“Here you go,” said a female tournament staff member. “This is a private room you can use for your break, Miss Celeste.”

  Footsteps approached from behind.

  “Thank you,” Celeste replied curtly.

  The staff member gave a polite nod before returning to her post.

  The room was modest—nothing more than a small conference space with a plain desk, a few chairs, and bare walls. Simple, yet functional.

  She opted to remain standing, reaching into her coat pocket and pulling out a small white artifact. Within its center was a polished crystal, etched with a circular insignia bearing an intricate emblem.

  Celeste tapped the crystal lightly. It flickered to life, pulsing in slow, rhythmic intervals.

  Seconds passed. Then half a minute.

  Finally, the glow steadied, signifying a successful link.

  A voice filtered through the connection, rich and composed. “Miss Celeste. It is not often that you contact us directly.”

  Celeste’s fingers curled slightly around the device. “Grand Inquisitor Gale. I assume you have time to hear my report.”

  A quiet chuckle came from the other end. “A report? Since when did you do reports?

  Celeste’s expression remained impassive. “I do them when needed.”

  Gale sighed, the amusement still lingering in his tone. “Go on, then. What is it that demands my attention?”

  “A necromancer.”

  The word hung heavy in the air.

  There was a beat of silence before Gale spoke again, still sounding unbothered. “Mm. A bit vague, don’t you think? We’ve known of necromancers operating in secret for centuries. If you’re calling me, then I assume this isn’t just some hedge mage playing with bones in an alleyway.”

  “It’s a child.”

  That gave him pause. “...A child?”

  “A girl, no older than maybe ten. She is participating in Talo’s tournament.” Celeste’s voice sharpened, crisp and unwavering. “And from what I have seen, she is not merely dabbling in the dark arts. She is actively practicing necromancy in live combat. Possibly even as her main class.”

  Silence.

  Gale hummed in vague amusement. “A child? Hah. That is certainly a problem… but hardly one that requires my direct intervention.”

  “Do you not find it unusual that a child is practicing necromancy, alone, of all things? I don’t even see a chaperon with her. She even dresses like she is from a house of nobility.”

  “That is unusual,” Gale admitted, though his tone lacked urgency. “But tell me, Celeste—what would you have me do? You act as though this child is already summoning hordes of undead and burning villages to the ground,” Gale said, amused. “She’s one girl. Meanwhile, the demons on the Third Layer are expanding their territory as we speak. That is what I am dealing with. That is a priority.”

  Celeste inhaled sharply. “You and I both know nothing good comes from allowing necromancy to take root. No matter the age of its wielder, it always leads to ruin. Always.”

  “Hah,” Gale exhaled, bemused. “Well, I can see why that would bother you.”

  Celeste’s brow twitched, though she kept her composure. “This is a serious matter.”

  “To you, certainly.” Gale’s tone was still unreadable. “But unless this child has somehow defied the natural order or poses an immediate danger, I fail to see why we should prioritize a single necromancer over, say… the ongoing demonic expansion on the Third Layer. I wonder who we have managing that task… Oh—right. Me.”

  Celeste’s jaw tightened. “Necromancers need to either be permanently removed, or purified. This girl will become a problem—if not now, then in the future.”

  “And yet,” Gale said smoothly, “I suspect you are more concerned with the practice than the practitioner.”

  After a slight pause, Gale exhaled through his nose, a weary sound. “Celeste. You have always been sharp, but you are letting your hatred of necromancy cloud your judgment. Not every dark practice leads to calamity.”

  “No,” she said firmly. “But calamity always follows necromancy. Necromancers, vampires, demons, infernals, thralls, and the corrupt-touched—these, among a small list of others, always cause calamitous situations to arise. Do not tell me you are not privy to how dangerous these beings are. Aside from the Ascended holders, there is no bigger threat to humanity.”

  The weight in her words carried an undeniable conviction.

  A soft sigh came from the small device. “We all know that, Celeste. But one child summoning a skeleton to give herself a shoulder massage, versus an army of demons conquering the lands in the third layer? At most, I can send an inquisitor to get some answers. Perhaps see if she’s being led astray. But I am not mobilizing resources over a single child.”

  Celeste’s lips curled in distaste, her hands tightening behind her back. “One inquisitor? That’s all? She’s obviously learned her skills from someone. I want her dealt with promptly, before she causes trouble in the city.”

