Enya returned to their room about an hour later to find that Pell had already come back. Judging by the way his hollow eyes lingered on the damp floor, he had noticed that she’d used the frost amulet. Most of the ice that had coated the walls had already melted, leaving behind slick patches of water.

  He asked where she had gone, and she answered truthfully—she had visited the Magic Association to see if they had a spell that would allow her to summon and unsummon her minions. Fortunately, they did.

  Then Pell asked how much she had paid for it.

  And that’s when Enya… told a tiny, insignificant fib.

  Truthfully, she had probably been ripped off. But she still didn’t have a proper grasp on the value of money—just that gold coins could buy her almost anything. So, she told Pell she had paid two silver pieces and ten copper for the F-rank spell. In reality, she had handed over an entire gold coin and told them to keep the change because she didn’t feel like carrying around loose coins.

  Unfortunately, Pell asked to see the remaining coins. She had none.

  What followed was a brief scolding about being wasteful with money and how she should have taken the change regardless.

  Once the lecture was over, Enya decided to test her new spell on Muffins.

  Spell: Summon [Active] has been obtained.

  Summon or unsummon any target bound to you, or is classified as a summoned creature with you as its owner or master. The target’s mass affects summoning speed, with larger entities taking longer to summon or unsummon.

  [Mana cost: 0MP]

  With a simple wave of her hand, Muffins vanished. It was similar to how the dungeon core stored and summoned monsters. Another wave, and Muffins reappeared, unchanged. The spell only had two patterns—quick to form, easy to cast, and with no downtime.

  Though Enya liked Muffins, having just another regular human-shaped skeleton didn’t excite her much, especially since she already had some. Instead, she wanted to recreate her original minion party from the dungeon. Fred was like Walnut or Dummy D., the humanoid skeletons, and Uglyface was similar to Stupidface, the demon rat. However, she was still missing a Bonehead.

  There was just one small variable to account for before re-crafting Muffins—the Crystal Spiderling Queen, still held prisoner.

  Despite being a high-level monster capable of commanding other powerful spiderlings, the Queen had made little effort to escape from Muffins’ hand prison. Enya suspected that, like herself, its true strength lay in controlling others rather than physical prowess.

  With that in mind, she had Muffins open a drawer, then unceremoniously tossed the Queen inside like a crumpled scrap of paper. She stood still for a moment, listening. Faint skittering echoed from within, but the drawer remained firmly shut.

  It was probably safe to leave her in there.

  Probably.

  After stepping outside briefly, Enya dispelled Muffins and re-crafted their form, shaping it to imitate Bonehead’s hulking frame from Sable’s sanctum. Of course, the same bone-density reduction that had weakened Bonehead was also applied to this new summon due to its sheer size. But Enya’s use of Soul-Energy quickly compensated for the weakness. In a flash, she named it, checked its stats, and dismissed it; it was far too large to fit inside of the inn.

  Soul-Energy: 368/400

  System Notification: Name ‘Numbskull’ has been registered to Level 13 Skeleton

  Name: Numbskull

  Level: 13

  Type: Soul-Forged Ogre Skeleton

  Class: Unassigned

  Power Rating: 589

  With her minions assembled, all that remained was to pour her Soul-Energy into the Grim Pullet to fully charge her new spell. Between her summons, her spells, the Gravecaller’s Band, and her hidden trump card, she would be more than ready for the tournament.

  After taking a bath downstairs with Sheryl’s help, Enya resumed her spell-imbuing, using up the last of the Soul-Energy needed to finalize the spell within the Grim Pullet.

  As night fell, she eagerly hopped into bed, determined to fall asleep quickly so she could wake up early and refreshed. However, she was too eager; her body and mind were too restless to fall asleep.

  Pell, who was ‘resting’ in the corner of the room, noticed. Not without irritation.

  “Pell? Can you read me a story?” she asked.

  The room was dim, illuminated only by pale moonlight filtering through the blinds.

  Pell groaned. The last thing he wanted was to read her some silly fairy tale just so she could fall asleep. But he also knew how much she had been preparing for the tournament. And, more importantly, if he got her to sleep, she’d stop bothering him sooner.

  Grumbling, he dragged his chair over to her bedside and sat down, arms crossed. “Fine. One damn story. Don’t ask for more.”

  Enya pulled the sheets up to her face and nodded, eager to hear whatever fascinating tale Pell had in store. Despite his rough exterior, she knew he was a total book nerd—someone who could read for hours without getting bored. Surely, he knew plenty of magical adventures, grand heroics, or epic legends.

