The air in the Saltwind Lower Ring Arena didn't smell like the sea anymore. It smelled of ozone, pressurized steam, and the acrid scent of burning mana.
Silas of the Iron Gear stood perched on a raised stone platform, his hand resting on the brass-plated shoulder of his Steam-Core Behemoth. The beast was a nightmare of bio-mechanical engineering—a massive, six-legged reptilian creature whose natural scales had been reinforced with riveted iron plates. Pipes snaked across its back, venting superheated vapor that blurred the air.
"Rank 211," Silas called out, his voice echoing with a metallic tint. "Last chance. Forfeit. My Behemoth doesn't know how to hold back. It'll crush that mangy hound and then it'll crush you."
Jeather Vale didn't answer. He stood in the center of the ring, his feet planted wide.
Beside him, the Mutated Rifthound—shrouded in Astrael's dark, nature-infused infernal mana—looked less like a spatial predator and more like a beast birthed from a poisoned forest. Its fur was slicked with green-black flames that hissed as they touched the arena floor.
Inside Jeather's mind, the connection to the [Void Fracture] was humming with a dangerous vibration.
"Jett, the big metal toy smells like needles," Saxum whispered from the [Living Quarry].
"Can I smash? Please? Just one little smash?"
"Not yet, Saxum," Jeather replied internally. "Let the Rifthound lead. We need to see how Silas reacts to the 'mask' we put on him."
The signal flared.
"Vapor Pulse!" Silas roared.
The Behemoth slammed its front claws into the stone. A massive wave of superheated steam erupted from the pipes on its back, obscuring the entire arena in a white, blinding fog. It was a tactical maneuver—Silas relied on the thermal sensors embedded in his armor to track his opponent through the heat.
But Jeather didn't need eyes. He had the Beast Realm.
"Blink—no, Abyssal Pounce," Jeather corrected himself aloud, keeping the deception alive for the spectators.
The Rifthound didn't teleport—at least, it didn't look like it did. It moved through a spatial fold masked by Astrael's dark mana, appearing to the audience like a streak of black lightning cutting through the steam. It reappeared behind the Behemoth, its claws wreathed in emerald fire.
Clang!
The Rifthound's claws struck the iron plating on the Behemoth's flank. Sparks showered the floor, but the metal barely dented.
"Pathetic!" Silas laughed. "You think fire works on a forge-beast? Iron Gear beasts are built in the flame!"
The Behemoth spun with surprising speed, its massive, iron-tipped tail whistling through the air. The Rifthound ducked, the spatial distortion around its body causing the tail to "slip" past its fur by a hair's breadth.
Jeather felt the feedback in his core. The Rifthound was struggling to maintain Astrael's mask while fighting a physical powerhouse. The spatial mana was fighting to break free, to tear through the green flames and show its true, violet light.
Jeather's eyes weren't on the beast. He was watching Silas's gauntlet. Every time the Behemoth moved, a series of small, rhythmic lights flashed on Silas's wrist-mounted control unit.
[System Notification: Analyzing Faction Gear...]
[Data Match: 74% similarity to Aethelgard 'Override' Protocols.]
"He isn't commanding that beast," Velkaria's voice cut through the chaos, cool and analytical. "He is piloting it. Look at the neck of the Behemoth, Jeather. Beneath the brass plate."
Jeather focused. There it was. A small, pulsing node embedded directly into the beast's spinal column. It wasn't a seal; it was a leash.
"Velkaria, Weaver," Jeather whispered.
"Prepare to shift. I need the steam cleared, but I can't summon you fully. Send the chill through the link."
From the [Frost-Veined Spire], the Sovereign and the Spider combined their mana.
Jeather's breath began to mist. He slammed his palm onto the floor.
"Deep Pressure Frost!"
A wave of absolute zero mana surged outward. It didn't manifest as a beast, but as a flash-freeze. The superheated steam in the arena didn't just dissipate—it crystallized and shattered, falling to the floor like diamonds.
The temperature in the arena plummeted forty degrees in a single second.
The Steam-Core Behemoth let out a mechanical screech. Its joints, lubricated by pressurized oil and steam, began to seize as the frost bit into the metal. The pipes on its back groaned, the metal contracting too fast.
"What—?! How does a hell-hound use ice?!" Silas screamed, frantically tapping at his gauntlet.
"He doesn't," Jeather said, stepping through the falling frost. "I do."
Jeather signaled the Rifthound. This was the moment.
The Rifthound lunged, but instead of aiming for the flank, it aimed for the spinal node. Silas saw it coming. He panicked. He hit a red toggle on his gauntlet.
"Overdrive! Burn the core!"
The Behemoth's eyes turned a sickly, glowing yellow—the same color as the poaching collars. Its body began to swell, the iron plates glowing cherry-red as it forced itself to move through the frost. It lunged at the Rifthound, its jaw opening to reveal a mana-cannon fueled by its own life force.
