The quarterfinals came faster than I expected.
I woke that morning with a strange pressure in my chest—not from the Arcana Core, but something quieter. Heavier. Nerves, maybe. Or knowing that every cadet left in the ring had already proven something.
The mist curled around the edges of the arena like it didn't want to leave. The crowd was smaller than before, but the tension? Denser. Like the air itself was holding its breath.
I stood alone.
Flynn was somewhere behind me, sword strapped across his back, posture straight and measured. Lisa stood still as stone, arms loose at her sides, face unreadable.
And then there was Nora.
She didn't speak. Never did. But people noticed her all the same.
Most cadets had a place they came from—families, mentors, home villages. Nora? She had none of that. No last name. No crest. Just a pair of calm eyes and a sword with no inscription.
<-Nora>
I walked toward the stage alone.
Unlike most of the other cadets, I had no one. Nothing to cling to except the lessons of a tired old man who found me three days after my parents died. Cerin taught me to fight—but more than that, he taught me to listen. To watch. To survive.
That was all I carried with me now.
Griff was already in the ring when they called my name.
He stood tall—broad shoulders, thick arms, confidence rolling off him like heat. His sword looked as brutal as the man holding it: jagged, serrated, the kind used to leave marks that don't fade.
"You're the quiet one, huh?" he called out, smirking. "Let's see what that silence hides."
I said nothing.
I never do.
The bell rang.
Griff came in fast. No hesitation, just raw force—swinging hard, sharp angles, a low kick meant to unbalance me, followed by a spinning elbow. His technique was messy, but it was meant to overwhelm.
It didn't.
I stepped through it. Every movement I made was measured. Precise. My blade didn't need power—just timing. Just presence. It met his strikes at the perfect moment, cutting through momentum like stillness in a storm.
The first slash cut across his thigh. The second nicked his forearm. The third—a shallow line across his side—was enough to slow him.
Griff stumbled back, eyes wide.
"Stand still!" he barked.
But I didn't need to stand still. I just had to see.
I watched his stance. The twitch of his jaw. The way he dropped his weight just before moving. I could feel it—a beat before it happened. The intention behind the strike. The echo before the sound.
He was all thunder.
I was still air.
"You think this makes you better?" he spat, blood soaking through his sleeve. "You think moving like a ghost makes you strong?"
I lowered my sword. Took one step forward.
Met his eyes.
The blade dropped from his hand with a dull clang.
"I yield," he whispered, chest rising and falling like he'd run for miles.
The crowd clapped.
I didn't hear them.
I turned. Walked away. Blade low. Back straight.
It wasn't victory. It wasn't glory.
It was just another silence.
And I was still listening.
<-Flynn>
Across from me stood Set—a prodigy from Group Two. The kind of cadet people whispered about before the matches began. Focused. Controlled. His sword barely moved, but the ground always answered him.
As soon as the bell rang, the arena shifted. I could feel the tremors ripple beneath my boots—subtle at first, then sharp, like the arena itself was trying to throw me off.
But I didn't fight it.
I moved with it.
Every quake, every pulse, I flowed through like wind bending around stone. Where others stumbled, I stepped light. Where most froze, I found space.
Set didn't speak—just pressed forward, trying to box me in. His sword stayed rooted in the soil, channeling force with every drag. Dust curled around his feet. Pebbles danced with each wave.
But I kept moving.
Fast enough to slip past his pressure, slow enough to wait for the moment that mattered.
And it came.
He stepped too far—just a little—and his weight shifted forward.
I was already there.
One clean stroke across his shoulder. Light. Precise.
He froze.
Then slowly, he knelt.
"You win," he said, voice steady, gaze never dropping.
I reached out my hand.
He looked at it for a second, then took it without hesitation.
There was no anger in his grip. No bruised pride.
Just respect.
That's the kind of fighter Set was.
And me?
I didn't smile. I didn't soak in the crowd or wait for applause.
I just nodded.
And walked off the stage like I'd done a hundred times in my head.
<-Lisa>
The arena floor is stone beneath my boots. Cool. Still. Reiner and I was already on this stage waiting for the bell.He is taller chocolate skinned and huge for a 12 year old. He's wearing twice the standard training weight. Brute force in cadet form.
Good.
The bell rings.
He charges like a beast, no time wasted—swinging with everything he has, trying to crush me early.
I meet him head-on.
No shouting. No flair. Just steel against steel. My blade finds his—not to block, but to guide. I don't stop his strength. I redirect it. Turn every heavy strike into a stumble. Every wild swing into a gap.
