As the sun was slowly swallowed by the curved smile of the moon, the stars ignited across the night sky, dancing freely in a darkness unburdened by clouds. The world below shimmered in a quiet, mystical glow, casting long shadows over the still-warm dueling grounds.
Percy stood near the edge of the arena, arms folded, watching the empty stage being swept clean after the latest match. A rare smile tugged at his lips—not triumph, just clarity.
For once, the chaos felt... organized.
"How much longer are we going to be here?"
Beta's voice chimed in his mind, laced with weariness and that familiar trace of childlike impatience that always surfaced at the most inconvenient times.
Percy chuckled softly.
"Don't worry," he said, reaching up to gently pat her spectral head, "I think we're finally reaching the day's climax."
His gaze slid to Dalton, who sat nearby, visibly struggling to stay awake.
"So far, we've got Mei Wugongshi, Aria Klingenhart, you, and me confirmed for the second battlefield," Percy said casually, watching Dalton's head start to droop.
Dalton, teetering between reality and dreamland, gave a weak nod.
Flick.
Dalton jerked upright with a yelp, rubbing his forehead in confusion.
"Hey! What was that for?!"
Percy didn't flinch. Arms crossed, one eyebrow arched.
"You do realize the exam's not over yet, right?"
Dalton groaned, slumping further into the bench.
"It's just taking forever… I'm getting bored and sleepy. The sun's already down, and we're still sitting here like unpaid extras."
Percy let out a slow sigh, the kind that said: must I explain the obvious again?
"There are three thousand students trying to get into Solarskis, Dalton. You think they're going to let us nap through the process?"
Dalton opened his mouth—
"No. Stop. I'm not done."
Percy's voice cut him off, calm but firm.
"This is the premier academy in the world. Just attending Solarskis opens doors others can't even knock on. Even the ones who get expelled leave with higher prospects than most people see in a lifetime."
Dalton blinked, sheepish.
"...Okay, that's fair."
Percy kept going, eyes narrowing in mock interrogation.
"So yeah, they're going to run us into the ground. Solarskis doesn't admit people who want the easy path. They admit people who keep moving even when it's hard to see the finish line."
A pause.
"So… remind me: what's the school's creed?"
Dalton straightened with a smirk, finally confident about something.
"Veritas per Virtutem, Scientiam, et Humanitatem."
"Truth through Strength, Knowledge, and Humanity."
Percy clapped—slow, dramatic.
"Very nice. Gold star. Now… what does it mean?"
Dalton's smirk vanished.
"…I don't know."
Percy snorted. Then he did something rare—he smiled, genuinely, and patted Dalton's head like a very confused puppy.
"It means this place isn't just about brawn or brains. It's about who we become while we're here."
He turned his eyes to the stars.
"Strength and intelligence are tools. What matters is how we use them—and why."
"Solarskis doesn't want conquerors. It wants protectors, thinkers, leaders—people who understand that truth isn't just something you know. It's something you live."
Dalton went quiet, for once fully processing every word.
Percy glanced over at him.
"Still sleepy?"
Dalton shook his head slowly. "...Not anymore."
Dalton blinked, the weight of Percy's explanation settling slowly into place.
"So… it's not just about being strong. They're looking for people who still see others as human beings."
"Solarskis isn't just trying to make us better mages or warriors. It's trying to make us better people."
Percy gave a small, approving nod, resting a hand briefly on Dalton's shoulder.
"Exactly."
He tilted his head toward the crowd, silently prompting Dalton to observe.
Dalton looked.
And what he saw caught him off guard.
Across the stone platform and surrounding arena grounds, scattered among bruised egos and tired eyes, were quiet acts of kindness:
"Hey, you look exhausted. I've got some extra energy potions—take one."
"Only one blanket, but you can share it if you're cold."
Stomach growls "...Hey. Half of my meatball sub's yours if you want it."
People who had been strangers only hours ago were now tending to one another—no status, no scorecards, just quiet empathy.
Dalton exhaled, stunned.
"This is… amazing."
Percy's voice beside him was calm, distant.
"I know what you mean."
For Percy, the warmth unfolding before him wasn't comforting—it was unfamiliar. Too foreign to trust, yet too honest to ignore.
"I lost my parents before I even understood what love was supposed to feel like."
Most of his early memories of his mother were fragmented, but the ones that remained were like etched glass—small, clear, and unshakably vivid.