  “This is a story I read a long time ago,” Pell began. “It’s about a commoner who earns a noble title and is tasked with managing their own fiefdom, making it thrive.”

  Enya gripped the sheets tighter, listening intently.

  “I believe it was called… Doing Taxes with Count Commoner. The story begins like this—”

  She was asleep within minutes.

  Morning came, and Enya woke to the sound of roosters crowing outside. Which was odd—there were no farms in Talo that she noticed.

  Did someone just have a pet rooster?

  She stretched, feeling well-rested despite the excitement lingering from last night. Today was the day of the tournament check-in, and she needed to be ready.

  First, she went through her usual morning routine. Regular basic hygiene came first. She washed her face, and brushed her hair. It was lucky that Sheryl, the innkeeper was willing to help Enya early in the mornings with her hygiene. It just didn’t feel quite right for Pell to assist her.

  Enya looked over her equipment. The Gravecaller’s Band was secure on her wrist, her boots, gloves, and badge all checked and accounted for.

  By the time she finished, the clock was nearing 5:30 a.m. Pell waited by the door of their room. “Took you long enough,” he grumbled, though there was no real bite to his tone. “I’ll head down first. Don’t dawdle.”

  Enya nodded, but as soon as Pell stepped out, she darted over to the dungeon core tucked away in the corner of their room. The core pulsed faintly. She knelt beside it, her hands hovering over its surface as she did a quick little command.

  A minute later, Enya hurried down the stairs, catching up to Pell as he waited near the entrance of the inn. Together, they made their way toward the tournament check-in, the streets of Talo slowly waking up around them as they moved.

  As Enya walked alongside Pell, she wondered if she would run into the siblings again, Berry and Manny. It had been two days since they suddenly left. Had she said something wrong? Did she do something to push them away? It was strange how abruptly they decided to leave.

  Hopefully, they would be here.

  The closer they got to the check-in site, the more people Enya noticed. There were children around her age, likely participating in the Youngling division, and older teenagers who were probably entering the advanced division. But despite scanning the crowd, there was no sign of Berry or Manny.

  Pell nudged her forward. “Quit gawking. Go check in.”

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  Enya nodded and made her way over to one of the organizers, a frazzled-looking woman seated behind a small stand just outside the building. The woman glanced up as Enya approached, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly as she took in the young girl’s appearance.

  “Name?” the organizer asked, her tone clipped and efficient.

  “Enya Meltere,” Enya replied, the alias rolling off her tongue with practiced ease. It still felt strange to use Pell’s last name, but it was necessary. The fewer people who knew her real identity, the better—or so Pell had insisted.

  The woman flipped through a stack of papers, her fingers moving quickly until she found the right sheet. “Ah, here you are. Youngling division, correct?”

  “Yes,” Enya said, straightening her posture a little.

  The organizer handed her a small badge, its surface etched with a number. “Wear this at all times during the tournament. Your match number will be called at the start of the previous round. Once you hear it, head to the waiting area and prepare for your match. For now, follow the marked signs in the lobby to get situated. Good luck.”

  Enya took the badge and pinned it to her cloak, her heart fluttering with a mix of excitement and nerves. She glanced back at Pell, who stood a few steps behind her, his skeletal arms crossed. He gave her a curt nod.

  “You’ll do fine,” he said, his tone as gruff as ever. “I’ll head off to the stands.”

  As Pell turned to leave, Enya quickly channeled a flicker of mana into her palm, the energy surging briefly before she clenched her fist.

  “Actually, Pell… you’re coming with me,” she said.

  Pell stopped mid-turn, his hollow eye sockets fixed on her. “What’re you—”

  Before he could finish, Enya waved her hand, and Pell’s form vanished in an instant, unsummoned.

  “Sorry, Pell,” she whispered, glancing down at her palms. “But you’re using up one of my minion slots right now. And I have no idea how to remove you from it without accidentally killing you.”

  She wasn’t entirely sure where her minions went when unsummoned—whether they were stored in her hands, her soul, or some other hidden pocket of existence—but now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. Fighting in the tournament without all of her minions, would put her at a disadvantage. Besides—Pell was stronger now.

  With that, Enya turned and headed into the building, following the marked signs that led deeper into the tournament grounds.

  The waiting area was vast and well-furnished, clearly designed to accommodate a large number of young participants. Soft, enchanted lights illuminated the space, and the walls were lined with intricate carvings of the winners of past tournaments, their golden engravings shimmering faintly under the light. Large illusionary panels also hung high above the room, flickering to life with real-time views of the tournament arena outside.

