Chapter 96: The Test No One Announced
The envelope was waiting for them when they returned to the inn.
Plain velvet. No seal. No wax. Just a single folded slip tucked beneath the door.
Isaac picked it up, turning it over. The paper was expensive—thick and smooth, bearing no crest. Only one line written in elegant, looping script:
"A friendly demonstration, sponsored by the Guild Council.Courtyard of Blades, second bell.Attendance optional—but observed."
Isaac stared at the words for a moment longer than necessary.
Lira glanced over his shoulder. "A 'friendly demonstration'? That's code for a public test."
Isaac nodded once. "They're not sure what I am. They want to see it for themselves."
"And if you don't show?"
"They'll assume the worst—and send worse."
Lira crossed her arms. "Let me guess. Sylvalen isn't stopping this?"
"She's letting it happen," Isaac said quietly. "She wants to see how I handle it."
"Of course she does," Lira muttered. "Elves and their slow-motion chess games."
The Courtyard of Blades was alive when they arrived.
Isaac and Lira stepped through the north gate and were immediately met with a soft wall of murmurs. Guild enforcers, noble observers, robed arcanists, and a few daring adventurers filled the rows of marble benches that curved around the dueling ring.
Everyone here knew what today was.
And more importantly—who.
Isaac.
The man who walked out of the basin untouched.The man Sylvalen stood beside.The man no one could place on any chain of command.
In the center of the dueling floor stood his opponent.
A tall, broad-shouldered human clad in reinforced dueling leathers and bracers stitched with minor enchantments. He was warming up with light footwork and shoulder rolls, his expression calm and professional.
Captain Erent Valden. A respected A-rank instructor. Known for crushing overconfident challengers with measured precision.
No theatrics. No flair.
Just a hammer in a world full of daggers.
Isaac stepped forward.
Erent turned as he approached and offered a respectful nod. "Isaac. I've heard of you."
Isaac stopped a few paces away. "Good things?"
Erent smirked faintly. "Mostly theories. But I prefer facts."
The arbiter stepped between them and raised a hand.
"Standard rules. No lethal strikes. No limb loss. First blood, clean incapacitation, or surrender ends the match. Magic and skills permitted. Start on signal. Clear?"
"Clear," Erent said, already settling into a ready stance.
Isaac remained still.
No stance. No visible weapon. Just a relaxed posture and a blank expression.
But his mind wasn't idle.
He activated [Soulpiercer Sight – Rank A] behind calm eyes, focusing on his opponent.
Name: Erent ValdenRace: HumanClass: Bladewarden of the Guildbound FlameStrength: 114Agility: 108Endurance: 121Willpower: 103Intelligence: 89Charisma: 93Highest Skill: [Battle Instinct – Rank A]
Isaac frowned slightly.
'Four base stats over 100. That meets the benchmark for S-rank recognition.'
But then he noticed it—no S-rank skill. Only A-tier techniques.
'So that's the catch. Stats aren't enough. You need at least one S-rank skill to be officially classified.'
He glanced toward the upper balcony, where Sylvalen Thalara watched silently from the shadows, flanked by two glass-eyed attendants.
'She knows I'll figure this out on my own. She wants to see what I do with it.'
The arbiter raised his hand.
"Begin."
Erent moved immediately.
He closed the distance with controlled aggression—no reckless lunges, just a sweeping diagonal slash aimed at Isaac's shoulder.
Isaac didn't move his feet.
Instead, he raised his hand.
[Telekinesis – Rank A]
A phantom dagger shimmered into the air, unseen by most of the crowd—until it flicked like lightning behind Erent's shoulder.
Isaac's other hand twitched—just once.
The dagger curved in mid-air and sliced across Erent's left tricep, a perfect, shallow cut. Not deep. But enough.
The arbiter blinked.
"First blood—match concluded!"
Erent froze in place, then looked down at the crimson line staining his armor.
The duel had ended in under five seconds.
And Isaac hadn't moved from his spot.
The crowd didn't erupt in applause.
They stared.
Whispers began almost immediately. Quiet ones.
Too fast. Too clean. Too calm.
Erent sheathed his blade, turned, and approached.
He stopped in front of Isaac and gave a short nod.
"Deliberate strike. Calculated angle. Could've hit my throat instead."
Isaac returned the nod. "Could have. Didn't."
Erent exhaled through his nose. "Then I'll mark this as a professional reminder: we're not equals."
Isaac raised a brow. "Agreed."
He turned and walked away, letting the moment burn into every pair of eyes watching.
No flourish.
Just message delivered.
Lira met him outside the arena gate.
She leaned in and whispered, "You didn't even use your good stuff."
"I couldn't," Isaac replied, tone low. "If I used [Armament Phantom] here and someone traced how the relics work… I'd be branded a thief."
"They'd blacklist you from every auction and artifact hall from here to the eastern kingdoms."
"Or worse," Isaac muttered. "Try to bind me like one."
She looked at him sidelong. "And you still won. With just telekinesis."
Isaac didn't smile. "That was the point."
Back at the inn, Isaac sat by the window, watching torchlights flicker in the streets below. People passed by in quiet clusters, still murmuring about the match.
He wasn't just a curiosity anymore.
Now, he was documented. Measured. Recorded.
They knew his name.
They knew what he could do.
And they still didn't know everything.
He pulled a folded note from his coat—slipped into his pocket by an unseen hand before he'd left the arena.
Sylvalen's handwriting.
"You handled it cleanly.Not as a beast—nor as a pawn.Now they understand what I meant.—S.T."
He tucked it away without a word.
Behind him, Lira yawned from the bed. "So… what now? Are we still going to sneak out of the city?"
Isaac looked out over Velkarth's rooftops.
"Soon," he said. "They've had their first look."
He stood, eyes calm.
"Now it's time we choose where to disappear next."