The forest clearing was unrecognizable.
Deep cracks fractured the earth in every direction. Entire trees lay uprooted or severed cleanly at their trunks. Boulders were split into jagged pieces, as if some colossal beast had torn through the land in a blind rage.
But there was no beast here—only a single Protector standing at the center of the devastation, chest rising and falling with steady control.
Adlet rolled his shoulder and exhaled, stretching lazily after the final strike.
"Not bad. I hope it's enough."
His tone carried confidence… and a spark of excitement.
The day had finally come.
He dismissed the Black Scarab's aura and walked toward the river. Cool water rushed over his skin, washing away dust and sweat accumulated from weeks of relentless effort. The reflection that stared back at him on the shimmering surface was different now—sharper eyes, stronger frame. A Protector forged by the world's hostility.
He changed into clean clothing—a mix of white fabric wrapped with reinforced brown leather at the vital points. Practical. Agile. Light. Designed for combat.
He slung his pack over his shoulder and took one last look at the ruined training grounds.
Everything he could do here… had been done.
With a steady breath, he started down the dirt path leading back to Tray.
The ascent toward the capital felt shorter this time, not because the distance had changed—but because he had. His steps carried more certainty, more purpose. As he approached the colossal walls rising proudly around the capital, the hum of commotion hit him like a wave.
The Promotion Tournament was underway…
and Tray thrived on its momentum.
Caravans lined the main roads, merchants calling out fresh deals,
travelers from distant towns crowding the market terraces.
Every inn felt overflowing, every shop busy —
the entire city buzzing with the excitement of a rare event.
Stories of the battles — exaggerated, retold, reimagined —
spread with every passing conversation.
Even if most would never step foot inside the academy,
the ripple of the tournament reached every corner of Tray.
There was energy in the air.
Expectation.
Ambition awakenings.
Adlet felt it all as he walked —
a current pushing everyone forward.
If this is how the city responds to a promotion tournament…
what must the Aegis selection be like?
A thrill coiled deep within him —
not anxiety.
Readiness.
He adjusted the strap of his pack on his shoulder
and kept moving.
His journey wasn't over.
It was only changing direction.
Eventually, the towering structures of Darwin Academy rose into view, looming over the plateau like guardians of destiny. The closer he came, the louder the roar of the masses became—anticipation vibrating through the air.
Fortunately, only authorized Protectors were permitted to enter the academy grounds.
Which meant…
Adlet slipped past the barricades with relief, letting the deafening noise fade to a distant roar behind fortified walls.
He enjoyed a good challenge.
But crowds?
Not so much.
Someone waved at him from near the arena entrance.
Polo.
His friend looked far different from a month ago—new coat, polished boots, hair properly styled. He looked… prosperous.
Polo grinned the moment Adlet approached.
"You look like you survived a tornado."
Adlet shrugged. "Close enough."
"And you?" Adlet raised a brow. "I assume business was kind to you?"
Polo scoffed. "Kind? Business cried tears of joy when I arrived. Tournaments bring crowds. Crowds bring money. And money brings… well, more business."
He brushed imaginary dust from his coat, smirking with pride.
"I wouldn't let a single coin slip away from me during a time like this."
"Of course not," Adlet laughed. "You'd sooner fight a Rank 5 Apex barehanded than lose a sale."
"Well…" Polo tapped his chin. "Depends on the size of the Apex."
They shared a laugh before heading deeper inside the academy.
The stands inside the Academy were already filling with Protectors from every region — uniforms of experience, scars of survival, and eyes sharpened by duty.
Adlet and Polo took seats near the front row on the participants' tribune.
The atmosphere was electric.
The central arena lay just ahead—a vast square platform paved with stone tiles, each one reinforced to withstand the devastating forces Protectors could unleash.
Adlet remembered this place well.
He'd stood on those stones less than a year ago.
He'd won.
He'd grown.
And today, he would prove just how much.
A tall man in ornate attire stepped onto the battlefield, the crowd falling silent instantly under the pressure of his powerful voice.
"Today, in the year 980, I officially declare the Master Protector Promotion Tournament… BEGIN!"
The stadium erupted in thunderous applause—dozens of shouts, cheers and excited calls blending into a chaotic symphony.
"We have 162 participants today!" the announcer boomed. "And that means 81 duels await us. Eighty-one opportunity-seekers who will earn the right to ascend into the ranks of the Master Protectors before your very eyes!"
More cheers—more heat from the audience's passion.
"So! Without further delay—let the first duel commence! Enjoy the spectacle!!"
He stepped off the arena as two names were called—two Protectors stepping forward to begin the day's battle.
Adlet leaned back slightly, smirking.
"Looks like I'm not the one opening the tournament this time," Adlet remarked, eyes following the fighters stepping into the arena.
"Strange," Polo replied with a playful lift of his brow. "I was the final duel two years ago."
"Then they must have saved the best Protector for the end," Adlet teased, nudging him lightly.
Polo scoffed with mock pride. "You can keep that title. Being the best merchant suits me perfectly."
Adlet chuckled. "And how exactly does the best merchant plan to negotiate his next victory?"
Polo puffed out his chest, voice full of confidence.
"Through overwhelming force!"
They both laughed.
But after a moment of silence, Polo's expression shifted—more serious now.
"What if… we end up fighting each other?" he asked quietly.
Adlet paused, then answered with a calm certainty:
"Then we give everything. No holding back. And the best man wins."
He nudged Polo lightly with his shoulder.
"Just saying… when I win, your grand plans for expanding your company might have to wait another year."
Polo smirked. "I can accept that. I'm more worried about your pride… when I beat you."
Adlet grinned. "It would take much more than that to break me."
Their rivalry simmered, friendly but undeniably real.
And then—
They turned their attention back to the arena.
The opening duels were intense. Techniques flashed, auras clashed, and each display of strength forced Adlet to analyze every movement. He didn't waste a second—his eyes absorbed every stance, every trick, every weakness exposed mid-battle.
Not for arrogance.
But to grow.
To refine.
To sharpen.
Nine duels passed… then ten…
The announcer stepped forward once more.
"Now—the eleventh duel!"
The announcer stepped forward, savoring the anticipation as silence rippled through the arena.
His voice rose — slow, stretched, theatrical:
"Po…" The crowd leaned in. "…lo!"
Cheers erupted — energetic, but unfocused. No one knew Polo's name yet…
Not yet.
But they cheered the promise of the battle to come.
Polo and Adlet exchanged a look—fear, courage, excitement all mixed together.
Their hearts synced in a single beat.
What if the next name was—
The announcer raised his voice again, stretching each syllable to breaking point:
"Ad…"
And the entire world seemed to stop.