By the time the purple haze at the edge of my vision thinned, the weight of what I had done settled in.

  My pulse still hammered against my ribs, and a faint tremor lingered in my hands.

  The crowd hadn’t quieted.

  Chants rolled across the arena in waves as I lifted my gaze to the tiers, meeting a sea of faces leaning forward, shouting, clapping, watching me like I was the spectacle.

  Assistants and healers flooded the course below, weaving through the fallen. The roar of the crowd lost its chant and broke into scattered cheers and restless noise. I made my way back down the course.

  The Head Instructor stood waiting at the bottom, hands planted on her hips, posture rigid and exact. Her gaze fixed on me the moment I stepped off the final ramp. Displeasure showed plainly in the tight set of her jaw.

  She said nothing.

  Instead, she gave a short gesture toward the seating area.

  I followed the direction and took a place among the others. The moment I sat, the nearby aspirants shifted away without a word. I twisted the silver ring on my finger. The battle suit peeled away and vanished back into the rune pouch, leaving only the weight of normal fabric against my skin.

  Across the grounds, the gang I had dropped were already being carried toward the medical tents, limbs limp and armour half torn loose. They were hurt, but the aspirants they had trampled were in far worse shape.

  I glanced toward Rob. He was laughing, shoulders shaking as he cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, “ya bloody show off!”

  At least, that was what it sounded like through the noise.

  Voices rose from the tiers behind me. A few spectators leaned over the railings, calling out questions, tossing praise down like it might reach me if they were loud enough. I gave a small smile, lifted a hand, and waved once before my eyes caught a familiar figure.

  “Oi, Butcher!” The shout cut through the crowd noise.

  Derry stood a few rows up, leaning over the railing with a grin stretched wide across his face, a swollen purse dangling loosely from one hand. The leather bulged and sagged with weight as it swung at his side.

  “Cheers, mate!” he called, throwing me a broad thumbs up.

  Only then did I notice the others around him. Several of the barracks members held similar heavy purses, clutched tight against their hips or tucked under their arms like they were guarding them. Their posture gave it away. Restless. Energised. Watching the field between glances at each other.

  “We’re off to get ready for our matches,” he shouted over the noise. “Catch you later, aye?”

  A few of the others waved as well. Quick, casual gestures. A couple of the girls lingered a fraction longer than the rest, their smiles just a little too knowing before they finally turned away.

  The sudden attention made my ears burn. I shifted where I stood, shoulders tightening as a few quiet giggles slipped between them and vanished into the crowd noise. They traded small, knowing looks that I pretended not to notice.

  Derry caught the exchange, snorted under his breath, and clapped one of them on the shoulder before ushering the group back from the railing.

  I cleared my throat and raised my voice just enough to reach them. “Ah. Good luck!”

  “You too, Butcher,” he called with a chuckle as he turned away.

  I watched them disappear up the stairs. A grin tugged at my mouth before I noticed it, and I wasn’t entirely sure why.

  Still.

  I didn’t like the nickname.

  At least it clung to this false face and not my real one.

  I turned toward Amelia.

  She watched me with a tight, disapproving look that failed to hide the faint curve at the corner of her mouth. I gave her a small nod. She returned it without a word.

  Soon the next group was called.

  Their run blurred into the next. Movement, noise, flashes of light, then another horn. Another finish. I barely followed any of it. My hands still trembled faintly at my sides, the last of the adrenaline bleeding out of my system as my breathing slowly evened.

  The power of the corrupted rune lingered at the back of my mind, quiet but not gone. It had been the third time I had drawn on it. In that moment, everything sharpened. Louder. Faster.

  And in return, it pulled the worst parts of me closer to the surface.

  The anger had come easier.

  The recklessness easier still.

  I thought back to the other times I had used it.

  The redcaps had been different. That was survival.

  The barracks incident was second. Nick’s mates. They pushed first and they got what they asked for. Even so, the memory never sat clean in my chest. Not fully.

  Power like that made it easy to justify the outcome after the fact.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  That was the danger.

  The hag’s face pushed into my mind. The blind anger in her eyes. The way her strength had twisted into something ugly and uncontrolled.

  I steadied my breathing and forced my focus back onto the course.

  The next few groups rushed the cup with far less restraint. My run had clearly set a tone. Instead of pacing themselves, they tried to outplay each other in bursts of speed and force, cutting reckless lines across the field.

  Boots slipped. Ankles rolled on the ramps. One boy landed short and dropped hard, his forearm bent wrong. Another lost his grip and slid down the timber, palms splitting open and leaving blood smeared across the wood.

  Then the red-haired girl stepped forward.

  The horn sounded.

  She moved at once.

  She cut through the press of bodies, slipped inside the reach of the nearest ribbon bearer, and tore the ribbon from the grip of a boy more than twice her height. Before he could recover his footing, she swept his legs out and drove her heel into his knee.

  The crack carried across the arena.

  He dropped with a strangled cry.

  “Enough. Control your blessings!” the Head Instructor called.

  By the time the warning rang out, she was already gone, a blur cutting up the course. A breath later, golden light tore upward from the cup as she secured her finish.

  She climbed down without hesitation and headed straight for the seating tiers, as if the run had been nothing more than routine.

  She didn’t get far.

  The Head Instructor stepped directly into her path and barred the way, posture rigid, gaze cold.

  “You will restrain yourself,” she said, voice low but carrying. “This is a trial, not a battlefield. Break the rules again and you will be removed. Do you understand?”

  The girl stood still for a moment, then gave a short nod.

  She said nothing.

  Only then did the instructor step aside.