  “Well then,” Gale continued, his voice turning ever so slightly amused. “If this troubles you so much, I will offer you an alternative: Exercise your right as a member of the Order of Sanctity.”

  He paused.

  “Kill her yourself. Problem solved.”

  “We are now halfway through the preliminary elimination matches! Let’s take a short 30-minute intermission, folks! If you need to use the restroom, grab some refreshments, or meet up with your children for some last-minute support, now’s the time!” the announcer boomed across the stadium.

  The crowd stirred with movement, spectators standing to stretch their legs, chatting amongst themselves as they dispersed.

  Among them, a man in his mid-twenties rose from his seat, rolling his shoulders. Just a common laborer, taking the day off to enjoy the tournament. With a tired sigh, he made his way down the stands, stepping outside the stadium gates. His goal? A quick stop at the merchant stalls for a fresh pack of smokes.

  Purchase in hand, he wandered to a nearby alleyway, slipping into its shade to light one up. The academy grounds had a strict no-smoking policy, forcing him to take his indulgence elsewhere.

  The first inhale barely settled in his lungs before he heard footsteps.

  Soft, measured, and drawing closer.

  He ignored them at first—until he realized they were approaching him directly.

  Turning, he saw a woman draped in a black cloak, her presence barely making a ripple in the midday bustle. Her face was mostly hidden, but what little he could see—pale skin, delicate features, a stillness that was almost unnatural—caught his attention.

  He exhaled a plume of smoke and raised a brow. “Need something, miss?”

  She tilted her head slightly. “Can… you come over here?” Her voice was flat, eerily devoid of inflection. “I’m… a bit hard of hearing.”

  His eyes narrowed in mild suspicion.

  Something about her felt off.

  But she didn’t look dangerous. Frail, even. And besides, crime in the city was rare—locks ensured that. Everyone, from nobles to commoners, bore them. The only real threats were mundane crimes, like theft or the occasional kidnapping.

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  Not that she looked capable of either.

  After a pause, he let out a small chuckle and stepped toward her. “Alright, sure. What’s the problem?”

  She stood still, waiting until he was close enough before she spoke again. “Do you have a ticket to the tournament?”

  “Ticket?” He blinked, patting his pocket before pulling out the small parchment stub—his entry pass to the stands. “Yeah, why?”

  The woman didn’t react at first. Then, her lips parted slightly.

  “One… chance.”

  A strange urgency colored her voice now, a whisper of something almost… pleading. “Give me the ticket. Please.”

  He scoffed. “Hah, no way, lady. What, you lured me into this alley to mug me? Think—”

  His words never finished.

  A moment later, the alley was silent.

  The cloaked woman emerged alone, stepping back into the city’s light.

  There was no sign of the man. No body. No struggle. Nothing.

  In her pale hand, she held his ticket. A faint smear of red lingered on her fingertips, but the blood… vanished. It seeped into her skin as though the flesh itself drank it.

  Her cloak shifted as she tucked her hands back into its depths.

  No lock adorned her wrist.

  And with quiet steps, Zerus walked toward the stadium entrance.

  The intermission ended, and the tournament resumed. Inside the waiting room, Enya and Risha remained. Risha was one of the few who had returned to watch the matches. Most of the competitors who lost had left; some choose to enter the stands and watch the matches with their families.

  For many, however, that wasn’t an option. Their families’ disappointment weighed too heavily, forcing them to leave rather than endure the rest of the tournament—unless, of course, they had another child still competing.

  “Hey, Risha,” Enya called.

  “Mmmph?” she mumbled around a spoonful of ice cream cheesecake.

  “Why are you in here and not with your family?”

  She swallowed, setting down her fork. “My family’s not here.”

  Enya tilted her head. “Huh? Where are they?”

  “They’re in the First Layer. They sent me up to the Second Layer alone, hoping I could enroll somewhere and build a better life.”

  “So… you’re alone? In Talo?”

  Risha shook her head. “No. I’m staying with a friend of my parents. She lives here, lets me stay, but she’s not interested in the tournament. Not a big fan of violence.” She shrugged. “I’m not her kid, so she doesn’t really care what I do. But she won’t be watching, that’s for sure.”

  Enya frowned, thinking.

