Day 3 of Training.

  The sound echoed through the boiler room.

  CLANG.

  Amari stood in front of a massive iron pipe that ran from the floor to the ceiling. It was wrapped in thick hemp rope—darkened in places where sweat and blood had soaked through.

  "Again," The Custodian said, sipping his tea.

  Amari gritted his teeth. His knuckles were raw. His shins were bruised black and blue.

  "My bones are cracking, old man," Amari grunted.

  "Good," Idris nodded. "Micro-fractures. When they heal, the mineralization increases. Denser bone. Less porosity. You cannot wield a heavy weapon if your wrists shatter on impact. First, you make the body into steel. Then, you pick up the sword."

  Amari took a breath.

  Inhale. Compress.

  He swung his shin against the iron pipe.

  THUD.

  Pain shot up his leg, hot and immediate, but he didn't flinch. He channeled it, imagining the damage as a forge—heat fusing his tibia into a solid rod of iron.

  "Better," Idris noted. "Your hip rotation is improving. You are starting to understand that power comes from the ground, not the muscle."

  Idris stood up and walked over to a workbench. He picked up a long, rusted metal rod.

  "In the old days," Idris said, weighing the rod in his hand, "Warriors didn't just punch. We used spears. We used hammers. But a true Sovereign knows a weapon is an extension of the bone."

  He tossed the rod to Amari.

  "Hold it."

  Amari caught it. It was heavy, unbalanced—designed to punish weak wrists.

  "In this Tournament," Idris said, "you will not be allowed weapons. It is a 'Scrimmage.' But your enemies will have wands and staffs. You must learn to break their weapons without breaking your hands."

  "How?"

  "Iron Body," Idris said. "By the time the tournament starts, I want your forearms hard enough to snap a wooden staff in half."

  He nodded at the pipe.

  "Now, drop the rod. Give me five hundred forearm blocks against the pipe."

  Amari sighed, dropped the rod, and stepped back into position.

  CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.

  While Amari was hardening his bones in the dark, Elara was fighting for her life in the light.

  The Arena was packed. Since the rankings were released, the Challenge System was active. Any student could challenge a higher-ranked student for their spot.

  Elara (Rank 42) was currently standing in the center of the ring. She was sweating, her hair frizzy. In her hand was a generic Academy loaner wand—cheap, standardized wood that felt dead compared to her old crystal core.

  Opposite her was a D-Class student named Vex. He was a Wind Mage with a nasty grin.

  "Come on, Rank 42!" Vex taunted, spinning a wind blade on his finger. "Stop running!"

  Vex slashed his hand.

  A blade of invisible air sliced through the arena.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Elara yelped and scrambled backward. The wind blade cut a deep gash in the floor right where she had been standing.

  "Pyro-Ball!" Elara screamed, firing a blast of fire.

  Vex laughed. "Too slow!"

  He simply sidestepped. The fire harmlessly hit the barrier.

  Elara was a glass cannon. She had incredible firepower—thanks to Amari’s advice on aggression—but she had zero defense. If Vex got close, or if a wind blade hit her, she was finished.

  "I challenge you for the rank!" Vex yelled. "Wind Step!"

  He blurred. He used wind mana to boost his speed, rushing straight at her.

  Elara panicked. She raised her cheap wand to block, but wood couldn't block a wind blade.

  I'm going to lose, she thought, closing her eyes. I'm going to drop back to Rank 300. My father was right. I'm a bad investment.

  "Don't block!"

  A voice cut through the noise of the crowd. It was deep, calm, and familiar.

  Amari stood in the entrance tunnel. He was wearing his grey gym clothes, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed.

  [System Scan: Mana Core — NOT FOUND]

  [Exception Handler: ACTIVE]

  [Event Tag: "Anomaly Spectator" — Load Elevated]

  [System Load: +3.2% (Observer Integrity Monitoring)]

  Amari ignored the notification flickering in his vision.

  "You are the heat, Elara!" Amari shouted. "Fire doesn't block wind. It consumes it! You are the furnace!"

  Elara blinked.

  Consumes it?

  Vex was five feet away, his wind blade raised for the finishing strike.

  Elara didn't try to put up a shield. She didn't try to run.

  She remembered the feeling in the cave. The warmth.

  I am the furnace.

  She didn't cast a spell. She just screamed and released her mana outward in a chaotic sphere.

  [Spell: Heat Wave]

  [Warning: Mana Stability Deviation]

  [Risk: Core Strain]

  WHOOSH.

  It wasn't a fireball. It was a sudden, massive expansion of super-heated air.

  When Vex’s wind blade hit the heat wave, the physics changed. The compressed cold air of his spell met the super-hot air of hers.

  BOOM.

  A thermal explosion knocked Vex backward. He flew through the air, his uniform singed, and landed hard on his back, groaning.

  The buzzer sounded.

  [Winner: Elara Vance]

  [Rank Defended: 42]

  [Sponsor Credit Logged: Vance Family Account (+10 SC)]

  The crowd was silent for a second, then polite applause broke out.

  Elara stood there, panting, staring at her hands. She hadn't used a formula.

  She had used instinct.

  She looked toward the tunnel, but Amari was already walking away.

  Ten minutes later, Elara found Amari sitting on a bench, wrapping fresh bandages around his bruised forearms.

  "You saved me," Elara said, sitting next to him. "Again."

  "I didn't save you," Amari said, wincing as he tightened the tape. "I just reminded you of the physics. Wind feeds fire. If you run from him, he cuts you. If you explode into him, he burns."

  "My father called," Elara said quietly.

  Amari paused, raising an eyebrow. "The Dean?"

  "No," Elara shook her head. "The Dean is my uncle. I mean my actual father—the one who owns the Mana Mines and pays my tuition."

  Elara stared at the sleek black box resting in her lap, tracing the gold family crest on the lid with a trembling finger.

  "He saw the rankings," she said. "He sent me a gift. The note just said: 'Protect the Asset.'"

  She flipped the lid open. Inside lay a sleek, red tactical vest folded neatly amidst black velvet.

  [Item: Salamander Weave Vest]

  [Rank: B-Grade]

  [Effect: High resistance to physical and magical damage. Increases fire affinity.]

  "It's expensive," Elara said. "But... I don't know how to use it. I'm still scared, Amari. Every time I step in the ring, I feel like I'm going to break."

  Amari finished wrapping his arm. He stood up and looked at her.

  "We are both breaking, Elara," Amari said, holding up his battered arm. "That's how we grow. My master calls it 'Micro-fractures.' You break the bone to heal it stronger."

  He pointed to the vest.

  "Put it on. Tomorrow, we aren't doing formulas. I'm going to teach you how to take a hit."

  Elara looked terrified. "You're going to hit me?"

  "No," Amari smiled. "I'm going to throw tennis balls at you. If you dodge, I throw harder. If you catch them with fire... you pass."

  Elara let out a nervous laugh. "Okay. Tennis balls. I can do that."

  Amari grabbed his bag.

  "Get some rest," he said. "The Tournament brackets come out tomorrow. And I have a feeling the Dean has a surprise for us."