By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, the lively chaos of the exhibition had begun to settle into something calmer. Voices softened, the crowds loosened, and the once-packed stalls gradually found space to breathe. It wasn't silence—but it was close enough to feel the shift.
As dusk settled in, lanterns and overhead lights flickered on one by one across the grounds, casting a warm golden glow over the long rows of booths. Polished displays gleamed beneath the soft light, while distant chatter blended into a low, steady hum that drifted through the evening air.
Soon, the fourth day of the Nine Academy Tournament came to a quiet close.
It felt like an ending, but no one truly believed that. If anything, the stillness only sharpened the anticipation, pressing against the edges of every conversation and lingering glance. The calm before the storm had never felt more real.
Because what came next wasn't just another match.
It was the main stage—"The Duel Stage."
The Official Division—Phase III.
Unlike Phase I, which was limited to first-year newcomers, this stage stripped away the usual boundaries. Age remained the only restriction—eighteen and under—while class years held no weight. First-year or third-year, it didn't matter. Here, talent stood on its own, unshielded by seniority.
This single phase accounted for half of the total academy score, making it the decisive factor in the overall rankings.
No one could afford to treat it lightly.
And perhaps that was exactly why it drew the most attention.
All eyes turned toward the Arena of Lunar Grand Stadium, where the final main phase—Phase III—would unfold.
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Every year, the format and rules remained the same. The next day, they would be repeated for everyone—announced once more by the rabbit-kin host and displayed across the four massive screens overhead.
Only the top five Knights and top five Mages from each academy were selected to participate. Those chosen weren't merely representatives—they were the strongest each academy had to offer within the age limit.
At first glance, the structure of the matches seemed simple. One-on-one combat duels, divided into two separate brackets—Knights against Knights, Mages against Mages.
But the simplicity ended there.
Each match unfolded in a tag-team elimination format, turning individual duels into something far more strategic. Two teams of five faced off—not all at once, but through a continuous chain of one-on-one battles.
After each victory, the winning player was given a choice: continue into the next duel or be replaced by a teammate through a substitution, a "tag". A single decision, made again and again, capable of shifting the entire flow of a match.
Substitutions were only allowed after a duel had concluded, leaving no room for mid-fight interference. Once a contestant stepped onto the field, they stood alone until the outcome was decided.
The objective was simple—eliminate all five members of the opposing team. The team that succeeded was declared the winner.
And beneath it all ran the scoring system, cold and precise.
Points were awarded based on individual outcomes—three for a win, one for a draw, and nothing for a loss. Even in defeat, there were ways to salvage something, though few ever relied on that.
Draws, while uncommon, were still part of the system. A duel could end without a victor if the time limit was reached, if both fighters fell simultaneously, or if the judges deemed neither capable of continuing. Rare outcomes—but not impossible.
Within each team match, points earned from individual duels were added together, forming the team's total score. Eliminating all five opponents secured victory, but it didn't erase what came before. Points remained, recorded and carried forward, shaping rankings beyond a single match.
As for the tournament structure—since there were nine academies taking part—In the first round, eight teams competed across four matches, while one team received a bye.
When the round concluded, the four winning teams advanced to join the bye team, forming a group of five. But even among winners, nothing reset. Instead, they were ranked by the total points they had accumulated in their respective matches.
Not all victories were equal.
The lowest-scoring winning team then faced the bye team, and the winner of that match advanced to the semifinals.
For all its complexity, the announcer had reduced the format into something far easier to grasp. Her words, spoken earlier that evening, still echoed clearly in memory.
"A simple way to understand it," she said, "is this—five versus five tag-team battles. Players fight one-on-one, can switch after each duel, and teams score points per fight while aiming to eliminate all opponents."
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The next morning, the Arena of Lunar Grand Stadium came alive long before the first match began. The anticipation that had lingered overnight now surged through the massive structure, filling every seat, every corridor, every breath of air with restless energy.
Phase III had officially begun—and the Knight Division was first to take the stage.
