Solace was standing at the end of the tunnel, watching the match.
His match was right after the next one in Bracket C.
Despite fights going on in the arena, Solace's mind was out of it. Every single moment, it felt like he was put on the spot. It felt like everything in the world was speeding up just for him.
Standing in front of the arena, waiting for the host to announce his name, he thought back one last time. Skepticism spilling out of him.
If he failed to achieve the top 5 spot, would his family and friends really be in danger for their lives? Can I trust the system?
After all, he was trying so hard to win because of the damn quest. If not for the quest, he wouldn't have tried to win this hard.
He would've been quite happy defeating Kang and achieving rank 15.
So once again, he asked himself. Can he really trust the system and the quest it had issued?
What's the correlation between him losing to Michael and the death of his family and the rest of the main cast? How does it even make sense?
But then again Was he really ready to gamble with it? Sure, it may not be true, and the system might be lying, but was he really willing to risk it all?
The answer was simple: No.
Whether it be a lie or the truth, he was not going to gamble with the lives of his family members that much was given.
Settling the burning question in his heart full of oil, he stood still.
Waiting for the moment his name will be announced, Solace felt a tremendous amount of responsibility gripping his heart. It was like a yellow thread pulling him downwards while he struggled to stand.
Without a moment's notice, two matches breezed by, leaving him in the wake of his reality.
Dazed by everything, Solace stood still for a long time. Shaking him out in the real world was a loud voice etched with anticipation.
"And for our third match of the Quarterfinals... Solace Wright! Versus the scion of the Imperial Court.. Michael Hern!"
The arena buzzed with cheer and excitement, and Solace stepped into the light.
***
The sun was no longer a golden orb; it had become a bleeding wound on the horizon, staining the sky in bruised purples and deep, autumnal oranges. Below, the Theron Academy arena was a cauldron of noise, eighty thousand voices chanting in a rhythmic, terrifying unison. But as Solace Wright stepped from the cool shadows of the tunnel onto the sun-baked arena, the sound seemed to warp, stretching and distorting as if he were underwater.
His body was a map of pain. The fight with Phoebe had left him hollowed out, his essence reserves feeling like a dry well. Every step was a negotiation with his own nervous system.
Opposite him stood Michael Hern.
Michael didn't look like he had just spent the day in a high-stakes tournament. His black hair was perfectly swept back. He was leaning casually against a pillar of the arena's inner wall, picking at a fingernail with a small, obsidian-bladed dagger. He looked less like a combatant and more like a bored aristocrat waiting for a slow carriage.
When the Host announced their names, Michael didn't wave to the crowd. He simply looked up, his eyes dark, cold, and predatory, locking onto Solace.
"You look pathetic, Wright." Michael's voice wasn't amplified, yet it carried across the arena with a chilling clarity. "I watched your little dance with the Frostbane girl. Very theatrical. Very... desperate. It's a shame you wasted all that effort just to reach me."
Solace was going to keep quiet, but he decided to play it. After all, he needed Michael to make mistakes.
"Oh, would you look at that! An aristocratic young master is an arrogant third-rate villain! Who would've thought?" Solace said with a mocking smile. "It is almost like finding out that bandits steal stuff."
A dangerous glint appeared in Michael's abyassmal eyes. Then the next second, it vanished, and an amusing smile touched his lips. "Good. Good. This will keep things interesting. I knew there was fire in you the moment you avoided my strike while being blind."
"This will be fun."
The Host dropped his hand. "BEGIN!"
Solace didn't move. He couldn't afford a single wasted essence. He waited for Michael to initiate.
Michael sighed, a sound of genuine disappointment. "You're not even going to struggle? I suppose I should have expected that from a commoner. You people are so used to being stepped on that you've made a virtue of it."
Michael reached to his side and drew a thin, elegant rapier from a sheath that seemed to be made of solidified shadow. The blade was dark, reflecting no light.
"I've seen you're quite the swordsman," Michael drawled, flicking the blade in a lazy arc. "Let's see if that commoner blood of yours has any rhythm."
Solace didn't respond. He drew his own sword, the weight of the steel feeling like a mountain in his hand. He settled into a low guard, his eyes tracking Michael's every twitch.
Michael moved first.
He didn't dash; he soared. With a casual flick of his wrist, Michael altered the gravity acting upon his own body. To the crowd, it looked like he had suddenly become weightless. He launched himself off the arena, clearing twenty feet in a single, languid bound that looked like he was leaping on the surface of the moon.
He descended from above, his rapier whistling through the air.
Clang!
Solace parried, the vibration rattling his teeth. He stepped into the strike, aiming a counter-thrust at Michael's ribs, but Michael wasn't there. The moment his boots touched the ground, Michael's weight returned and then tripled. He used the sudden increase in mass to anchor himself, pivoting on a dime with a speed that should have torn his ligaments apart.
"Slow," Michael mocked, his blade dancing. "Is that the best you can do? You're fighting like you're underwater."
They exchanged a flurry of blows. In terms of pure technical skill, they were a match. Solace's parries were surgical, his footwork efficient. But Michael was playing a different game. Every time Solace found a rhythm, Michael would shift the gravity around his own limbs. A swing that should have been heavy became light as a feather; a thrust that looked slow suddenly gained the momentum of a falling boulder.
Solace felt the trap closing. Every parry took more out of him than it should. His sword, usually an extension of his arm, was becoming a liability. Under Michael's shifting fields, the blade's center of gravity was constantly migrating. It was like trying to fight with a living, thrashing snake in his hand.
Michael laughed, a sharp, cold sound. He leaped again, hanging in the air for an impossible three seconds before slamming down with an overhead strike.
Solace raised his sword to block, but Michael snarled a command.
"Sink."
The gravity around Solace's sword intensified tenfold. The blade didn't just feel heavy; it felt like it was being pulled by the very core of the planet. Solace's arms were dragged down, his guard collapsing. Michael's rapier sliced across Solace's shoulder, a shallow but stinging cut that sprayed crimson onto the ground.
Solace stumbled back, his breath a wheeze. He looked at his sword. The steel was vibrating, groaning under the gravitational stress. It was a tool of leverage, but Michael was controlling the laws of physics that made leverage possible.
He needed a moments of breathe, but Michael wouldn't let him.
"It's a crutch, isn't it?" Michael said, walking forward with slow, predatory steps. "Without your little toys, what are you? A peasant in a stolen uniform."
Solace looked at the sword, then at Michael's mocking grin. He realized the steel was a tether. It was a lightning rod for Michael's power.
With a grunt of effort, Solace tossed the sword aside. It hit the ground with a heavy thud, sinking inches deep as if it were made of lead.
Michael paused, his eyebrows arching. "Giving up so soon? I expected at least another minute of sport."
"I don't need it to defeat you," Solace croaked, his voice raw. He raised his fists, his fingers curling into tight, trembling spheres.
Michael's expression darkened. The playfulness vanished, replaced by a cold, sharp cruelty. "Defeat me? You truly don't understand the distance between us, do you?"
Michael didn't use the sword anymore. He sheathed it in a blur of motion.
"Let's see how you handle the dark, Solace."
Michael raised his hand, and the sunlight died.