  “I’ll come watch your redemption matches,” she said, voice firm. “I’ll be there.”

  Risha grinned. “Thanks.”

  Enya turned her attention back to the visual panel.

  She’d be there for her friend. If Risha fought well and made it back in, great. If she didn’t—Enya still had her backup plan. Lord Cement could grant her a pass.

  The tournament continued, match after match unfolding. Some fights were brutal, others strategic, but all were worth studying. Enya watched closely, analyzing techniques, memorizing spells, picking apart patterns.

  People had some unusual tricks up their sleeves.

  She intended to learn from all of them.

  “Trinity Hiridale is unable to continue! Varton Mines has won on Stage Two!”

  Enya leaned forward slightly. An interesting match.

  Trinity specialized in illusions—copies of herself flickering across the stage, weapons materializing out of thin air, some real, some not. Her entire strategy revolved around deception. Varton, however, had no interest in playing along.

  His magic? Light. Spears of it. Explosive bursts. Cages made of glowing energy. When trickery failed to give Trinity an opening, Varton simply attacked everything at once.

  A bad match-up, Enya concluded. If you couldn't tell what was real, you just had to hit everything. Varton had figured that out, and put it to the test. And it had worked in his favor.

  As the fights continued and people swapped out, so did the divisions.

  “On Stage Three! Yuna Freymeister versus Manny Merrick!”

  After seeing Berry fight, it wasn’t a surprise to see Manny appear in the tournament soon after.

  His match was over in seconds.

  Yuna was a summoner—the first one Enya had seen besides herself. But unlike Enya, her summons weren’t undead. Instead, she conjured a massive, furry beast. A lion, maybe? Enya wasn’t sure what a lion was supposed to look like, but she was fairly certain they didn’t have two tails and two heads.

  The creature lunged, claws digging into the ground as it sprinted toward Manny. He didn’t meet it head-on. Instead, he shot into the air, wind magic suspending him above the arena. It wasn’t true flight, just compressed air beneath his feet keeping him steady. He hovered in place, conserving energy while he gathered power for an attack—the same one he’d demonstrated at the academy, the wind blast that had cracked the barrier in training room.

  Below, the lion pawed at the air, confused. It reared up, swiping uselessly toward its target, but there was nothing to reach. Watching the giant beast flail at nothing was a little sad. But mostly, it was funny.

  Once his attack was charged, Manny hurled it down. A blast of condensed wind erupted in the center of the stage, blowing both Yuna and her summon clear off the platform.

  The match lasted less than twenty seconds.

  It was a terrible match-up for her—and probably for Enya too.

  She had no way of dealing with someone in the sky. If she’d been in Yuna’s place, the same thing would’ve happened; a single powerful gust, and she’d be airborne in the worst way possible. Fortunately, she wasn’t in the Advanced division, so she wouldn’t be facing Manny anytime soon. She could only hope there wasn’t anyone else in the Youngling division that could do the same.

  I wonder if I can make a bird skeleton… she thought. Would it even be able to fly?

  Another rotation of fighters came and went.

  One name was called, and he walked his way past the fighter’s hall and soon entered the tournament stage.

  “That’s the boy you know, right?” Enya asked.

  “Yep. Jamie,” Risha replied, staring up at the monitor. She then gave Enya a subtle sideways glance. “You gonna root for him? I’m sure he’d love that.”

  “Of course! He warned me about Marybelle’s fighting style before my match. That really helped me,” Enya said. “I hope he wins.”

  “Lucky guy,” Risha muttered, smirking. “His crush gets to root for him.”

  Enya turned from the monitor. “Huh? What’d you say?”

  “Nothing~” Risha whistled innocently.

  “Alright, ladies and gentlemen! On stage one, we have Jamie Ormere versus Lucian Keltermine!”

  Enya leaned forward, eyes locked on the screen. This was a match she wanted to watch closely. Jamie had helped her with his tip, and the least she could do was pay attention to his fight.

  Onstage, it was clear that Jamie and Lucian were friends. She’d seen them chatting earlier, and even now, they exchanged a few words before the match. There was an odd mix of tension and excitement between them—both aware that only one could win, but equally eager for the fight.

  Enya glanced at Risha, who lounged in her seat, sipping from a bottle of something blue and fizzy. Cobalt-Cola? She was just sitting absentmindedly, staring at the screen but showing no real interest.

