The Prefect stared at Kael for a long moment, his face a mask of disbelief. Then, he barked a short, ugly laugh. The sound broke the tension in the hall, and a wave of derisive snickering rippled through the gathered disciples.
"Did you hear that?" a boy near Lyren sneered. "The janitor wants to play cultivator."
Lyren himself didn't laugh. He simply watched Kael with an expression of profound, intellectual disgust, as if observing a bug that had learned to mimic speech. "Audacity must be a symptom of the rot that comes with being rootless," he commented coolly to his friends. "Someone put this creature out of its misery."
The Prefect waved a dismissive hand. "Get out of here before I have you thrown from the edge of the island for wasting my time. The tournament is for disciples, not… whatever you are."
Kael did not move. His face remained a placid lake, giving no hint of the iron resolve beneath. He let their mockery wash over him, as meaningless as the wind. When the laughter subsided, he spoke again, his voice carrying with unnatural clarity in the suddenly quiet hall.
"By the Lyceum Charter, written in the fifth year of the First Archon, Volume Three, Appendix Four, I petition for a Challenge of Worthiness."
He recited the words perfectly, not like a boy repeating something he'd overheard, but like a scholar citing a foundational text.
The laughter died instantly. The disciples exchanged confused glances. The sneer on the Prefect's face froze, replaced by a flicker of stunned confusion. "What did you just say?"
"The rule states," Kael continued, his gaze unwavering, "that any resident of Aeridor may petition for entry into a public contest, provided they first pass a trial of martial and spiritual aptitude, as designed by the presiding masters. It has not been invoked, but it has never been rescinded."
The Prefect was speechless. That a piece of filth, a cleaner, would not only know of the Charter's existence but could cite an appendix that he, a ranking Prefect, had never even heard of, was unthinkable. It was as if his own cleaning rag had stood up and begun lecturing him on the law.
"That's... that's an archaic provision! It's obsolete!" the Prefect stammered, his authority rapidly crumbling.
"A law is a law," Kael stated simply. "Or has the Theocracy's devotion to its own charter become obsolete?"
He had them. He had used the rigid, unbending nature of their society as a weapon against itself. To deny the Charter, even an obscure part of it, was to challenge the authority of the Archons who wrote it. The Prefect, sweating now, knew he was out of his depth. He sent a junior disciple scrambling to fetch a senior master.
The news spread like wildfire. A rootless mortal cleaner challenging the Lyceum's laws. It was scandalous, it was thrilling. By the time the hawk-faced Senior Prefect arrived—the very one who had dismissed Kael in the library—a considerable crowd had gathered.
The Senior Prefect listened to the report, his cold eyes fixed on Kael. He radiated power and displeasure. "You are the one?" he asked, his voice dripping with menace.
"I am," Kael said.
The Senior Prefect conferred with a legal scholar, who, after consulting a data crystal, grudgingly confirmed it. The rule was real. An embarrassing, ancient loophole. A wave of murmuring went through the crowd. Lyren watched, his arms crossed, his disgust now mingled with a sliver of genuine curiosity. This was no longer just an amusing diversion.
"Very well," the Senior Prefect announced, his voice booming. "The law will be upheld. The petitioner will be granted his Challenge of Worthiness. A trial to be held immediately."
He turned to the other masters, a cruel smile playing on his lips. They could not deny the trial, but they could define it.
"The trial will have two parts, as stipulated," he declared. "First, a test of martial prowess. The petitioner will face a Mark III Guardian automaton. He must survive for five minutes." A gasp went through the disciples. A Mark III was a relentless combat trainer, used to drill disciples who had already solidified their Spirit Cores. For a mortal, it was a death sentence.
"Second," the Senior Prefect continued, his eyes glinting, "a test of spiritual aptitude. The petitioner will place his hand upon the Resonance Stone. The stone measures the flow of active Qi. To pass, he must cause it to emit light. Any light at all."
This was the true checkmate. It was a test designed specifically for a cultivator. To make the stone glow required an active, directed flow of Qi from a spiritual root. A rootless boy had no Qi to direct. It was an impossible, targeted test. Failure was not just likely; it was a matter of fundamental law.
The crowd buzzed. They had given the boy his chance, but it was a chance to be publicly and humiliatingly crushed.
"Do you accept the terms of the challenge, petitioner?" the Senior Prefect asked, the title dripping with sarcasm.
Kael looked at the automaton being rolled into the main training arena—a ten-foot-tall construct of white steel and crystal, its multifaceted eye glowing a menacing red. He looked at the simple, crystalline sphere of the Resonance Stone being placed on a pedestal. He saw the path to the Void-Quenched Luminite, and this was the toll.
"I accept," he said, without a trace of hesitation.
A hush fell over the Lyceum. The cleaner, the ghost of the hallways, walked from the registration hall toward the sun-drenched arena. Hundreds of eyes were on him, a mixture of scorn, pity, and morbid fascination.
He stepped onto the white sand of the arena. Opposite him, the Mark III Guardian whirred to life, its metal joints groaning as it rose to its full, intimidating height. The impossible trial was about to begin.