The sun had not yet risen when the tension began to seep into the walls of the Royal Academy of Magic and Strategy. Throughout the marble corridors inscribed with enchanted runes, students whispered nervously about the surprise announcement: the Internal Tournament would begin at dawn.
An ancient tradition, supposedly meant to "forge the elite," according to the frosty tone of Headmaster Elgorn. But Kaelian knew better.
This wasn't a tradition.
It was a trap.
A stage to test him.
Or to eliminate him.
**
The great indoor arena pulsed with ancient magic, reinforced with warding spells dating back centuries. Massive viewing galleries were already filled—professors, high nobles, and even members of the royal court gathered to observe. The event was being magically broadcasted across the empire, masked as a public "academic demonstration."
But Kaelian saw through it.
They wanted to see if the bastard son of the king—now an Academy student—was truly dangerous. Or if he could be crushed early, like an insect under a boot.
He stood still, arms folded, as he studied the group assignment list. Ten groups. Fifty participants. Only two from each group would proceed to the semifinals.
His group?
Stacked with three upper-year students—all known loyalists to Prince Theor.
Kaelian's dear half-brother.
He smirked.
"So… you want to test me through your dogs? Fine. Let's play."
**
The first match was a standard elemental duel.
His opponent, Lioren Duth, was a flashy second-year noble known for his explosive fire spells and theatrical entrances. True to his reputation, Lioren unleashed a barrage of flaming spheres the moment the duel began, turning the ground into a blazing inferno.
The audience gasped in delight. Lioren played to the crowd, confident.
Kaelian didn't move.
Instead, he walked—calmly—tracing sigils in the dust with his foot. Ancient sigils. Forbidden ones. Runic sequences hidden under illusion and distraction.
Then, he spoke.
— "Your fire looks impressive, Lioren. But you're pointing it in the wrong direction."
Enraged, Lioren launched a direct charge, flame-blades glowing on both arms.
Mistake.
As he crossed into Kaelian's trap circle, the runes pulsed—twisting the mana flow. His spell backfired, exploding in reverse. Lioren was thrown across the arena, smoking and unconscious.
Silence.
"Winner: Kaelian."
Shock rippled through the audience. The magic used wasn't easily identifiable. But in the shadows above, Master Elgorn narrowed his eyes.
He recognized it.
And it terrified him.
**
The second test wasn't a fight.
It was a strategy simulation—warfare on a miniature battlefield. Students were given resources, troops, and a magical terrain map. The best strategist would win.
Kaelian's opponent this time was a third-year noble, daughter of a famed general. The judges expected him to fail miserably.
He didn't.
While she placed her armies with textbook precision, Kaelian laid traps—magical ambushes and decoy routes along forgotten terrain features. He exploited supply chains, disrupted logistics, and used weather manipulation cards to simulate storms at the worst moment for her cavalry.
By the tenth minute, she was surrounded, her army starved of mana and cut off from retreat.
"Strategic Victory: Kaelian."
The murmurs among the nobles turned from dismissive to cautious. Whispers traveled through the viewing halls.
"A commoner bastard? That sharp?"
"Was that battlefield intuition… or something darker?"
Kaelian, for his part, said nothing. But deep inside, he noted:
"They've noticed. Good. Now they'll start making mistakes."
**
The third challenge was a group match.
Three versus three, in a magically simulated ruin. Survival-based: the team that remained standing after twenty minutes would win.
Kaelian was teamed with two near-useless students—a shy illusionist girl and a large, awkward boy with poor control of his mana. Clearly intentional.
His opponents?
Led by Jarven—Theor's most violent pawn.
They wanted him crushed.
But Kaelian never intended to fight. He intended to terrify.
He told his teammates to hide—completely.
Then he activated a series of minor enchantments: illusion runes, echo spells, mana disturbances.
One by one, the enemy team fell to their own fear. Images of spectral beasts haunted them. Whispered voices of betrayal filled their ears. A shadowy version of Kaelian appeared in their minds, whispering secrets they feared were true.
They panicked. They separated. They were picked off—without a single spell cast by Kaelian himself.
"All enemy combatants incapacitated. Match won by mental incapacitation. Victory: Kaelian's team."
He stood alone in the center of the arena, calm, calculating, hands behind his back.
The message was clear:
"You can send wolves. I will make them fear their own shadows."
**
By sunset, the ten semifinalists were announced.
Kaelian ranked third overall, behind two senior nobles.
Theor, of course, was first.
Naturally.
Kaelian didn't react. But as he left the arena, a student in servant garb slipped him a folded note, marked only with a silver seal.
He opened it.
"Impressive. But dangerous."
He knew the handwriting. Elgorn.
**
Later that night, Kaelian sat alone in his dormitory room, studying the candlelit patterns flickering on the ceiling. The room was enchanted—supposedly secure—but Kaelian had long since placed counter-scrying runes around the perimeter.
Then came a sound.
A whisper of movement at the door.
He smiled.
They were coming.
The trap activated instantly—paralysis glyphs laced in the doorframe froze the intruders as soon as they stepped in. Three students. One of them, Vorken—rumored to report directly to the Queen.
Kaelian knelt before him, voice cold and controlled.
— "You thought I would sleep soundly after the tournament? You thought I wouldn't prepare?"
He leaned closer.
— "You're not the first they've sent. And you won't be the last."
Then he simply walked away, leaving the would-be assassins frozen, humiliated, and untouched—for now.
The message would be clear by morning.
"He's not just surviving. He's hunting."
**
Beneath the Academy library, Kaelian met Lyssa in a restricted wing long sealed to normal students. She was already waiting, nervous.
— "You went too far," she whispered.
Kaelian opened his notebook, writing with precise strokes.
Day 117 – I showed them a glimpse. Just enough. Theor now sees me as a threat. The Queen will panic. They'll try to kill me in shadows. Perfect. I want them to.
He looked up.
— "This was never about victory, Lyssa. It was about visibility. They needed to feel me breathing down their necks."
— "And if they strike harder?" she asked.
Kaelian paused.
Then he smiled.
— "Then I'll bleed… and drag them into the darkness with me."
Lyssa stepped back.
Even she couldn't quite tell anymore—
Was he still just surviving?
Or had he already begun to rule?
**
End of Chapter 31.
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