The bell did not ring. It screamed.
A violent, discordant toll that split the morning sky above Vaelith Academy, shaking the spires to their foundations. Students poured from dormitories, training grounds, and lecture halls as one phrase burned across the sky in crimson System text.
[First-Year Faction War Commencing.]
[All factions prepare. Combat trials begin at dusk.]
[Victory: Seat Security, Resources, Influence.]
[Defeat: Loss of Seat, Exile, or Termination.]
[Observation of Anomaly: Active.]
Eryndor stood alone on the crumbling balcony of The Lost Ones' ruin, watching the students gather like insects below.
Banners rose across the Plaza. House Dawnspire. House Varyn. House Irelith. Dozens of lesser factions desperate for relevance.
Eryndor's crimson gaze shifted. Already, the whisper networks began. The Lost Ones had no banner. They weren't meant to. They were meant to die here.
He turned as his ragged faction assembled behind him. The Mana-Cursed Girl, still trembling but standing straighter. The flickering aura boy, bruised but determined. The Unborn, silent and massive, chains hanging loose at his sides.
Eryndor spread a simple map across a cracked table. The System had displayed every faction. Every name. Every rank. The message was obvious: isolate and eliminate The Lost Ones early. Eryndor traced a cold finger over House Varyn's second-string faction. Ambitious, proud, but weak. A perfect first message.
"We strike first."
The others stiffened. Shock, then realization. Survival through aggression. The Lost Ones moved at dawn.
The Academy shifted.
The moment The Lost Ones stepped into the challenge gate, the world fractured. Reality folded inward, dragging them into an impossible colosseum suspended in a swirling sea of black void.
The combat arena.
Rusted iron pillars jutted like jagged fangs from fractured ground. Faint echoes of past battles lingered in the mist.
Across the cracked arena floor waited House Varyn's second-string faction. Ten students in gleaming red and gold battle armor stood confidently beneath their lion banner, weapons gleaming with enchantments.
Their leader, a tall boy with crimson hair and a polished halberd, smirked arrogantly at the sight of The Lost Ones' ragged appearance.
"You should have stayed in the ruins, Vaelith."
Eryndor stepped forward calmly, cloak dragging across the broken stones.
"You should have brought better men."
The System flared violently above them.
[Challenge Accepted.]
[The Lost Ones vs. House Varyn Auxiliary.]
[Victory Condition: Total incapacitation of opposing faction.]
Varyn's faction surged forward as one.
Eryndor's voice cut sharp and cold.
"Formation Theta. Unborn, front. Mana-Cursed, left flank. Irelith anomaly, center support. No hesitation."
The Unborn crashed into the first wave like a living siege weapon, chain-wrapped fists sending two Varyn students flying across the arena. The Mana-Cursed Girl's unstable spells lashed out, carving molten scars into their shield line.
The battle twisted instantly into chaos.
Varyn's faction had expected desperation. They had not expected discipline.
The Lost Ones adapted and countered at every move, exploiting terrain, baiting overextensions, collapsing their formation systematically.
The tide shifted.
Then the sky above them detonated.
[Special Event Triggered.]
[Observation Priority: Anomaly Combat Detected.]
[New Challenger Entering Arena.]
The void rippled violently.
A third faction materialized from nothing.
Figures in flawless, mirror-black armor. No House banners. No insignias. No names. They moved as one, weapons drawn.
The arena froze in stunned silence.
Eryndor stared, cold realization flashing through him.
The System had sent its real answer.
"So they're done pretending."