He grunts, tries again. Louder this time.
He wants a fight that echoes.
I give him silence.
Every parry is clean. Every step, calculated. I don't move more than I need to. I don't waste energy.
I break him down piece by piece.
He starts breathing heavier. Footwork sloppy. Blade dragging.
That's when I press.
Two steps. A pivot.
His sword's gone.
My blade touches the hollow just beneath his jaw.
He freezes ,yielded afterwards.
I lower my sword and walk off the stage without looking back.
The fight is over.
I don't need to celebrate it.
I just need to win.
<-Kael>
Then… it was my turn.
Mirae stood across from me—twin daggers in her hands, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes.
She was fast. Unreasonably fast. She moved in circles, drawing patterns in the dirt with her feet like a dancer preparing her final performance.
"I heard you were different," she said, flipping a dagger in one hand. "Let's find out."
The bell rang.
And she vanished into motion.
I struggled to follow at first. Her blades came from strange angles, slipping through gaps I didn't even know I left open. I would've been torn apart—if not for the Core.
It didn't protect me, not exactly.
It guided me.
I felt her before she moved. The tiniest flickers—intentions, not actions. The pulse inside me synced with the tempo of her rhythm, the quiet beat behind her twirls.
I waited.
She stepped wide—too wide—and her left dagger hung just a second longer than it should have.
I moved.
Steel met wrist. Her weapon fell.
My sword touched her collar.
She blinked, then smiled wide. "You're not what I expected, Kael."
"Neither are you," I said, lowering my blade.
We shook hands.
And I exhaled.
---
By day's end, four names remained:
Nora, the girl with no name.
Lisa, the blade with no voice.
Flynn, the shadow turned swordsman.
And me— well...
We didn't say it aloud, but we all felt it in the way we stared across the arena:
This wasn't just the end of a tournament.
It was the beginning of something much harder.
Out of sixty-five cadets, only four stood.
Now, only two would advance.
And only one would win.
But the truth?
That didn't scare me.
<-FLYNN>
The arena was silent as I stepped forward, facing Lisa under the burning noon sky. The cheers from the last match had faded into a tense hush. I could feel the heat radiating off the stone, off the air, off my own skin.
I glanced at her.
Lisa.
Battered but unbroken. Her grip steady, her stare locked on me.
The judge gave a nod.
This was it.
I moved first—fluid, sharp, just like I practiced. My blade sliced through the air in a precise arc toward her shoulder.
CLACK!
She blocked it with ease.
Her blade met mine like it was waiting for me. We exchanged a flurry of strikes—clean, quick, controlled. Pure swordplay.
But she kept pushing.
Her rhythm… it was relentless. She hit harder with each exchange, gaining ground like a tide that refused to recede.
I stepped back.
She surged forward.
<-LISA>
The moment he retreated, I knew.
He was slipping.
I let go of defense—stripped everything down to offense.
Strike. Step. Strike again.
His elegance couldn't hold against brute rhythm. My blade came down in arcs, again and again, fast enough that I barely registered his counters.
Then—
A hit.
He winced, stumbled. Blood—just a scratch, but enough to shift everything.
<-FLYNN>
She'd drawn first blood.
My arms shook.
No choice now.
I exhaled and let my energy surge. Heat flared around me as five rods of fire appeared above my head—compressed, focused.
"Let's see you dance through this," I muttered.
One by one, I launched them at her.
<-LISA>
Fire.
Of course.
I didn't flinch.
Instead, I slammed my heel into the stone—lightning burst beneath me, shattering the floor and disrupting the rods mid-flight.
Sparks licked my skin as I rose through the smoke.
His flames were strong.
But not enough.
<-FLYNN>
She was faster than she had any right to be.
Fine.
Let's go all in.
Flames coated my blade as more rods formed above me—this time laced with wind. I condensed the air under my feet, ready to launch.
I could feel it—the edge of collapse.
"Nice," I called across the ring. "Give me all you've got."
<-LISA>
I didn't respond.
Didn't need to.
Electricity danced along my arms, crackling across the blade at my side. My stance narrowed. Sword raised beside my cheek. Focused. Calm.
The crowd disappeared.
It was just him. Just me.
We charged.
<-FLYNN>
I fired every rod mid-sprint, wind howling around me. Each one sang through the air—deadly, perfect.
She moved like lightning.
Literally.
Each arrow burst against her blade or missed by inches, her path clean, sharp, unreal.
Then we met.
CLANG!
Explosion.
Heat. Noise. Smoke.
