Nobles were whispering, rearranging. You could almost hear the resentment creaking beneath their polished armor.
One of them approached.
Thin, wiry, and draped in the orange-trimmed robes of House Elvarin, the boy strutted toward Ethan with his sword sheathed but his chin high.
"You must be quite proud of yourself," he sneered.
Ethan didn't answer. His eyes scanned the battlefield. Calculating.
The noble took a step closer. "Peasant in the top ten. That's cute. Do you think this is where you stay? Or are you just keeping the spot warm for your betters?"
Ethan turned to face him fully. "Do you want to fight, or just talk?"
The noble's lip curled. "My name is Feran Elvarin. Son of High Magistrate Alcos. My lineage traces back to the founding walls of Velleshire. And yours?"
"Ethan Valdros," he replied calmly.
A pause.
Feran blinked. "…That name doesn't exist."
"Yet here I am."
The boy snarled and lunged.
Ethan met him before the first footstep landed.
Their blades collided with a metallic howl. Feran struck with speed, but it was the kind trained in candlelit halls and silken robes. Predictable. Measured.
Ethan fought with silence and shadows. With instinct. With rage he didn't release—but channeled into every precise deflection and brutal counter.
Feran slashed downward, Ethan twisted under it and slammed the hilt of his blade into Feran's ribs. The noble coughed, staggered.
Another swing. Ethan caught it mid-air, spun behind him, locked Feran's arm and slammed his boot into the back of his knee.
Feran collapsed.
"Yield," Ethan said, blade to the back of his neck.
"…Y-you…"
"Yield."
Feran groaned and tapped his crystal.
[ Knockout Registered – Ethan Valdros: 16 ]
[Rank – 50]
Ethan rose, stepping away as the coliseum responded with a soft chime. He heard the murmurs growing louder above. A noble defeated. A Valdros climbing higher.
---
On the far end of the coliseum, Velina struck out with a piercing thrust, disarming her opponent and earning her 16th knockout. Sweat dripped down her neck, but her posture held strong.
Across from her, several noble girls observed with narrowed eyes.
"She shouldn't be that strong. She's a merchant's daughter."
"She's nothing."
"She's with him. That Valdros freak. I saw her sparring beside him before the gates."
"Then let's bring her down."
Velina turned and found herself circled. Three of them. She clenched her grip tighter, calculating. No time for pride. Just precision. The first one came with a flurry, too much flair, not enough weight. Velina dodged, countered with a sharp elbow, then parried the second one's slash before twisting the blade from her hand and delivering a backhanded slap with the flat of her sword.
They weren't here to test her. They were here to humiliate her. But she was far past shame. With two already staggering, the third charged from behind. She felt it. Instinct.
Ethan…
He wasn't there. But she moved like he'd trained beside her forever. She turned and ducked just as the blade whistled over her head and delivered a heavy blow to the girl's shin, knocking her down.
All three groaned on the ground.
Velina, panting, raised her blade. "Yield. Or I'll make sure your families get the full report."
The three glared—but tapped their crystals.
[ Knockouts Registered – Velina Althros: 19 ]
[ Leaderboard Update – Rank 28]
She didn't grin. She didn't boast.
But inside, she felt the fire rise.
---
The knights watching from the upper balconies took notes.
"She rose fast," said one instructor. "And she's clean. She's not using bloodlust or underhanded strikes. She's reading opponents."
Another nodded. "So is Valdros. But that boy fights with something feral inside."
"Whatever it is… he's holding it back. He hasn't used a single skill or ability. Not even burst footwork or weapon infusion."
"You think he's hiding something?"
"I know he is."
---
As the final hour of the trial approached, the last waves of battles erupted across the arena.
Nobles who hadn't made the top 100 fought in desperation. Rogues turned on allies. Pain surged across the grounds.
Cael Verendis remained still.
Twenty-eight knockouts. No new battles. Just observation. He stood atop the western ring of the coliseum, watching Ethan finish his seventeenth match.
One of his followers smirked. "He's getting bolder."
"He's sharpening," Cael replied.
"Should we—"
"No. You have already asked this...Let the assessment end. Let the audience fall in love with him. Then I'll gut him where they all can watch."
Cael's tone didn't rise. But it was cold.
He turned and descended the steps, vanishing into the shaded arches.
---
In the final stretch, Ethan fought his last bout, a swift, dagger-wielding boy who darted like a fox. The boy nearly clipped his cheek once. Fast. Slippery.
But not enough. Ethan ended it with a brutal palm to the jaw and a sweep to the legs. A solid knockout. No hatred. Just survival.
[ Knockout Registered – Ethan Valdros: 17 ]
[Leader board Update – Rank 30]
---
A final horn blared across the coliseum.
A column of golden light burst into the sky above the arena. The floating Lightboard locked its final ranking.
TOP 10 – FINAL RANKINGS:
1. Cael Verendis – 35
2. Neron D'Valmir – 30
3. Rexus Algrave – 29
4. Alissia Varn – 28
5. Draken D'marion – 27
6. Silas Montreux – 26
7. Eirun Fex – 26
8. Luthar Rehn – 25
9. Ethan Valdros – 24
10. Velina Althros – 22
[Participants Passed: 150]
[Status: Completed]
As the announcement echoed, nobles across the stands scowled, whispered, and ground their teeth.
The name "Ethan Valdros" burned at their eyes like poison.
A nobody from nowhere. No crest. No legacy.
But he stood above them. In the top thirty. And that, they would not forgive.
---
Velina approached him slowly.
They stood together again, like they had on the estate's training yard. No words, just shared breath and bruises and the weight of defying everything they weren't supposed to be.
"You climbed fast," Ethan said.
"You're one to talk," Velina replied. "We did it, Ethan."
"For now."
He didn't smile. Not really. But there was a glimmer of satisfaction behind his stare. But yet, the first trial haven't ended. Though both in the top thirty, nobles had rage burning for Ethan and things will become rough.
Then, footsteps.
The mood shifted.
Cael Verendis strode toward them, followed by two of his elite. He stopped a few feet from Ethan, his hands behind his back, posture relaxed, but his eyes—his eyes burned cold.
"Well fought," Cael said softly. "You've made quite the impression."
Ethan nodded once. "So have you."
A pause.
"Make no mistake," Cael said. "This isn't the end. You humiliated half the noble courts today. Do you think they'll forget that?"
"I don't care if they forget," Ethan replied. "But they won't forgive. I expect that."
A few nobles behind Cael scoffed.
Cael's expression tightened. "You have the posture of someone who's bled. I respect that. But you're still… incomplete. Hollow."
Then, he smiled.
"I look forward to breaking what's left of you."
"I will welcome you open handed"
He turned and left, his cloak brushing the dust behind him like the tail of a serpent.