Training areas had never been a problem for Cale. There was always at least one at his disposal back home. His family was incredibly wealthy, and his father was the Arch Lord of the Antaria region. There were seven hundred Arch Lords in the entire world, and their duty was presiding over local regions in place of the Immortal Lord—the Emperor. He was the absolute ruler of the world. Below him were the Saint Monarchs, who held dominion over multiple regions; the Arch Lords answered directly to them, and the Monarchs answered straight to the Emperor.
Cale cut the thought short. He was digressing. He had chosen to train in the actual arena tonight for two primary reasons. First, he wanted to get the feel of the platform in preparation for tomorrow's match. Second, and most importantly, the standard training yards were completely crowded. For some reason, the other students had all suddenly decided they needed to practice, likely inspired by the brutal matches that had gone on during the past month.
The arena was entirely empty when Cale returned to it. The stands were pitch dark, the artificial lights completely out. Only the stars watched as he stood in the center of the ring. The massive ceiling had been opened—one of the Academy's practices he would never truly understand, but at least it benefited him tonight. He took his stance, Soul Drinker gripped firmly in his hand.
"Let's run it again," he said.
Revenant materialized from his shadow, its golden eyes gleaming. "Don't you think you should rest?"
"I can't."
They sparred. Revenant was faster than any human opponent, its claws leaving trails of scratches in the dark. Cale blocked, dodged, countered. His arm ached, but he pushed through. He had to be ready. Tomorrow, he would face Vorian. Tomorrow, he would also face Val.
Revenant paused, tilting its head. "I sense that you are not fighting to win."
"I'm fighting to survive."
"Is there a difference?"
Cale didn't answer. He raised his blade, and they continued until his Mauri was nearly gone and his muscles screamed.
Back in his room, he pulled up his system screen—something he hadn't done in days now. He could remember when he couldn't even stop taking a look at it. The Penalty field was still there, unchanged.
```
Penalty: 1
```
But beneath it, new text had appeared for a change. It was supposed to be a notification, but it was a poem. Or at least it seemed like one.
````
The branch that bends will not break,
But the tree that stands alone falls to the storm.
To correct the flaw of pride,
You must sacrifice the victory you seek.
Only then will the bondage break.
````
He stared at the words. "Iris."
"I see it."
"What does it mean?"
"I… do not know. The system has never generated poetry before. It is… unusual."
True. Since when did systems start writing poetry? What kind of a weird system did he get stuck with?
"Unusual? It's impossible. I need to win. The team needs me to win," he snapped at Iris.
"Perhaps the Penalty requires you to lose."
Cale's hands tightened on the cot. "That doesn't make any sense."
"Your System has a history of not always making sense. It is ancient. And arguably designed by gods. So its logic is not ours."
He dismissed the screen and lay back, staring at the ceiling. *Sacrifice the victory.* What victory? The match? The tournament? His pride? Come on, man.
He didn't sleep.
The arena was packed. Students filled every seat, and their voices were a constant roar. The holographic screens displayed the bracket:
First Years Tournament Finals – Team Mira vs. Team Vorian.
Cale stood with his team at the edge of the ring. Mira was reviewing their plan.
"Vorian is their best swordsman. He is arguably one of the best swordsmen in the academy. His ability makes him immune to piercing weapons, so swords, arrows, and daggers won't work. But blunt force and elemental attacks might still affect him. Lysander is their second threat. She's fast, precise, and one of her Memories lets her phase through solid objects for a split second. Just don't let her flank you." She looked at Dorn. "You shield against Val's fire. Don't let her get close to Cale."
Dorn nodded. "I think I can take her."
"I'm not so sure. She's B-rank," Sara said. "And she's got that berserk thing she does."
"Then we hope she doesn't go berserk." Mira turned to Cale. "You ready?"
Cale thought about the poem. "I'm ready." *I think.*
Across the ring, Team Vorian took their positions. Their purple battle suits shone. Vorian stood at the front, his sword gleaming. Lysander was beside him, her cold eyes scanning the crowd, her hand resting on a blade that seemed to flicker in and out of focus. And Valerie—Val stood at the rear, her Ember Cloak burning, her face completely expressionless.
Their eyes met. She looked away first.
The announcer raised his hand. "Finals: Team Mira versus Team Vorian. Fighters, take your positions."
The crowd roared.
"Begin."
Vorian moved first.
He was faster than in the duel, faster than Cale remembered. His blade was a blur, and Cale barely got Soul Drinker up in time. But he was prepared. Steel clashed, sparks flew. Vorian pressed his attacks, his strikes remaining precise and relentless.
"You've improved," Vorian said, smiling. "But not nearly enough."
Cale gave ground, letting Vorian push him back. His Death Sense screamed warnings, but Vorian was too fast to predict perfectly. A cut opened on Cale's arm. Another on his cheek.
Across the ring, Lysander engaged Sara. Her blade flickered, passing through Sara's dagger as if it weren't there, then solidifying to cut across Sara's arm. Sara stumbled back, bleeding.
