faintly flickering around his feet—not manifesting outward, but reinforcing his stance. His expression was calm, almost bored.
Nearby, Lysandra Vale stood motionless, frost creeping along the stone beneath her boots, her breath steady and controlled.
Marcus Drevin grinned through clenched teeth, arcs of lightning snapping briefly along his arms before vanishing.
Orion Blackwell was… strange.
His shadow seemed darker than it should be, pooling beneath him unnaturally as he remained perfectly still.
Kael Rowan planted his feet firmly, the stone beneath him subtly compressing as if responding to his presence.
Direct admissions.
They were on another level.
The pressure surged again.
This time, dozens fell at once.
Evan felt sweat bead along his temples.
His muscles screamed in protest, but his mind remained clear.
This isn't about strength, he realized. It's about endurance.
Time stretched.
Seconds felt like minutes.
Fred let out a strained groan but remained standing.
Evan spared him a quick glance.
Fred met his eyes and forced a grin. "Told you… extra meat helps…"
Evan almost smiled.
Another wave.
The instructor finally opened his eyes.
The pressure spiked violently.
A hundred more students collapsed instantly.
Evan's vision blurred for a moment.
His legs shook—but held.
He gritted his teeth, grounding himself, focusing on the steady circulation of aether within him.
Hold.
Around him, the arena had thinned drastically.
From fifteen hundred—
To barely over a hundred.
Slowly, the pressure receded.
Like a tide pulling back.
Students who remained standing gasped for air, some collapsing to their knees from exhaustion alone.
Fred dropped onto his backside, chest heaving.
"Hah… hah… I thought… I was done for…"
Evan exhaled slowly, straightening his posture.
He was still standing.
Instructor Justin stepped forward once more.
"Phase One is complete."
His eyes scanned the remaining students.
"Congratulations," he said evenly. "You are the top one hundred."
No applause followed.
Only relief—and renewed tension.
"Do not celebrate yet," Justin continued. "Phase Two begins shortly."
Instructors moved swiftly, escorting the eliminated students away. Medical staff attended to those who had collapsed hard.
The remaining hundred were guided toward the center of the arena.
As they regrouped, Evan felt it.
Eyes.
From all directions.
Some curious.
Some hostile.
Some calculating.
Rylan Ashford's gaze met his briefly—sharp, assessing.
Chris stood not far away, jaw clenched, eyes flickering with resentment when he noticed Evan.
Fred leaned closer. "Looks like you weren't lying about hiding your strength."
Evan replied quietly, "Neither were they."
Justin raised his hand again.
"The rules for Phase Two are simple," he announced.
"This will be a free-for-all."
A murmur spread—but quickly died.
"You may form temporary alliances," Justin continued. "You may break them."
"No lethal force is permitted."
"Incapacitation, surrender, or forced removal from the arena counts as defeat."
He paused.
"The last twenty standing will receive top-tier rankings."
A sharp intake of breath rippled through the group.
Top twenty.
Justin's gaze sharpened.
"Begin."
The arena erupted into chaos.
Students lunged.
Aether flared.
Shouts echoed as combat broke out instantly.
Evan moved immediately—pulling Fred with him as they retreated toward the edge, avoiding the initial clash.
"Stay close," Evan said. "Don't overextend."
Fred nodded, already summoning layers of earth around his arms.
Near the center, Rylan Ashford moved like a force of nature, flames bursting outward as he knocked three students aside with a single sweeping motion.
Lysandra froze the ground beneath her opponents, sending them crashing down before shattering the ice with precise strikes.
Marcus charged headfirst into groups, lightning-enhanced blows scattering anyone foolish enough to block directly.
Orion was harder to track.
One moment he was there—
The next, someone fell, clutching their shadow as if it had betrayed them.
Evan analyzed everything.
Patterns.
Movements.
Threats.
This isn't about winning fights, he reminded himself. It's about surviving them.
A student rushed Evan from the side.
Evan sidestepped calmly, using the opponent's momentum against him, twisting his arm and slamming him to the ground.
"Incapacitated," an instructor called, pulling the student away.
Fred grinned. "Clean."
More clashes followed.
Evan avoided unnecessary battles, stepping in only when needed.
But trouble came regardless.
Chris appeared before them, eyes burning.
"So you made it," Chris sneered. "Hiding again?"
Evan's gaze cooled. "Step aside."
Chris laughed bitterly. "Not happening."
The ground trembled slightly.
From behind Chris—
Another presence approached.
Rylan Ashford.
His eyes flicked between them briefly, assessing.
"Tch," he said dismissively. "Weak quarrels bore me."
With that, he moved past them, obliterating another opponent in a flash of flame.
Chris hesitated.
That moment of hesitation was all Evan needed.
A precise strike to the ribs.
A sweep.
Chris crashed down, air knocked from his lungs.
"Incapacitated," the instructor declared.
Fred let out a breath. "That was satisfying."
Evan didn't respond.
His focus was already shifting.
The arena had thinned again.
From one hundred—
To fewer than forty.
The true fight was only beginning.
Above them, Dean Arcturus Vale watched silently.
Beside him, Eldric Nightfal smiled faintly.
"Interesting," the old man murmured.
Very interesting.