  Enya tilted her head up, observing the three enormous white-tiled stages displayed on the screens. The tournament grounds were surrounded by a now-growing audience, excited chatter filling the stands as spectators were eagerly awaiting the first matches. There were many clumps of people dressed in finer clothing. She could only assume these were noble families that came to watch their children.

  She scanned the rest of the waiting chamber. Several sections had been set up—one with comfortable seating, another with neatly arranged tables carrying simple food prepared by the academy, and a few more leading into practice rooms where the other kids tested their skills against training dummies. A handful of kids took advantage of the practice area, sending bursts of magic into targets or swinging weapons. Enya noticed a lot of elemental-related magic, like fireballs and the like. Others sat quietly, waiting, whispering to themselves, or simply watching the screens above.

  Enya remained seated for now, her fingers absently tracing the badge pinned to her dress. Her number: 14.

  Minutes passed as the stands were filling up more and more. Suddenly, the illusionary panels flashed brighter, drawing everyone’s attention. The main arena’s sound systems crackled to life, and a booming voice filled the entire venue.

  “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, WELCOME—TO THE BEACON TOURNAMENT!”

  The audience erupted into cheers, the sound practically shaking the ground outside. The illusion panels focused on a massive balcony overseeing the tournament grounds, where a sharply dressed announcer stood, a wide grin on his face. His voice, projected through magic, carried effortlessly over the crowd and the interface.

  “We have an exhilarating day ahead of us! Dozens of promising young fighters will clash, pushing their limits for the chance to prove themselves! The elimination rounds begin NOW, with our first three sets coming from the Youngling Division—children striving for admission to Lightway Academy and the chance to become tomorrow’s Paragons of War!”

  Enya leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing at the screen.

  The illusion panels shifted views, displaying the principal of the academy, a dignified older man sitting high in his own exclusive booth, his presence exuding authority. Next to him sat Lord Clament, the city’s ruler, his expression unreadable as he observed the tournament grounds below.

  The announcer continued, his voice smooth yet commanding.

  “Overseeing today’s grand event, we have none other than the esteemed Headmaster Laventis of the Lightway Academy! A master of both magic and strategy, and a guiding force behind the warriors of tomorrow!”

  The audience cheered as the headmaster gave a polite nod, his hands folded over his lap.

  “And of course, we are honored by the presence of Lord Clament, the White Bastion’s very own city lord! His support for young talent has kept this tradition alive and thriving!”

  Another round of applause filled the stadium, though Enya noticed that Lord Clament barely reacted. He sat stiffly, watching everything unfold with a gaze that seemed almost… analytical.

  “And now, for those of you new to the Beacon Tournament, let’s go over the rules of combat! Each of our participants is equipped with a special enchanted badge, filled with mana from none other than diamond-tier War Paragons themselves! That’s right, these little beauties are more than just number tags—they generate a personal mana barrier around the wearer, absorbing the brunt of all incoming attacks! Fire, lightning, sword strikes, even the nastier stuff like corrosive venom—every hit is recorded, so you can go all out without fear of serious injury!”

  A brief pause, allowing the audience to murmur in appreciation.

  “But don’t get careless! These barriers may stop damage, but they don’t stop force! Get tossed too hard, slammed into the ground, or take a bad fall, and you will feel it. And if your badge absorbs too much? Well, it’ll flash and shatter—signaling your defeat! Oh, and let’s not forget—ring-outs are instant losses. Step outside the arena’s boundary, even by a fingertip, and you’re done!”

  A brief chuckle from the announcer.

  “Of course, if you really find yourself in a bad spot, surrendering is always an option. And should anything get out of hand, our many umpires reserve the right to forcibly stop a match and give a final decision! Esteemed Headmaster Laventis or Lord Clament will also have full authority to end a match at their discretion! Safety first, after all.”

  The illusion panels shift, showing a section near the arena’s edge where a team of white-robed healers stand at the ready. Among them, a tall woman with a stern face and golden hair stands out.

  “And speaking of safety, we have some of the best healers in Talo on standby, including the one and only Lady Celeste, head of the Talo Medical Clinic! So rest assured, competitors—you may leave today bruised, but you won’t leave broken!”

  The crowd roars in approval, the excitement only growing as the first fighters take their places.

