The forest shimmered under an artificial golden sun, the air thick with the scent of moss and damp earth. The Grandmaster's magic had crafted an arena that breathed like a living creature—leaves whispering, soil soft under boots, shafts of light cutting through the towering canopy.
Seven from Class 1C stood in a loose circle, the green-and-gold emblem stitched over their chests gleaming faintly. Across the clearing, 1D's squad loomed, each bearing an identical predatory grin—except for one. The tall figure stood apart, broad shoulders relaxed, face shadowed by the brim of a hood. Even from here, Wads could feel something faint, like a low vibration in the air—an echo from the locket tucked under his shirt.
"Alright," Wads' voice was steady, low enough for only his team to hear. "We're not rushing in. We don't need to. We'll win this without breaking a sweat—unless you're Clamber, in which case, you'll be sweating a lot."
Nash snorted, but his grip on the hilt of his curved blade was tight.
Yetro adjusted the strap of his crossbow. "What's the play?"
"Divide and disarm," Wads said, eyes narrowing. "Clamber's going to come straight for me—let him. The rest of you move like shadows. Don't focus on taking them all out—focus on the flag. It's their pride, not just a piece of cloth."
Meiko tilted her head, the corner of her mouth twitching. "And you? You're just going to… entertain him?"
"Entertain," Wads repeated with a hint of a smirk. "That's one word for it."
From the opposite side, Clamber barked a laugh, already rolling his shoulders. "You're mine, Waxzi!" His voice boomed through the clearing. "This time, I'll break that smug face of yours!"
Reiyell, watching from the observation platform far above, leaned forward with a predator's interest. "Oh, this should be good."
Beside him, Liora's eyes were fixed on Wads. She didn't even realize she was holding her breath.
Keiya sat upright, a gloved hand resting on her knee. "If Waxzi loses to that loudmouth, I'll be… very disappointed."
"Relax," Klyden said with his trademark grin, though his fists were clenched. "Wads isn't the type to lose. Especially not to someone like Clamber."
The Grandmaster's voice boomed above the forest, deep and resonant.
"BEGIN."
In an instant, the forest erupted into motion.
---
Wads didn't move first. He let Clamber come. The bigger boy barreled forward, each step a heavy thud, sword raised high. His speed was impressive for his size, but Wads saw every movement before it happened—the way his left foot angled too much inward, the overcommitment of his swing, the sloppy grip.
The first clash never came. Wads simply sidestepped, letting Clamber's blade cut through empty air.
"That's new," Wads said calmly, hands still at his sides. "You're slower than I remember."
Clamber snarled, spinning to slash again. Wads didn't even draw his weapon—he leaned back just enough for the steel to pass inches from his nose.
From the platform, Reiyell's lips curved. "He's toying with him."
Clamber's strikes grew wilder, heavier. Wads ducked, weaved, let his opponent's fury burn hotter until sweat trickled down Clamber's temples. Then—when the perfect moment came—Wads stepped in.
One palm strike to the wrist.
One swift kick behind the knee.
Clamber stumbled, and Wads plucked the sword from his grip like taking a toy from a child.
"You shouldn't rely on a weapon you can't control," Wads said, spinning the blade in his hand before tossing it aside into the moss.
A roar of laughter erupted from the 1C side of the stands.
Liora hid her smile behind her hand. "He's insufferable."
Klyden whooped. "That's our Wads!"
Clamber came again, fists swinging. Wads moved like water, slipping around each blow, tapping Clamber's shoulder, forehead, ribs—not hard enough to injure, but enough to remind him he was being outclassed. Every miss only made the boy's face redder.
Finally, Wads ended it.
One pivot.
One sweep of the leg.
Clamber hit the ground hard, the air leaving his lungs in a gasp.
Wads crouched beside him, voice low enough that only Clamber could hear.
"That's the difference between us. You fight to win. I fight to never lose."
With that, Wads stood, dusting off his hands as if the fight had been nothing but an inconvenience. The 1C flag runner had already taken advantage of the distraction, slipping through the chaos toward their opponent's flag.
---
But the battle wasn't over.
On the far side of the clearing, Nash's fight with the tall, hooded man had turned brutal. Nash's sword arm trembled from the force of repeated blocks. The man moved with an eerie precision—no wasted motion, every strike deliberate. His weapon was a long, dark spear, its tip glowing faintly with an unknown energy.
"Damn it—" Nash staggered back as the spear swept past his ribs, slicing his uniform.
From the stands, Ysoria Eldridge leaned forward, her blue eyes wide. "That guy… he's different. He's not even using full strength yet."
Thaddeus Wynthrope's jaw tightened. "Wads will have to deal with him."
And almost as if summoned by those words, Wads' attention shifted. The clash of steel and the snap of energy from Nash's corner drew his gaze—and then he felt it. The locket under his shirt pulsed once, twice, like a heartbeat not his own. His chest tightened.
The tall man turned his head slightly, eyes locking on Wads from across the chaos. It was like looking into the abyss and finding it staring back.
Nash went down on one knee, panting, sweat beading on his brow.
Wads didn't waste time. He stepped past the groaning form of Clamber, his boots crunching over twigs and leaves.
The tall man straightened, planting the spear in the ground beside him. The forest seemed to still for a breath.
"Your turn," the man said, voice deep and unfamiliar—yet something about it sent a strange, shivering recognition through Wads' bones.
The locket burned hot against his skin.
And the chapter closed with Wads meeting his gaze, unblinking.