"I grew up fast. Because I had to. Not because I was ready."
"At nine years old, I had already learned the first rule of adulthood: don't trust anyone."
The memory of his aunt's cold hands and sharper words returned, replayed like a curse.
"Compassion is a liability."
"Why protect someone else when you can't even protect yourself?"
He remembered his sister. The little girl with the softest smile—who always stood behind him when their uncle staggered home, reeking of violence.
He could still see her curled up in that dark closet… still hear the silence in her tears.
"She never cried when I was around."
And that was all that mattered.
"Bella and Drake… my lovely cousins. Soulless, obedient to cruelty. My aunt—the master manipulator. My uncle—the executioner."
Percy clenched his fists.
"They taught me what it meant to survive. But they also taught me what it meant to promise."
On the day he left that house, after reclaiming the secret inheritance fund his parents had hidden away, Percy remembered the look on their faces—not fear. Not sadness. Just rage.
His uncle's final words echoed like iron chains wrapped around his spine.
"Roll in your victory now, boy. But one day… despair will visit your world. And it will start with her."
That voice—venomous, prophetic.
Even now, standing at Solarskis, Percy wished he'd silenced it back then.
"I should've ended him when I had the chance."
Dalton, oblivious to the storm brewing behind Percy's eyes, kept scanning the arena. He blinked and tilted his head.
"So, in the final stretch… we've got Mei Wugongshi, Aria Klingenhart, you, me…"
"Lyra Caelumis, Ava Tsurugikin, Emma Sabrelan, Yumi Bushidoyama… and Marcus Vestalyn."
He paused, counting again.
"That's nine. Who's the tenth?"
Percy stared down at his badge, shaking his head slightly.
"I don't know," he muttered. "I guess… they requested to keep their identity hidden."
Dalton frowned, puzzled—but the moment passed too quickly to question.
Above them, the final echoes of applause faded as Helen rose from her seat, her form ethereal against the jungle's twilight backdrop. Her golden hair caught the wind, cascading like silk spun from starlight, while the spectral dragon beneath her shimmered with celestial grace.
Helen hovered in the air, voice rising with warm elegance:
"We've now arrived at the climax of the Magical Duels. With the top ten from each battleground decided, this marks the beginning of the end."
She smiled—bright, reassuring, but underneath that radiance was a flicker of something… older. Heavier.
"To those who remain, you've endured a day of ceaseless trials—your willpower, your mana, your spirit tested again and again."
"This labyrinth limits your recovery. That is not an accident. It's by design. We wanted to see what remains when your power is gone… and only your resolve is left."
The audience watched in quiet awe.
But then her voice shifted—a thread of grief woven into the rhythm.
"During the Eclipse of Eternal Blood War, against the corrupted vampire clans, thousands died to keep their darkness from consuming the domain labyrinths."
"I was born on the battlefield. I bled on soil that didn't know peace. I've walked entire decades with nothing but fragments of mana, broken sleep, and a will that had no business surviving."
A single tear glinted at the corner of her eye—a drop of memory she hadn't meant to summon.
"The pain you feel now? I remember it. But we endured. And we won."
Her voice brightened again—not falsely, but with strength that carried weight.
"So when I tell you this—know it's not a platitude:
Your struggle is seen. Your efforts matter. And your story… is only beginning."
The light around her seemed to pulse in time with her heart.
"But we must move forward."
She raised her hand, and twenty shimmering dots of silver light spiraled around the remaining contestants.
"Your badge numbers have changed. If you are among the final twenty, glance down now."
Percy and Dalton both did. Their numbers shimmered, then reformed.
"Now… look above me."
Helen tossed a handful of silver dust into the air. It swirled upward, forming a glowing board of matchups suspended above the arena.
One by one, heads tilted back.
Eyes scanned.
Matchups appeared.
And then—
Percy's entire body went still.
His expression collapsed into something almost foreign.
Color drained from his face. The boy who had weathered the day with cunning, power, and subtle confidence… now looked as if he'd seen a ghost he thought was buried.
Dalton glanced up at the board.
"Looks like I'm fighting someone named Lucas Doran," he said absently.
He turned back to Percy.
"Hey, who are y—?"
He stopped. Percy wasn't moving. His hands trembled slightly—barely noticeable unless you knew what to look for.
