Time moved fast. Only seven days remained.
The massive golden dome of the Genesis Zenith Academy felt less like a ceiling and more like a heavy cage. The freshman class was counting down the hours. In exactly one week, they would be loaded onto an imperial carrier and dropped onto an alien jungle planet.
Jin sat on the hard dirt floor of the combat arena.
He inhaled sharply. The violent Devourer breathing technique was completely natural to him now. His lungs expanded, pulling in a massive volume of dense ambient Aether. He forced the raw energy down into his core. It burned hot, but his body did not shake.
He opened his dark eyes. He checked his internal state.
Foundation Level 9.
He was only one single step away from the absolute peak of the Genesis State. His muscles were incredibly dense. His bones felt heavy, like solid iron rods. The daily physical torture and the continuous consumption of high-tier beast meat had worked perfectly. The return on investment was massive. He just needed one more push to reach Level 10 before the jungle tournament began.
He looked to his right.
Luna was sitting quietly in the dirt. The air around her shoulders rippled slightly, distorting the light behind her. She had reached Foundation Level 7. Her control over spatial distance was growing sharper every single day. She could reliably throw and retrieve her heavy iron chain without losing her balance or cutting herself.
Rian and Elin sat nearby. They were exhausted, but their posture was perfectly straight.
Rian was covered in dark yellow bruises. He had broken through to Foundation Level 8. His grip on his heavy ash-wood spear was solid and confident. Elin was at Foundation Level 7. Her footwork was sharp, completely silent, and highly efficient.
They were a fully functional unit. They were ready for the next phase.
The heavy iron doors of the practical combat arena clanged shut. The loud metallic sound echoed through the massive room.
Jin stood up. He brushed the dirt off his black uniform. Luna, Rian, and Elin followed his lead. The rest of the fifty students in their specific combat block stood up as well. They immediately formed loose, disciplined lines. The days of struggling to stand and complaining about sore legs were completely over.
They looked at the steel walls. Something was very different today.
The massive wooden racks holding the live steel weapons were locked behind thick iron grates. The lethal longswords, the sharp spears, and the heavy broadswords were completely out of reach.
Instead, a large pile of grey weapons sat in the dead center of the dirt floor.
Jin analyzed the pile. They were identical to the real weapons in weight and balance. But the edges were completely flat. The tips were heavily rounded off. They were training tools made of dense, dull iron.
Instructor Thorne stood behind the pile of dull weapons.
He did not have his massive arms crossed today. He looked at the fifty surviving students. He nodded slowly.
"You know the stances," Thorne said. His deep voice easily carried across the dirt track. "You swung your weapons ten thousand times. You built your muscle memory. But hitting the empty air does not make you a killer."
He pointed a thick finger at the pile of dull iron.
"Hitting a target that fights back makes you a killer," Thorne stated flatly. "Today, we spar."
A low murmur ran through the crowd. The wealthy heirs from the capital tightened their fists. They had been waiting for this exact moment. They wanted to prove their superiority in a real fight. They wanted to crush the outer-rim commoners.
"Quiet," Thorne commanded. The murmur died instantly.
"This is a friendly spar," Thorne continued. He placed a heavy leather boot on a dull iron shield resting in the dirt. "You will use these practice weapons. The edges are flat. They will not cut your skin. But they are still heavy iron. If you get hit in the ribs, your bones will crack. If you get hit in the head, you will wake up in the medical ward tomorrow. The pain is absolutely real. The damage is just non-lethal."
He started pacing slowly around the pile of weapons.
"The tournament rules are simple," Thorne explained. "There are exactly fifty of you in this room right now. We will run a straight elimination bracket."
Jin listened closely. He ran the numbers and the logistics in his head.
"Round one," Thorne said, holding up a single finger. "Fifty students. Twenty-five fights. The losers sit down in the dirt. The twenty-five winners move on."
He held up two fingers.
"Round two," Thorne continued. "Twenty-five students left. We cannot divide that evenly. So, we draw lots. Twelve pairs will fight. That puts twenty-four students in the ring. One student will pull the blank lot. They get a free pass. A bye. They skip the round entirely and move to the next."
Thorne held up three fingers.
"Round three," he said. "The twelve winners plus the one bye. Thirteen students. We use the same logic. Six pairs will fight. One student gets a free pass. That leaves exactly seven students."
Thorne held up four fingers.
"Round four," Thorne finished. "Seven students. Three pairs fight. One bye. That leaves four students for the semi-finals. Then two students for the final match."
It was a brutal, rapid-fire gauntlet.
Jin understood the real lesson hidden in the math. Fighting multiple rounds in a single day was not just a test of martial skill. It was a strict test of Aether capacity and stamina management. A student could swing wildly and win their first fight, but if they burned all their internal energy doing it, they would be easily crushed in the second round.
A good manager does not burn all his capital on the first acquisition. You finish the fight quickly. You save your energy.
Thorne stopped pacing. He turned to face the fifty students.
He raised his right hand. The thick silver spatial ring on his index finger glowed faintly. The air warped. A square wooden box materialized out of nowhere and dropped heavily into his open palm.
The top of the box had a small, round hole. It was just big enough for a single hand to reach inside.
"This is the lottery," Thorne announced. He shook the box. The sound of rustling paper came from inside. "There are fifty folded chits of paper in here. They are numbered from one to twenty-five. There are exactly two chits for every single number."
He held the box out toward the students.
"You draw a number," Thorne explained. "You find the person holding the matching number. That is your opponent for round one. If you draw the number seven, you fight the other number seven. It is completely random. There is no seeding. There is no special treatment based on your background."
He looked directly at the rich students in their customized uniforms.
"I do not care if you are an imperial heir or a street scavenger," Thorne said coldly. "The paper decides who bleeds today."
He stepped forward. He held the box out to the first student in the front row.
"Draw," Thorne ordered.
The tall boy reached his hand into the dark hole. He pulled out a small, folded square of white paper. He opened it. He looked at the number. His jaw tightened.
The line started moving.
One by one, the freshmen stepped up to the massive instructor. They reached into the wooden box. They pulled their fate.
Rian walked up. He pulled a chit. He unfolded it and walked back to the group.
"Number twelve," Rian said quietly. He tightened his grip on his empty hands. He needed to go find a dull spear.
Elin stepped up. She drew her piece of paper.
"Number four," she whispered.
Luna walked to the box. She looked incredibly nervous. She hated close-quarters combat. Distance was her only safety. She reached inside and pulled a chit. She unfolded it slowly.
"Number nineteen," Luna said. She looked over at Jin.
Jin did not say anything. He walked up to Instructor Thorne. He looked at the wooden box. He did not care about luck. The draw was simply a fixed variable in the equation. He just needed to know the identity of the target so he could execute the physical strategy.
He reached his hand through the round hole. He grabbed a piece of paper. He pulled it out.
He unfolded the white square. Thick black ink was stamped clearly on the inside of the paper.
Number eight.
Thorne watched the very last student draw a chit. He shook the box. It was completely empty. He tossed the wooden box to the side. It clattered into the dirt near the wall.
"The lots are drawn," Thorne shouted. His deep voice echoed like a heavy hammer striking an iron anvil. "Find your matching number. Go to the center pile and get your practice weapons. Step into the open dirt. Round one begins now."