  The red-haired girl returned to her seat without a word, expression calm, eyes forward as if nothing had happened.

  Whenever I looked her way, she appeared focused on the field, composed and precise. Yet each time my attention drifted elsewhere, the faint sense of being watched crept back in.

  The horn sounded again, marking the end of the run.

  The field reset.

  It was Rob’s turn.

  Like me, he started with a golden ribbon. They placed him close to where I sat. He rolled the ribbon once between his fingers, then tied it tight around his wrist with a firm tug.

  He glanced over, that familiar glint catching in his eyes as he smirked.

  “Watch this,” he called over the noise.

  He drew his soul blade.

  Violet energy rippled along the edge, sharp and unmistakable. The reaction was immediate. A wave of gasps rolled through the arena, followed by a sudden hush as eyes locked onto the weapon.

  The aspirants nearest him stiffened. Their stares sharpened, not with caution, but hunger.

  A soul blade.

  It was the kind of weapon most of them would never see in their lifetime, let alone up close. The moment it appeared, the atmosphere shifted. Every aspirant’s gaze locked onto the sword as if it were worth more than anything. And, by the rules, there was a chance it could become theirs.

  So naturally, they wanted it.

  Good luck with that, I thought.

  I glanced toward Amelia. She closed her eyes for a brief second and dragged a hand down her face.

  “Idiot,” I could see her mouth the words.

  Rob only shrugged, loose as ever, and turned his attention forward. The grin faded. Focus took its place.

  The horn sounded.

  Two aspirants lunged for him at once.

  They never got close.

  Rob was already halfway up the ramp before their boots had even left the ground. The blade cut through the air, leaving a trail of violet in his wake. The first golem collapsed in a single strike, its frame splitting apart before it could complete its swing.

  The crowd roared.

  He didn’t slow.

  Another golem stepped into his path. It lasted less than a second. Steel and violet light flashed, and the construct came apart at the joints as if it had been pulled loose rather than cut.

  A third golem tried to intercept him near the rise.

  It shattered under a rising strike that carried straight through its core.

  Then a golden light tore upward from the cup.

  Rob had cleared the course far faster than anyone.

  The crowd cheered, though the sound held a faint note of disappointment, as if the performance had ended too quickly.

  Rob climbed down with a smirk.

  “Now who’s showing off,” I said with a quiet chuckle.

  Attention snapped back to the field as the rest fought for second place, their frustration at missing the soul blade plain on their faces.

  The horn sounded and the later runs lacked flair. Movements tightened, climbs slowed, and caution replaced aggression as they worked their way up the course until the final ribbon was driven into the cup.

  Aleria stepped into the centre of the field. Behind her, the course looked far worse than before we began. Timber beams hung crooked. Scorch marks blackened the ramps. Splintered boards and gouged stone showed where impacts had piled up over repeated runs.

  She raised one arm.

  The noise died almost immediately.

  “Listen carefully,” she called.

  Every head turned.

  “All aspirants who failed to place a ribbon in the cup will be assigned to the reserve division,” she continued. “You will undergo additional training. After that, we will assess where you may still serve the people.”

  A low murmur spread through the stands and across the field. This was new.

  Her gaze swept over the seated groups.

  “For those who succeeded today,” she said, her eyes pausing on me for a fraction longer than the others, “you will advance to the next trial.”

  The murmurs stilled.

  “However, you will not be competing alone,” she said. “You will be placed with your fellow group winners and formed into units of five. Each group will face the next trial together.”

  My stomach dropped.

  Oh.

  Shit.

  “The next trial will push you further than you have ever been pushed, the trial will require teamwork, strategy and numbers to overcome a great enemy.” She again laid her eyes on me.

  “Those who wish to stand out and act like heroes rarely survive.”

  My blade gave a low hum at my side.

  The sound steadied me for a beat. The doubt that had started to creep in eased, just enough to let me breathe properly again. I would not be walking into the next trial alone.

  I had Lumi.

  “The second trial will begin tomorrow morning at ten,” Aleria called.

  She dismissed us with a sharp gesture.

  Rob and Amelia cut through the dispersing crowd and made straight for me.

  “Oh, shit,” Rob said under his breath as he reached me. “What’re you gonna do?”

  Amelia opened her mouth, hesitated, then forced her expression into something more supportive. “You’ll manage,” she said quietly. “We’ll help you prepare.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  Aleria’s voice cut clean between us.

  She stepped closer, her gaze firm and unyielding. “This is the time to work with your assigned unit. For their sake as much as your own. You have very little time to prepare and wasting it on old habits or lost causes will not help you survive what comes next.”

  Before I could respond, unfamiliar aspirants were already pulling Rob and Amelia back toward their respective groups, voices low and urgent as they began talking tactics.

  They didn’t resist.

  Within moments, they were gone.

  Lumi hummed again.

  I ignored it for a step and let my eyes drift across the arena instead.

  Reserve aspirants were being ushered away toward the far exits, shoulders slumped. A few of them glanced back at me as they passed. The shock from earlier had faded from their faces.

  In its place came knowing looks.

  Small smirks.

  Measured stares.

  They knew what I had just stepped into.

  A slow breath left my chest as it settled in. If Derry was right and the barracks trials were starting, then Jerald and Brent would already be preoccupied. And I didn’t have time to watch.

  A small twist of regret pulled at me.

  Lumi hummed again.

  Low. Insistent.

  “Any ideas?” I muttered.

  The answer came without words.

  An image cut through my thoughts. The training room. The stone door.

  Then the sword’s voice followed, calm and certain.

  “You are ready.”