"Percy?"
No answer.
Dalton followed his friend's gaze.
He looked up.
And saw the name.
Even Dalton fell silent.
"...Oh," he whispered, his voice caught in his throat.
"Oh… Percy."
Percy's mouth opened, but no sound came.
"My next fight is with—"
Helen's voice cut through the stillness like a blade of light.
"Examinees 2 and 1, please approach the stage."
But Percy barely registered it.
His mind was a cyclone.
{Who did this? Who set this up? Who's interfering with the matches? Was it the Judges? The Sacred Families?}
And then…
The thought he'd pushed deepest into the dark reached up like a clawed hand.
{...Was it him?}
{My uncle?}
The jungle was still.
But inside Percy's chest?
A storm howled.
His mind raced—faces, voices, doubts all crowding his thoughts like smoke in a burning room. Each breath was shallow. The world around him became distant, a blur soaked in dread.
Then—
CRACK.
Dalton's palm collided with Percy's cheek—loud enough to silence the air.
Every nearby head turned.
Percy staggered.
The fog in his mind broke.
"Get it together, dumbass!" Dalton barked, voice shaking with urgency.
"You have to fight!"
Percy blinked. Focus returned like a snapped rubber band. His eyes met Dalton's, scanning every microexpression.
And then—just for a moment—he smiled.
"Thank you, man."
Dalton blinked in surprise, before cracking a grin.
WHAM.
Percy slapped him back, just as hard—then punched him square in the gut.
Dalton doubled over, groaning. "Ow—okay—what the hell was that for?"
"For thinking you could smack me and not get hit back." Percy chuckled darkly, his voice more centered now.
"Don't get cocky, Greeves."
He turned toward the stage.
Every step forward felt heavier.
His jaw clenched. His throat burned. Sweat traced down his back, cold and unwelcome. His hands trembled—barely visible—but they trembled all the same.
His vision blurred at the edges.
{Keep it together. You're fine. You're fine. You're—}
Up above, Helen's expression turned sharp. She saw the signs.
{Someone tampered with the brackets.}
Her telepathic voice rang out like a blade drawn in silence.
Yaroslav and Eadmund responded instantly.
Yaroslav's gaze locked on Jared Sathe—who bore a tiny, satisfied smirk like a man who had just placed his favorite piece on a chessboard.
Yaroslav's rage was immediate.
His hand shot to his sword hilt. His entire body shifted forward, one breath away from striking in front of the entire audience.
{I will remove his head where he stands.}
But then—
A voice older than war. Colder than history.
{Yaroslav. Don't.}
Eadmund's voice cut through Yaroslav's wrath like ice against fire.
And when Yaroslav looked, the sweet, quiet sage had vanished—replaced by something ancient.
Eadmund's expression was hollow. Murderous.
{We cannot interfere. Not here. Not now.}
{This is Percy's battlefield.}
Percy stepped onto the stage, his boots hitting the stone like war drums beneath water.
His mind was still spinning—was it the Judges? The Sacred Families?
No. The thought he feared the most whispered again.
{Was it my uncle? Did he find a way to reach into this place too?}
His fingers clenched around the hilt of his sheathed sword.
He breathed in.
Called on his Unbreakable Will to center his spinning thoughts.
Then—he looked up.
And saw her.
"Hello, Percy."
Angelica.
The sound of her voice was a balm and a blade—soothing and cruel in equal measure.
Percy's heart sank.
The person who once felt like home now stood across from him, wrapped in Solarskis robes and solemn silence.
"Angelica…" he whispered, voice tight.
"I didn't think we'd ever have to stand like this."
Her eyes held his.
Time froze.
For a second, it was just them—no judges, no war, no prophecy. Just the ache of inevitability.
"Neither did I," she murmured.
"But we always knew this was a possibility."
"We have to give it our all… even if it hurts."
Percy nodded once, swallowing the emotion rising in his throat.
"Just… promise me something," he said, voice barely above a whisper.
"No matter what happens—we're still friends after this."
Angelica's lips curved into a faint smile—one shaped by memories and sadness.
"Of course," she said softly.
"Always."
But the moment Helen's voice rang out, calling for the match to begin—
Everything changed.
The warmth in Angelica's gaze vanished, replaced by cold steel. Her posture straightened, precise. Her aura tightened into a sharpened edge.