When the match pairings were announced, a brief pause followed, just long enough for the unexpected to settle in.
Leycross Academy had received the bye.
A wave of murmurs spread through the audience, low but unmistakable.
"Leycross? Seriously?"
"They didn't even have to fight the first round… lucky."
"Or maybe unlucky later," someone countered, though without much conviction.
From the elevated platforms, the members of Leycross remained composed, offering no visible reaction to the attention drawn their way. Whether it was confidence or indifference was hard to tell.
The focus quickly shifted as the first match was called.
Crimson Bastion Academy vs. Iron Ward Academy.
That alone was enough to stir the crowd back into excitement. The defending champions stepping onto the field first—it set the tone before a single strike had even been exchanged.
The arena lights dimmed slightly before stabilizing, a subtle signal that the proceedings were about to begin. Moments later, the announcer's voice rang out across the stadium—clear, sharp, and far more animated than in the previous days.
"Before we begin, let me clarify the rules and winning conditions for this phase!"
The voice carried effortlessly, drawing the full attention of the audience.
"Each duel will continue until one contestant is rendered unconscious, voluntarily forfeits, or is forced out of the stage perimeter. Once a participant is defeated, their academy will send in the next fighter… and this will continue until one team has no remaining members!"
A brief pause followed, just long enough to let the weight of it settle.
"Participants are free to go all out. The arena is protected by advanced formation barriers, ensuring complete safety—so while the battles may be fierce… there will be no fatalities!"
A ripple of excitement passed through the crowd at that—louder this time, sharper, charged with anticipation.
From his position, Alex watched the arena below, his gaze steady but thoughtful. 'She sounds different today…'
The announcer's tone was noticeably brighter, almost energized—as if even she had been waiting for this phase to arrive.
It wasn't just her, either.
The stadium felt… fuller. Not just in numbers—though the packed stands made that obvious—but in presence.
Below, the gates on opposite ends of the arena began to open.
The first set of contestants stepped forward.
The announcer drew in a deep breath, letting the charged silence stretch for just a moment longer before her voice rang out again. "Now, with that all said and done… let's finally get the party started!"
The crowd answered instantly, a surge of cheers rising like a wave across the stadium.
"Crimson Bastion Academy, Iron Ward Academy—please send your first contestants onto the stage! And don't forget to introduce yourselves once you're out there!"
The gates on both sides opened in unison.
From Crimson Bastion, a tall figure stepped forward, his posture relaxed yet deliberate, as if the entire arena existed solely to witness him. On the opposite end, Iron Ward's representative emerged at a steady pace, shoulders squared, his focus fixed straight ahead.
They met at the center.
"I am Rovan, Crimson Bastion Academy." the first spoke, his tone smooth, edged with quiet arrogance. "Try not to disappoint."
A few scattered reactions rose from the audience—some amused, others already irritated.
The Iron Ward student didn't respond immediately. He simply adjusted his grip before replying, his voice calm and grounded.
"Dalen. Iron Ward Academy." No flair, no excess—just a name.
For a brief moment, neither moved.
Then—
The sharp sound of the buzzer cut through the air, signaling the start of the match.
Both Rovan and Dalen moved at once.
Their swords were identical in every aspect—weight, shape, length, even appearance. It was an intentional design, ensuring the contest remained as fair as possible.
On the field, the clash came fast.
The first strike rang out—clean, sharp—as both blades met with equal force. Neither gave ground, their footing steady as the impact echoed outward.
Rovan was the first to press forward. A faint smile lingered on his lips as he shifted into a faster rhythm, his strikes flowing seamlessly one into the next. There was confidence in every movement—confidence that bordered on certainty.
Dalen held his ground.
His defense was tight and efficient, every motion calculated to conserve energy while reading the flow of attacks. He didn't rush, didn't overextend, choosing instead to endure the pressure and wait.
The contrast was immediate.
One fought like he had already won.
The other fought like he refused to lose.