  I wonder what would’ve happened if I fought Risha… Would I want to beat her? Enya thought.

  Shaking the thought, Enya turned back to the screen.

  Lucian was a lanky boy with messy, spiky black hair. He wore a simple shirt and pants—no armor, no visible weapons. That alone made her curious. How did he plan to fight? Jamie, on the other hand, was dressed more appropriately: a full tunic reinforced with leather padding.

  “—And begin!” the announcer shouted.

  The moment the match started, they rushed each other. Their hands locked, bodies straining in a contest of pure strength.

  Then, Jamie’s body began to glow.

  A faint purple aura shimmered around him, energy flowing from his core like mist. The glow coiled upward, forming two flickering ears on top of his head—shaped like a cat’s. A spectral tail materialized behind him, and the rest of the energy funneled into his hands, solidifying into sharp, glowing claws.

  Jamie’s strength surged. He shoved Lucian back effortlessly, sending him skidding across the stage. Without hesitation, he dropped to all fours and lunged, moving with an unnatural grace. His glowing claws flashed—a blur of violet arcs slashing toward his opponent.

  Lucian raised an arm.

  The attack hit.

  Nothing happened.

  Enya’s brow furrowed. No wound. No impact. It didn’t make sense—Jamie’s attack should have left something. But Lucian stood there, unharmed, as if Jamie had struck air.

  She kept watching, eyes narrowing. Jamie’s movements—fluid, feline, precise—matched everything she’d read about cats in books. Technically, the way he moved on all fours was also similar to a rat, but she was pretty sure he was taking on the form of a cat. Though, she had never actually seen a real cat before. But she wanted to. Badly. They were always described as cute.

  Meanwhile, the fight remained dead even the entire way through.

  Lucian still hadn’t revealed his class, yet somehow, he kept up with Jamie blow for blow. No armor. No noticeable spells or skills. Just raw physical ability.

  The battle turned into pure close-quarters combat. Punches. Kicks. Claws. Blocks. A relentless exchange, neither gaining a decisive edge.

  Minutes passed. Then ten. Then twenty.

  Most fights had long since ended, but they were still going, breathing hard, drenched in sweat, pushing forward despite their exhaustion.

  Finally, they both swung at the same time.

  Two fists connected, clocking one another straight on the cheek.

  Two bodies dropped.

  The arena went silent.

  “Double knockout!” the announcer declared. “This match ends in a tie!”

  The crowd erupted.

  Enya blinked. The first tie of the tournament. She hadn’t expected that.

  Jamie had fought well, that much was clear. Cloaked in his purple aura, moving with the agility of something between Stupidface and Uglyface, he had been interesting to watch. But Enya found herself more drawn to Lucian—not because he won, but because she still couldn’t figure him out.

  No spells. No skills. No obvious class.

  Had there been some kind of passive ability at play? Maybe. But without confirmation, she could only guess.

  On stage, the announcer launched into an explanation about tiebreaker rules. Since both contestants had fought with their full effort—and there was no sign of collusion—Laventis had ruled that, in this match, both competitors would advance.

  Enya exhaled through her nose. If she and Risha had fought, maybe the same thing could’ve happened. Not that it mattered—they wouldn’t have known about this ruling beforehand.

  Another rotation of fights took place, swapping between Advanced and Youngling. Then another. Then another.

  Midway through, Enya began jotting down her thoughts inside of the Grim Pullet, thinking it would be better to record it there than memorize everything. She ignored the abilities of those in the Advanced division, opting to only jot down notes about the other contestants in the Youngling Division.

  “Folks! On the third stage—Pamela Pelanko has knocked her opponent unconscious!” the announcer boomed. “She is officially the final winner of the Advanced Division, and final participant for the elimination matches!”

  The crowd roared again as healers rushed in, carrying off Pamela’s opponent. The girl stood in the center of the stage for a few moments, soaking in the cheers before stepping aside.

  Then, the tournament crew began clearing the main stages.

  “Alright! Everybody, listen up!” the announcer’s voice rang out. “With that match concluded, we have officially finished all preliminary rounds! Every fighter in both the Advanced and Youngling Divisions has now fought once! That means—it’s time for Stage Two!”

  The audience erupted in cheers and applause, the excitement in the air reaching a new peak. The tournament was going into full-force now.

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