I skidded backward, coughing through the haze, my arm screaming in protest. I was still standing—but barely. The heat had drained me. My left arm was… done.
She was still moving charging towards me.
No.
I can't let it end like this.
I summoned a final gust of wind at my back just as she advanced. I waited—still, focused—until she drew close.
Then, with a flick of my right hand, I conjured a spiraling current that launched me sharply to the left, narrowly evading her strike.
She gave chase, but too late. By the time she realized the real attack was coming from behind me, her guard was already down.
Electricity crackled around her instinctively—just enough to dampen the blow, but not escape it entirely.
<-LISA>
The blast hit hard. My ribs ached. He wasn't done yet.
But neither was I.
I let go of the aura, the sparks, the spectacle.
This wasn't about power anymore.
Just movement.
Breathe in. Step forward.
I weaved through the wind. Dodged the embers. Every step carved through the noise.
He looked up.
His eyes widened. "Impossible…"
Thud.
My blade struck his chest—center mass. Not lethal, but solid.
He crumpled before the echo faded.
The crowd didn't move.
Didn't speak.
I stood there, breathing hard, shoulders burning, muscles trembling.
But I didn't fall.
The smoke cleared behind me.
And I stood alone.
Victorious.
<-KAEL>
The arena floor felt hotter than before.
Dust still floated from Lisa and Flynn's battle, glowing faintly in the golden light. I stepped forward, heart thudding like a war drum. Beside me, Nora walked calmly—graceful, composed, unreadable.
A different kind of tension gripped the crowd. The cheers weren't just noise anymore.
They were pressure.
"Let's go, Kael!" "Take her down!" "This is our win now!"
I rolled my shoulders, trying to shake the nerves. The voices—mostly men—were loud, certain, desperate to claim some pride after Flynn's defeat.
Across from me, Nora didn't flinch. Didn't blink. She just stood there, like none of it mattered.
And somehow, that rattled me more than anything else.
The instructor raised his hand.
"Ready…"
I tightened my grip on the wooden sword. My fingers ached already. Nora's stance shifted—low, steady, precise. Left foot forward, shoulders square.
"Begin!"
She vanished.
Pain exploded in my left hand before I even understood what had happened.
"AAH—!"
The women's section of the stands erupted.
"Get him!" "This competition belongs to us!" "Go, Nora!"
I stumbled back, eyes wide. My hand throbbed, nerves sparking from the strike. She hadn't hesitated. Not for a second.
And she didn't stop.
She was on me again in an instant, a storm wrapped in human form. Her strikes came like drumbeats—sharp, constant, unrelenting. Every time I thought I could counter, she was already inside the move, already punishing me for thinking I had space.
Her sword flashed—this one too close.
I ducked just in time, the blade slicing the air by my cheek. My footing faltered, and on instinct, I drove my foot up, slamming it into her stomach.
It wasn't clean—but it worked.
She staggered back a step. Not much. Just enough.
I gasped for breath, trying to find a rhythm. My hand screamed. Sweat stung my eyes.
This was bad.
But I had to keep fighting.
I lunged—desperate, reckless.
She swatted the strike aside like it was a toy and drove her blade into my thigh with a clean, brutal hit.
White-hot pain shot up my leg. My balance vanished. I dropped to one knee, breathing hard.
Nora stood over me—sword raised, perfectly still.
Her voice cut through the ringing in my ears.
"Do you still want to continue?"
She wasn't taunting me.
She was giving me a choice.
I looked up at her. The way she held herself—calm, deadly, dignified—like she already knew how this would end. The pain in my leg throbbed, sharp and deep.
And I knew it too.
I let out a long breath. My fingers opened. The sword slipped from my hand.
"I yield."
For a second, the world held its breath with me.
Silence.
Then—
The arena exploded.
Not with the usual roar from the boys.
But with the voices of every woman in the crowd. A wall of cheers, cries, celebration—pure, electric pride.
I blinked up at the sky, lungs burning.
I'd lost.
But it didn't feel bitter.
I turned my head and found her—my mother—in the crowd. She wasn't cheering for me.
She was cheering for Nora.
And somehow, that was okay.
A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.
I'd given everything I had. And now I knew what stood above me.
Strength, clarity, precision.
Nora didn't bask in the praise. She didn't wave or gloat. She just bowed her head slightly and turned, walking off the battlefield with quiet grace.
The crowd kept cheering.
Flowers, scarves, little gifts rained down across the floor.
But Nora never reached for a single one.
She'd already claimed what she came for.