  “Now then,” the announcer clapped his hands together, “let’s not waste any more time! The tournament structure is simple: we have three stages, each hosting an elimination match at a time! The winners move forward, the losers are out! The first three sets will consist of our Youngling Division, then we’ll have a short intermission before the Advanced Division takes over! We will repeat this process until every participant has fought at least once. Understood?”

  The crowd roared in response.

  “Given the number of participants, these elimination matches may run for quite some time! If you need to step away, attend to business, or return later, rest assured—recordings will be available upon request at the Lightway Academy’s first building lobby!”

  The illusion panels displayed the first matchups: #1 versus #2, #3 versus #4, and #5 versus #6.

  Enya’s smirk deepened.

  That means I still have time before my match… Good. That means I can watch.

  She settled in, gaze locked onto the screens, ready to analyze each person’s fighting style and skillset before it was her turn.

  Just as Enya settled back into her seat, the door to the waiting area burst open. A girl with short, choppy black hair and a tanned complexion skidded to a halt, breathless. Her brown cloak was slightly askew, and she clutched a tournament badge in one hand as she frantically scanned the room.

  “Am I late?!” she blurted, voice carrying across the chamber.

  No one reacted. The other participants were too engrossed in their own preparations—some stuffing their faces at the food table, others locked in quiet conversations or hammering away at training dummies. The only one who even looked her way was Enya.

  Enya tilted her head slightly. “No. They just started calling the first matches.”

  The girl let out an audible sigh of relief, shoulders sagging. “Oh, good. Thought I missed everything.” She hurried over and plopped down onto the seat next to Enya, still catching her breath. “I ran the whole way here. Didn’t think I’d get lost, but, uh… turns out this place is way bigger than I expected.”

  She adjusted her cloak and flashed a grin. “Name’s Risha. What about you?”

  Enya hesitated for a moment, then answered, “Enya.”

  Risha’s grin widened. “Nice to meet you, Enya! Have I missed anything important?”

  Enya glanced at the illusion panels, where the first fighters were stepping onto the stage. “Not really. The matches are just starting.”

  Risha nodded, rocking back in her seat. “Phew. Guess that means I’ve got some time to breathe before my number gets called.” She fiddled with the badge pinned to her cloak, revealing her number—22.

  Enya glanced at it briefly before turning her attention back to the screens. She still had time to observe, but now she had company.

  The illusion panels flickered as the announcer’s voice boomed once more, signaling the start of the first matches.

  “NOW—FOR OUR FIRST SET OF ELIMINATION MATCHES! ON STAGE ONE—FIGHTERS NUMBER ONE AND TWO, STEP FORWARD!”

  A murmur rippled through the waiting room as the first pair rose from their seats. Two boys, both appearing confident, made their way toward the exit, pushing open the heavy doors that led to the open arena.

  “ON STAGE TWO—FIGHTERS THREE AND FOUR, MAKE YOUR WAY TO THE BATTLEFIELD!”

  Another set of participants followed suit, stretching their arms and rolling their shoulders as they exited.

  “AND FINALLY, ON STAGE THREE—FIGHTERS FIVE AND SIX, YOU’RE UP!”

  The last pair strode forward without hesitation, vanishing through the doors. The waiting chamber grew quieter once the fighters had left, leaving only the sound of distant cheering from outside.

  Risha leaned forward, eyes fixed on the panels. “This is it,” she muttered, excitement creeping into her voice.

  Enya didn’t respond. Her focus had shifted entirely to one of the fighters on Stage One. A boy—probably around her age or a little older—stood at the center of the tiled platform, gripping a hammer nearly the size of his own body. He held it with effortless ease, as if it weighed nothing at all. His stance was solid, feet planted firmly as he sized up his opponent.

  Across from him stood another boy, dressed in flowing robes of deep blue and gold. He carried no visible weapons, yet he stood with a confidence that suggested he didn’t need one. His posture was composed, his expression hard and stoic.

  Enya’s gaze flicked between them. While the robed boy carried himself elegantly, his outfit resembling something a noble would wear, it was nothing compared to her own. Her robes were much cuter, and far more stylish. Especially for the person wearing them. It was simply an objective fact.

  But for now, she set that aside.

  She leaned in slightly, fingers tapping idly against her knee. This was her chance to observe—see what kind of fighters were in this tournament, and what she might be up against.

  The announcer's voice echoed once more:

  "CONTESTANTS READY?" After a few affirming nods from all six fighters, the announcer continued, his voice louder and more boisterous.

  "THEN WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, LET THE MATCHES BEGIN!"