"Saxum! Metal Form!"
Jeather didn't summon the whole Golem. He summoned a single, massive, armored fist from a ripple in the air.
BOOM!
Saxum's metal hand caught the Behemoth's snout mid-charge, stopping the multi-ton creature dead in its tracks. The mana-cannon detonated prematurely, the explosion contained within the Behemoth's own jaw.
The beast collapsed, smoke pouring from its vents. Silas fell from his platform, his gauntlet sparking and smoking.
Jeather walked over to the downed beast. He ignored the gasping crowd and the shocked instructors. He reached down and ripped the brass plate off the Behemoth's neck, exposing the neural node.
There it was. The Gear and the Helix.
"Aethelgard," Jeather said, loud enough for the VIP booths to hear.
Silas scrambled backward, his face pale.
"You... you don't know what you're talking about. It's just faction tech!"
"Faction tech doesn't eat the soul of the beast to power a piston," Jeather countered. He turned to the audience, holding up the neural node. "Is this what the Top 100 calls 'optimization'? Because it looks like butchery to me."
The arena went silent. Then, the ranking obelisk pulsed with a violent, white light.
[Duel Result: Rank 211 Victory!]
[Rank Updated: 211 → 42]
[Hidden Objective Completed: Silas's connection to Aethelgard exposed.]
[System Reward: New Habitat Sector Unlocked - The Iron Foundry.]
[Integrating captured mechanical mana...]
Inside Jeather's mind, a new sector began to form. Adjacent to the [Living Quarry], a landscape of soot-stained stone and eternal furnaces roared into life. It wasn't a natural place, but it was a place where Saxum could finally learn to shape the metals he loved to smash.
But the reward came with a price.
[System Warning: Faction 'Iron Gear' Hostility increased to 'Lethal'.]
[Warning: The Aethelgard Initiative has marked Subject 'Jeather Vale' for retrieval.]
Jeather withdrew the Rifthound. The beast was exhausted, the green flames flickering out to reveal its true, silver-violet fur. It limped back into the [Void Fracture], where Astrael caught it, supporting the hound with a steady hand.
"You did well, brother," the demon whispered.
Jeather turned to leave the arena. He didn't wait for the trophy or the accolades. He could feel the eyes of the Academy's Elite on his back. Silas was being dragged away by "medical staff" who looked more like interrogators.
Instructor Maelor stood on the balcony, his expression unreadable. He didn't move to stop Jeather, but he didn't offer a congratulatory nod either.
That night, Jeather didn't go back to his dorm. He knew it would be bugged—or worse, rigged with a "vapor pulse." He headed toward the [Tidal Tidepool] area near the cliffs, the place where he had saved the Snapjaw.
He sat on a rock, watching the waves. The Otter popped out of the sea, carrying a small, rusty bolt it had scavenged from the Behemoth's wreckage. It dropped the bolt at Jeather's feet and let out a proud chirp.
"Thanks, buddy," Jeather said, picking it up.
"You're a hard man to find, Rank 42."
Jeather didn't turn around. He recognized the voice. It was the girl he had saved from the underwater mission—the one from Saltwind Tidal Academy who had been unconscious.
She was standing in the shadows, her eyes glowing with a faint, bioluminescent light.
"I didn't think you'd be the type to start a revolution on your second day," she said, stepping into the moonlight.
"I'm not starting a revolution," Jeather replied.
"I'm just trying to keep my beasts from being turned into scrap metal."
The girl leaned against a tree. "The Iron Gear is just the tip. Silas was a pawn. The real masters are in the High Circle. They've been waiting for a specimen like your Rifthound for a long time. They call it the 'Original Sin' of their research."
Jeather finally looked at her. "And who are you? Besides a girl who likes to sleep through underwater duels?"
She smiled, but there was no humor in it. "My name is Cora. And like you, I have a beast that the Academy says shouldn't exist."
She opened her hand. A small, translucent butterfly manifested, its wings shimmering with a strange, distorting mana. It wasn't spatial. it wasn't elemental.
It was Time.
"We need to leave Saltwind," Cora said. "Before the High Circle decides that your 'Calamity Signature' is more valuable than your life."
Jeather looked back at the Academy, the sprawling coral fortress that had been his home for only a few weeks. He looked at the Status Window flickering in his mind.
[Next Objective: Escape Saltwind Academy.]
[Penalty for Failure: Soul Extraction.]
"Escape?" Jeather muttered. He looked at the Otter, then at the mental image of the Basilisk and the Chimera waiting in the Sunken Crater.
"I don't think you understand, Cora," Jeather said, his voice cold and steady. "I'm not running. If they want my beasts, they'll have to come down here and try to take them."
He stood up, the ocean wind whipping his cloak.
"And I've still got plenty of room in the Realm for a few more habitats."