"This calls for a celebration. Tonight, dinner is on me."
Kessel said it in the kind of tone that made it sound casual, but everyone in the room knew better. The man who kept his face frozen through blizzards and battles was practically glowing. Leo had made the top ten — that alone was the goal. Mira making it too was something none of them had planned for, and the Ashenveil City Knight Hall sending two competitors into the final bracket was something that hadn’t happened in its entire history.
Kessel nodded to himself twice, which for him was basically dancing.
Mira caught Leo’s eye across the room and mouthed: *He’s happy.* Leo stifled a grin.
---
Elsewhere in the Holy City, the other temples were wrapping up their own preliminary results.
At the Luxe Hotel, a young man sat alone with a glass of deep red wine, turning it slowly in his fingers. His name was Adrian Cole, and he’d had an easy day — his opponent for the morning match had taken one look at his record and forfeited without a word. Nobody wanted to face whatever he’d done in yesterday’s rounds. He’d walked into the top six without throwing a single spell, which suited him perfectly.
He swirled the wine. Smiled to himself. The day had been very agreeable.
Across the city, the bald man from the Priest Temple was in an equally good mood, though for louder reasons. His path through the preliminaries had been less graceful and more like a wall deciding to walk through other walls — but it had worked. He hadn’t just made the top ten. He’d already secured a top-three position, with no one willing to contest first place against him.
By the fifth day of the Shadow Hunt Trials, the atmosphere across the city had settled. The Warrior Temple was the only one still finalizing its top ten. Every other temple had its bracket decided — what remained was purely ranking. Finishing higher meant more prize money, more recognition, and for the top three, a Spiritual Tier equipment reward. The Alliance wasn’t subtle about its incentives.
---
In the Ironveil Order’s competitor lounge, ten people sat with ten very different expressions.
Kessel had already pulled Leo aside before the lottery. His voice was quieter than usual, the celebration from the night before replaced by something more careful.
"You don’t need to push hard for the remaining matches. The final phase will give you plenty of chances against strong opponents. Focus on being in good condition."
Leo listened. Nodded. And then, without any hesitation, said: "Master, if I end up facing that person, I want to fight at full strength."
Kessel looked at him. "Is that truly necessary?"
"Yes." Leo didn’t waver. "Fighting Ethan gave me a lot. A powerful opponent is the fastest way to push my ability closer to the surface. I can feel it — I’m close to something. I need battles like that to reach it."
What he didn’t say aloud was just how close he actually was. One night of cultivation after the previous match had already deepened his spiritual energy significantly. The Iron Will Charge method was doing something to his foundation that regular training couldn’t replicate. He could feel the boundary of the fifth stage like a wall he could almost press his hand through. What he needed to break it wasn’t rest.
It was pressure.
His father had told him once — battles are a kind of examination. Every time you face an opponent stronger than yourself, your spiritual energy responds in ways quiet training never produces. It wakes something up. Leo had felt it twice now, and he wanted to feel it again.
Kessel held his gaze for a long moment, then exhaled through his nose. "Fine. Your decision. But you read the situation and act accordingly — the final phase matters more than your ranking today."
"Understood." Leo turned back toward the arena entrance as the lottery began.
The numbers materialized slowly in the air above the floor — large, clear, unhurried.
**#1. #97.**
Leo was on his feet before he’d consciously decided to stand.
Around him, the other fourth-stage competitors glanced at each other with expressions that ranged from sympathy to quiet disbelief. Facing a fifth-stage opponent two rounds in a row — his luck was something else entirely.
But their sympathy died the moment they looked at his face.
There was nothing on it that resembled dread.
From the front row, a figure rose slowly.
The young man in black robes turned around and found Leo’s eyes across the room. He was the same one who had given Leo that cold, measuring look on the first day — the one that said *prove you’re worth my attention*. He had been silent through every round since, watching, waiting, saying nothing.
He held Leo’s gaze for a moment. Then he raised one hand — not a wave, not a salute, just a single motion — and turned toward the arena entrance. Every step he took sent ripples of spiritual energy spreading across the floor, dense and controlled, the kind that made the air feel different around him.
Fifth stage. Clearly. And comfortable in it.
Kessel said nothing as Leo moved to follow. He had been about to speak — a final reminder, another caution — but one look at Leo’s expression stopped him. The softness from yesterday, from the morning walk and the quiet conversation and whatever had happened with Lyra that had him smiling all evening, was completely gone.
What was left was something else.
The same look that had appeared twice before in matches — that deepening, that sharpening, the blade finally drawn. It was more settled now than it had ever been. Kessel recognized it, and he closed his mouth.
In the corner of the lounge, Ethan Holt stood with his arms crossed, watching.
He had arrived early that morning — not because he wanted to, but because the oath was already reshaping his instincts in ways he hadn’t expected. He found himself wanting Leo to win. It was inconvenient and slightly annoying, but there it was.
*Grandfather said he was fourteen,* Ethan thought, watching Leo cross the room. *Let’s see what fourteen actually looks like against a first-seed fifth-stage opponent.*
---
They met in the center of the arena.
Leo walked in without rushing, each step landing firmly on the stone floor. The arena felt larger when it was just two people in it, the tiered seats rising around them on all sides.
The young man in black robes was already standing at the center, waiting. Up close, the spiritual energy coming off him was even more pronounced — not aggressive, not threatening, just present. The way a mountain is present. It didn’t push outward or try to intimidate. It simply existed, dense and deep, the product of years of serious cultivation.
He looked at Leo with an expression that was difficult to read — not contempt, not the arrogance Ethan had worn into his match. Something more considered than that.
"Do you have a mount?" he asked, voice even.
"Not currently," Leo said, without trying to dress it up.
The young man in black nodded slowly. "Then we fight without calling mounts. A fair match."
When Ethan had said something similar before his match, it had been arrogance — a way of saying *I don’t need advantages against you*. The same words from this person felt entirely different. It wasn’t a dismissal. It was a genuine offer, made by someone who had been watching Leo for three days and had decided he wanted to know what Leo actually was.
It was confidence. Clean, settled, with no performance in it.
Leo looked back at him steadily.
"Agreed," he said.
The referee raised his hand.
The arena went quiet.