"Let's see what you've got, Percy," she said—calm, controlled, and ice-cold.
Percy flinched inwardly at the sudden shift.
"Prepare yourself," she added, tone devoid of the tenderness he once clung to.
{This… isn't like her. Is she suppressing something? Or is this who she becomes when she fights at full strength?}
But he had no time to dwell.
"Spatial Slash!"
Percy vanished in a blink, reappearing behind her. His katana sliced through space, cutting toward her flank.
Angelica pivoted with startling speed, a gust of wind exploding beneath her.
"Wind Shield!"
The barrier deflected his blade, swirling in a spiraling vortex. Her expression was focused, detached.
"You'll have to do better than that."
Percy gritted his teeth.
{Where did she go? The girl who laughed in the rain? The one who cried when she thought I wasn't looking?}
But now wasn't the time for doubt.
"Shadow Spikes!" he called, the ground erupting beneath her feet in dark protrusions.
Angelica leapt into the air, graceful and light.
"Darkness Veil!"
The arena plunged into shadow.
"Don't hold back, Percy," her voice echoed, disembodied.
"Show me your real strength."
Percy stood his ground, activating his Sensory Field, letting the ambient magic map her location through the dark.
"Shadow Pulse."
A shockwave of dark energy erupted from his core, rippling through the arena.
Angelica dodged, weaving between pulses like wind between trees.
"Gale Force!"
A roaring blast of wind exploded toward him.
Percy anchored himself with his katana, gritting his teeth as the gale tore past him.
"You've grown," he muttered, steadying himself.
"But so have I."
"Spatial Bullets."
Small tears in space shot outward—each one seeking her with surgical precision.
Angelica was fast—but not fast enough.
She winced as the impacts landed, her breath hitching.
But she didn't stop.
"I won't lose," Angelica whispered, raising her hand. A blade of darkness shimmered into form—ethereal, jagged, alive.
"Take this!"
She charged.
Percy met her head-on.
Their weapons collided with a sonic crash, the ring of steel and energy resounding through the arena.
"You're stronger than I remember," Percy admitted.
"But I'm not holding back."
"Lightning Fist Jab!"
Electricity surged through his arm as he slammed a punch into her midsection.
Angelica gasped, briefly paralyzed by the shock, but her eyes burned with something fiercer than pain—resolve.
They circled again.
Both were bruised. Both exhausted.
But neither relented.
Percy exhaled deeply.
{This has to end.}
His katana began to glow, the air around it distorting from the pressure building inside.
"Emperor's Crescent!"
He slashed forward—a crescent of spatial energy tearing across the field. The force cracked stone, split air, and surged toward Angelica like a divine judgment.
She tried to summon another Wind Shield, but her mana was gone.
Too much.
Too late.
She stood still, watching the arc close in, breath shallow, heart full.
"Percy…" she whispered.
A flicker of pride. A ghost of sorrow.
Then the blast hit.
Even as their blades danced, Percy's mind kept drifting—not from the fight, but to the face behind the strikes.
"I know this isn't the girl I fell for…"
"…but seeing her this cold—it hurts more than any wound."
Her movements had been flawless. Her magic, deadly.
But it was her silence—the lack of softness in her gaze—that tore at him.
He knew it wasn't all real.
Somewhere beneath the frost… was the girl who once laughed beside him under starlight.
Emperor's Crescent landed.
The light consumed her, and when the arc of power faded—she fell.
Angelica hit the ground with a quiet thud, her body motionless for a moment. Her mana was spent. Her strength gone.
But not her will.
Percy was beside her in an instant.
"Angelica…" he said, voice raw.
"I'm sorry."
He gently reached down, lifting her into a sitting position, his arms bracing her shoulders as she breathed through the exhaustion.
For a moment, she didn't respond.
Then—a faint, flickering smile.
Her eyes met his, and the warmth he had missed—finally returned.
"You did what you had to," she whispered.
"And I'm proud of you."
Helen's voice rang out, clear and resonant:
"Victory to Percy Atlas Magus!"
The crowd erupted into thunderous applause, their cheers echoing through the night sky. But Percy barely heard it.
His world was narrowed to the girl beside him. The one he had just fought. The one he could never truly defeat.
He helped her to her feet, supporting her gently.
She didn't pull away.
Together, they stepped off the stage.
Their bond—tested, scarred, but unbroken.