CRAAASH!
The sound of shattering glass echoed through the dark cavern for the nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-ninth time.
Twenty-one days had passed.
The floor of the "Vault of Roots" was covered in a glittering sea of glass shards that crunched underfoot with every step. In the center of the cavern stood Kael. He no longer looked like the reckless youth who had entered three weeks ago. His shirt was torn, and his body was covered in microscopic scratches and shallow cuts from thousands of glass cups exploding directly in his face. Deep, dark circles framed his eyes from severe sleep deprivation, but his gaze... his gaze was sharp, calm, and as terrifying as the surface of a frozen, bottomless lake.
Before him on the stone table sat the final cup. Cup number ten thousand.
Orik sat on a nearby boulder, lazily whittling a piece of wood with his knife without even looking up. "If you shatter this one too, you'll be drinking water from your cupped hands for the rest of your life, and I'll throw you out of the Academy myself."
Kael didn't answer. He closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath. He no longer thought of the "Azura Core" energy as a beast that needed taming, nor as an ocean that needed to be caged. He finally understood what Orik meant all along. The energy wasn't an enemy; it was a part of him. It was his blood.
He extended his scarred index finger and incredibly gently touched the rim of the fragile glass cup.
Instead of shoving the energy all at once, Kael imagined the blue mana as a microscopic, silken thread flowing seamlessly from his chest, traveling down his shoulder, through his arm, and settling peacefully into the water.
There was no explosion. There were no cracks.
Kael slowly opened his eyes. The water inside the glass was glowing with a pure, brilliant sapphire light, illuminating the entire dark cavern. There wasn't a single ripple on the surface of the water; it was as perfectly still and stable as a solid block of crystal. He had done it. The fragile glass had fully absorbed the terrifying power of the Azura Core without shattering, because Kael had controlled the flow with a one hundred percent success rate.
Orik stopped whittling. He raised his eyes to the glowing cup, and the ghost of a rare smile crept onto his scarred face.
"Acceptable," Orik said, standing up and brushing the wood shavings off his coat. "You've stopped being a leaky barrel wasting mana. Now, you can contain your power within your own body without tearing your muscles apart."
Orik turned toward the corner of the cavern and kicked a long wooden crate toward Kael. The crate burst open upon hitting the ground, revealing a dull, heavy black iron training sword, completely devoid of any sharp edges. It looked like a useless piece of scrap metal unfit for combat.
"Registration for the 'Celestial Dragon Tournament' ends today, and the matches begin in exactly one week," Orik stated coldly. "Take this scrap and go to the surface. Your body has learned how to fill the cup... it is time to show them what happens when that cup overflows."
Half an hour later, the heavy doors of the abandoned wing swung open, and Kael stepped out with calm, measured steps. The midday sun hit his pale face, and he closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the warmth he had missed for weeks. He carried the heavy black iron sword resting on his shoulder and wore a simple, clean black uniform provided by Faren.
Kael headed straight toward the Eastern Courtyard, where the tournament registration pavilion was located.
The courtyard was swarming with hundreds of disciples, loudly boasting about their shining weapons and ornate armor. The moment Kael set foot in the courtyard, whispers spread like wildfire.
"It's him... Orik's servant who cleaved the stone!"
"Where has he been hiding all these weeks?"
"Look at his sword... is that a weapon or a tent pole?"
Kael ignored them completely and continued his path toward the registration desk. But before he could reach it, his path was blocked by the shadows of three young men wearing luxurious silk robes. In the center stood a tall, blonde youth with arrogance practically dripping from his eyes, bearing the "Diamond Lotus" crest on his chest. It was "Darius," Elder Thorne's top disciple and one of the heaviest favorites to win the tournament.
"Halt right there, trash," Darius commanded with a sneer, simultaneously unleashing a dense, suffocating wave of pressurized mana from his body. It was a deliberate attempt to force Kael to his knees through sheer magical pressure alone. The pressure was intense enough to make the surrounding disciples stagger backward, gasping for air.
But Kael... Kael didn't even blink.
Thanks to the glass cup training, Kael's aura was now entirely sealed within his own body, acting as an invisible, impenetrable steel wall. The mana pressure Darius unleashed crashed against Kael and instantly dissipated, like a gentle breeze striking a mountain.
Darius's eyes narrowed in genuine shock when he realized Kael wasn't affected in the slightest.
Kael took one step forward, closing the distance until their faces were mere inches apart. There was no anger in Kael's eyes; there was only a dead, terrifying void.
"Cleaning up this Academy isn't just about sweeping stones and courtyards," Kael whispered, his voice calm but loud enough to send an icy shiver straight down Darius's spine. "Get out of my way before I decide to sweep you up, too."