The portal light peeled away, and Feng's boots struck stone. He blinked once, twice, and found himself not in some quiet chamber but at the center of a colossal arena. The sudden swell of noise rolled over him like surf.
The place was alive. Hundreds of fresh students crowded the circular floor—some flushed with triumph, others pale and clutching their new Arsura interfaces, faces still damp from earlier tears. The combatants who had fought their way through the practical trial stood closest to the center, while beyond them, filling whole sections of the stands, non-combat examinees waited. They had faced their own trial—a written exam designed to test mental acuity, knowledge of runic theory, and Qi arithmetic. Some of them scribbled last notes on thin-system slates, comparing answers nervously while whispering into the dusk.
The arena itself was vast: polished stone ringed by twenty-tier stands, the outermost archways flanked by banners of each academy division—Combat, Strategy, Support, Craft, Archives. High above, balconies glimmered with upperclassmen robes. Dozens of older students leaned on railings, eyes sharp, measuring the fresh arrivals with the detached air of predators watching new prey. They didn't cheer. Some clapped politely, others only nodded as if ticking a box.
As Feng's figure resolved fully from the portal light, the nearest stands rippled. Whispers shot like sparks:
"Is that him?""The one who cleared Floor 30?""But he's not from Central—how…?""Lisa was first last year. How can—"
The sun was sinking low, bleeding orange through the open roof of the arena. It painted the stone floor in long shadows, throwing the newcomers' silhouettes across each other. Feng's stood taller than most, steady, a blade among reeds. He ignored the chatter. His gaze traced the exits, the instructors posted at the edge of the arena, the way the upperclassmen were already standing to leave. Always assessing.
And then—movement. A familiar shape cut through the crowd, bouncing with a bright smile.
"Feng!" Maria's voice rang over the buzz. She skidded the last few steps and grabbed his arm, eyes shining. "That was amazing. You—you don't even look tired."
Before he could answer, she turned, tugging another girl forward. "Oh! This is Rose. We were friends long before the academy."
Rose, a quiet-eyed girl with dark auburn hair, inclined her head. "I've heard the stories," she said softly. Her tone carried neither awe nor disbelief, only a clean, measured respect. "It seems you're even sharper in person."
Feng returned the nod. "Nice to meet you."
Their small circle formed on the arena floor, just as the last upperclassman in the stands clapped once, sharp, then turned and walked away. One by one, the rest followed until the balconies stood empty. The air grew heavier in their absence—because something else was arriving.
A sudden swell of pressure rolled down from above, thicker than any crowd's murmur. Every student froze.
Four figures hung in the sky above the arena, their presence dragging the very Qi currents into stillness. No names needed to be spoken—their auras announced them as instructors of the highest rank. Even Maria's breath caught in her throat; Rose lowered her gaze instinctively. Some students clutched their chests, as though lungs themselves resisted working under the weight.
At their head stood a broad-shouldered man whose stance radiated the economy of a seasoned warrior. When he finally spoke, his voice carried without shouting, rolling across the arena like low thunder.
"For those of you who passed," said David, Head of Combat Classes, "you will now be guided to your assigned dormitories. Your placement is already sealed—today's performance determined everything. For those who failed the combat trial or chose the non-combat path, the Arsura System is granted to you as a parting gift. Do not despair—paths are many. Grow where your strength leads you."
The words fell like hammer and balm both. Along the edges, instructors in gray cloaks began moving, gently shepherding students toward different exits. Some resisted, pleading. Others walked hollow-eyed. A few wept openly. By the time the last of them had vanished, the arena floor felt thinner, emptier.
Then a tall figure stepped forward from the line of instructors still remaining. Her hair, silver as moonlight, was pulled back in a tight braid, and her expression was colder than steel fresh from quench.
"I am Reta, Head of Dorm Management." Her gaze swept across the students, eyes like ice lances. "Your ADP points are your lifeblood here. They determine your privileges, your sustenance, and yes—your dormitories. The tiers are as follows:"
She lifted a hand, and golden script blazed in the air above her:
Dormitory Pricing (per term):1-Star: 50–100 ADP2-Star: 105–205 ADP3-Star: 210–310 ADP4-Star: 320–450 ADP5-Star: 500–650 ADP6-Star: 700–810 ADP7-Star: 1200–2000 ADP
"Choose wisely," Reta finished, her tone making it sound less like advice and more like judgment.
Beside her, another figure stepped forward—a woman in simpler robes but with a ledger that glowed with runic calculation. Sora, administrator for ADP transactions. She scanned the crowd until her eyes landed on Feng.
"You," she said, voice ringing. "Feng Jian."
The crowd's whispers reignited.
"He's the one—""Number One outside of Central?!""No, impossible, that's—"
Sora tilted her slate, runes flickering. "For shattering every record up to Floor 30, you have been credited with 10,000 ADP. They are yours to claim at any time."
A silence followed, heavy and brittle. Central's pride had always been that its scions dominated the top slots. For one from beyond to be awarded more ADP in a single stroke than many families hoarded over years—it cracked assumptions like pottery.
Even Rose blinked once, quietly astonished. Maria, however, grinned.
The crowd began to disperse as lines formed. Those from Central and other great hubs moved briskly toward instructors, their dorms already arranged by upperclassman sponsors. Sponsorship was power—secured rooms, meal rights, even early access to combat halls.
Rose gave Maria a quick hug. "My sponsor arranged my place. I'll see you both around." She left smoothly, vanishing into the flow.
Feng stood still, silent, undecided. His gaze roamed, calculating distances, assessing dorm tiers without yet choosing. His thoughts ran practical, detached, but the storm around him was clear: the whispers, the glares, the envy.
Then—
"Maria! Feng!"
The voice snapped through the noise.
They turned to see Ava approaching, a calm-faced instructor at her side. Ava, close to Lisa, hair short and brown, carried herself with brisk certainty. She didn't explain—she simply said:
"Follow me."
Maria didn't question, she fell into step beside her. Feng met Ava's eyes for a long beat, then followed, footsteps silent.
From the lines forming in the arena, Xing caught the motion. His group paused mid-calculation as he turned, gaze narrowing on the trio's disappearing backs.
"Already getting special treatment, huh?" he muttered. His lips pulled tight, but his eyes gleamed with something sharper than envy.
"Next!" barked the instructor beside him.
Xing turned back, but his mind lingered.
Above the arena, the last light of the sun dipped below the horizon, leaving only torch-glow and whispering banners as the students filed toward their futures.