"Lysander's phasing is a problem!" Mira shouted. She broke from her opponent and lunged at Lysander, forcing her back.
Val's fire kept Dorn pinned behind his shield. She wasn't going berserk, at least not yet, but her flames were controlled, precise, forcing him to retreat step by step.
Cale focused on Vorian. He ignored everything else. He had to. The nicely written poetry echoed in his head: *To correct the flaw of pride, you must sacrifice the victory you seek.*
He didn't understand. But he fought.
Val was watching him.
She burned a path through Dorn's shield, forcing him back. Her eyes kept drifting to Cale, to the way he moved, the way he parried Vorian's strikes. He wasn't attacking her. He wasn't even looking at her.
"Cale!" she shouted.
He didn't respond.
She threw a fireball at his back to get his attention. Dorn intercepted it, his shield smoking. "Focus on me!" he shouted, a little jealous that his opponent didn't find him worthy enough.
Val cursed. She turned back to Dorn, her fire flaring, but her eyes kept drifting away.
The fight wore on.
Cale was bleeding from a dozen small cuts. His Mauri was draining rapidly. Vorian was relentless, his strikes coming faster, harder. Cale's Death Sense was the only thing keeping him alive.
Lysander had taken down Sara—a flicker through a dagger thrust, then a solid slash across her leg. Sara fell and was eliminated. Mira engaged Lysander, but the noble's phasing memory made her nearly untouchable.
Dorn's shield, though a quite powerful memory, was cracking under Val's fire. He wouldn't last much longer.
Then Cale saw it—an opening. Vorian had overextended, leaving his sword arm exposed. Cale could strike with an ice shard. Since it was an elemental manifestation and not a manufactured piercing blade, it could bypass Vorian's immunity.
His hand raised, ice forming.
The poem flashed in his mind. *Sacrifice the victory.*
He hesitated. Then he made a decision. A really stupid decision.
Instead of striking, he caught Mira's eye and signaled *now*.
Mira, unprepared, broke from Lysander and lunged at Vorian with her dagger. The blade struck his shoulder and slid off, useless. His immunity held.
Vorian laughed. "Foolish."
*Foolish indeed,* Cale thought. He had signaled her just to come distract Vorian.
Cale moved. He grabbed Vorian's sword arm with his free hand. That was illegal. Grappling was strictly forbidden in the tournament rules, and Cale knew it. The judges' eyes narrowed.
Cale held on, ice spreading from his palm, freezing Vorian's gauntlet to his skin. Vorian struggled, but Cale didn't let go.
"Illegal move!" the head judge pointed out. "Caelan Ashford is disqualified!"
The crowd erupted. Cale released Vorian and stepped back. His arm was bleeding, his Mauri gone. But the points had shifted. The illegal move had cost him his place in the match, but the blow he'd landed with the ice, the control, the sheer audacity—he was confident he had earned Team Mira significant points. Enough to close the gap.
The head judge raised his hand. "Time is up. Calculating points."
The holographic screens flickered.
Team Mira: 142 points.
Team Vorian: 142 points.
"A draw!" the annoying, high-pitched voice of the announcer blared.
The crowd gasped. A draw in the finals. Unheard of.
Cale stood in the center of the ring, his chest heaving. He had sacrificed the victory. He had been disqualified. But the draw was enough.
He pulled up his system screen. A notification!
```
Penalty: Cleared.
Experience: 267/300
```
Finally, the bastard Penalty was gone. His Experience hadn't increased one bit, and the points from the match didn't count because of the disqualification, but the seal was no longer blocked. He could at least grow now. He just needed to earn the remaining points elsewhere.
He had done it.
"A draw cannot stand in the finals," the announcer said. "We will now commence the Tiebreaker duel: Vorian versus Mira."
Mira stepped into the ring. She was exhausted, her arm bleeding, her blade chipped. Vorian was fresh, his smile easy. She knew she was cooked—fried, even.
The announcer raised his hand. "Begin."
It only lasted seconds. Vorian's blade was a blur. Mira parried twice, then she couldn't keep up; her sword flew from her grip. Vorian's blade stopped an inch from her throat, an arrogant smile fixed on his face.
She spat blood and surrendered.
The crowd roared. Team Vorian had won the tournament.
Cale sat in the medical wing, his cuts being bandaged. Val sat beside him, her Ember Cloak dismissed.
"You threw the match," she said.
"I did what I had to."
"Why?"
He didn't answer. He looked at the ceiling, at the white tiles, at nothing.
"Cale."
"I can't explain it."
She stared at him for a long moment. Then she nodded slowly. "Fine. Keep your secrets."
She stood and walked away, her footsteps fading.
Cale lay back, his arm throbbing. He had cleared the Penalty. He had sacrificed the victory, and no one would ever know why. But this was a second loss in a row; he was slowly building a streak.
He pulled up his system screen and stared hard.
```
Experience: 267/300
```
Third seal, 33 points remaining.
Not yet. Soon.
He dismissed the screen and closed his eyes.