Chapter 7: The Phantasmal Edge

  The sands of the Colosseum of the Sun were blindingly white, composed of crushed quartz designed to reflect the raw aura of the combatants. High above, in the Grand Pavilion, the gold-masked Inquisitors sat in silent judgment, their Arbiter’s Gaze sweeping over the arena like searchlights.

  Kael stepped through the heavy iron portcullis. He held a standard-issue iron longsword—a weapon barely fit for a city guard, let alone a cultivator facing the beasts of the Dravok Wilds.

  Across the arena, the heavy gates groaned open. A wave of suffocating, sulfurous heat washed over the stadium.

  The Obsidian Drake did not walk; it dragged itself forward, a mountain of jagged black scales and pure, corrupted mana. It was the size of a warship, its eyes burning with the mindless rage of a creature that had survived the catastrophic anomalies of the Wilds. With a deafening roar, it slammed its heavy tail against the quartz sand, sending a shockwave that rattled Kael’s teeth.

  Mandate of the Beast: Absolute Density. Threat Level: Fatal.

  "Begin!" the announcer’s voice echoed.

  The Drake lunged with terrifying speed for its size, its maw opening to reveal rows of glowing, magma-heated teeth.

  Kael didn’t freeze. He initiated a Predictive Simulation in his mind. The Hard-Shell universe dictated that a Prime-Tier student with an iron sword would be crushed instantly. Kael moved precisely 0.3 seconds before the beast’s jaws snapped shut where he had just been standing.

  He rolled across the quartz sand, feeling the heat singe the edges of his grey robes. He needed to strike, but if he used the Myriad Path openly, the Inquisitors would see the golden light of the Abyss and strike him down.

  Block it with a lie, Elyndor’s voice echoed in his memory.

  The Drake whipped its tail, a horizontal strike meant to cleave Kael in half. Kael raised his iron sword, adopting the standard stance of the Solaris Academy’s Defensive Mandate. He channeled a visible, perfectly normal blue aura into the blade—just enough to satisfy the watching Inquisitors.

  But deep within his soul-palace, he reached into his Nascent Domain. He drew out a single thread of the Dream and wrapped it around the edge of his sword.

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  [Phantasmal Edge: Applied]

  To the world, it was still a dull iron blade. But conceptually, Kael had rewritten its nature. He decided that the edge was infinitely thin, a blade that existed in a reality where the Drake’s scales were nothing but wet paper.

  The massive tail collided with Kael’s sword.

  The crowd braced for the sickening crunch of Kael’s bones. Instead, there was a sound like tearing silk.

  Kael didn’t chop. He merely held the blade steady and let the beast’s own momentum do the work. The iron sword passed entirely through the Drake’s armored tail without slowing down. Black, corrupted blood erupted across the white sand.

  The Drake shrieked, a sound of absolute confusion. Its tail, severed cleanly, thumped into the arena wall.

  Up in the Grand Pavilion, the lead Inquisitor leaned forward, his silver gaze narrowing. Kael felt the heavy, scrutinizing pressure of the Arbiter’s Gaze sweep over him.

  Hide it, Kael thought frantically. He instantly dropped the Phantasmal Edge, letting the iron sword visibly spark and crack under the residual heat of the Drake’s blood. He intentionally stumbled backward, panting heavily, making it look as though he had simply channeled all his Prime-Tier mana into one desperate, lucky strike against a weak point between the scales.

  The Inquisitor slowly leaned back. The illusion held.

  But the Drake wasn't dead. Enraged, the beast reared up on its hind legs, drawing in a massive breath. The air around it warped as it prepared to unleash a torrent of condensed magma.

  As the beast drew in power, the ground beneath Kael’s boots began to vibrate. It wasn't just the Drake. Deep beneath the arena floor, the Central Mana Reactor of Heliovar was pulsing. Kael’s stabilized Miracle Core fragment thrummed in response, hungering for the massive well of energy hidden below.

  The Drake unleashed its breath—a blinding pillar of liquid fire.

  Kael didn't dodge. He sprinted directly toward the beast, sliding under the arc of the flames. As he slid across the burning quartz, he projected a micro-Domain, a tiny Phantasm that convinced the fire to part around him by a fraction of an inch.

  He popped up directly beneath the Drake’s exposed chest. He drove the cracked iron sword upward, applying the Phantasmal Edge for one final heartbeat. The blade pierced the impenetrable chest cavity, slicing through the beast’s heart before Kael violently twisted the hilt, snapping his own sword in half to hide the evidence.

  The monstrous beast froze, the fire dying in its throat. It crashed to the ground, shaking the Colosseum one last time.

  Silence fell over the arena, followed by a deafening, thunderous roar from fifty thousand spectators. A nobody from the Seventh Sect had just slain an apex predator with a rusted blade.

  Kael stood over the beast, holding his broken hilt, his chest heaving. He looked toward the staging grounds. Arcturus Vale was no longer leaning casually against the jade pillar. He was standing perfectly straight, his eyes locked onto Kael with dangerous, electric intensity. Arcturus wasn't fooled.

  Kael dropped the broken hilt into the sand. He had survived the first round, but the real war had just begun, and the sun beneath the arena was waiting to be stolen.