Chapter 13: New Resolve
1404 Words
Valdris was nothing like Aethermere.
Where Aethermere was compact and fortified — walls within walls, districts stacked like boxes — Valdris sprawled. The capital city stretched across a wide river valley, its buildings rising in tiers toward the central plateau where Accord Tower pierced the sky like a glass needle. Protected trade routes connected it to every major city in Aethoria, and the streets hummed with activity Kael had never seen: merchants from distant regions, Hunters in exotic gear, even a few non-human races he couldn't identify.
"Elves," Ren said, following his gaze. "Or what's left of them. The Sundering hit their territories hardest."
Kael looked at the tall, pale figures moving through the crowd. They wore light armor and carried weapons that seemed too elegant for practical use. One of them — a woman with silver hair and angular features — met his eyes for a moment. Her gaze lingered. Then she was gone.
"She was looking at your eyes," Ren said. "The silver thing. It's noticeable."
Kael hadn't thought about it. When he used his Void skills, his eyes shimmered with a faint silver light — a side effect of the Voidwalker class. He'd assumed it faded when he wasn't actively using them.
Apparently not.
The regional tournament was held in the Grand Colosseum — a massive amphitheater carved from the bedrock of Valdris itself. The arena floor was a hundred meters across, ringed by rising tiers of seating that could hold thirty thousand spectators. Mana-crystal projectors lined the upper edges, designed to broadcast fights to screens throughout the city.
"It's bigger than I expected," Elara said. She stood beside Kael at the entrance tunnel, looking out at the arena floor. Ice crystals formed at her fingertips — her nervous habit. "The Aethermere qualifier was in a gymnasium."
"This isn't a qualifier," Kael said. "This is the regional championship. Hunters from six cities."
"Thirty-two competitors," Ren added, reading from a pamphlet he'd picked up at registration. "Single elimination. Top four qualify for the Grand Tournament in Valdris next month." He flipped the page. "Oh, and look — there's a bracket."
Kael looked. His name was at the top of the third bracket, listed as Kael Ashford — Aethermere — Lv.15 — Voidwalker (Mythic).
Someone had already highlighted it in red.
"People know," Elara said quietly.
"They know the class," Kael said. "Not the person."
The waiting area beneath the Colosseum was a long stone corridor lined with private chambers. Each competitor got a room with a bench, a mirror, and a small window overlooking the arena. Kael sat on the bench, reviewing his skills.
Appraisal Lv.2. Void Step Lv.2. Probability Eye Lv.2. Void Sense Lv.1. Fate Redirect — no level, passive.
He'd gained no new skills since the Ashen Maw. His stats were the same: PER 55, LUK 60, everything else baseline. Against opponents fifteen to twenty levels above him, his advantage was narrow — he could read the fight better than anyone, and he could move in ways they couldn't predict.
But he couldn't take a hit. One solid blow from a STR-focused fighter and he'd be done.
The door opened. A man in Accord robes stepped in — middle-aged, clipboard in hand.
"Ashford? You're up in ten minutes. First round. Opponent: Dren Voss, Level 18, Fire Mage from Cinderhold."
"Cinderhold?"
"Southern city. Volcanic region. Their mages run hot." The man glanced at him. "You've never fought in a tournament before, have you?"
"No."
"Rules: no killing, no permanent injury, no outside interference. Match ends when one fighter surrenders, is incapacitated, or is knocked out of the ring. Use of all skills is permitted." He paused. "Including yours."
He left. Kael stood and walked to the window.
The arena was filling. Thirty thousand seats, and most of them were occupied. Mana-crystal projectors hummed to life, casting light across the stone floor. Somewhere in the stands, Ren and Elara were watching.
He thought about his parents. About Torvin's words: They're trapped. On the other side of the rift they helped create.
He thought about Maelis Cross. The man who'd designed his class. The man who'd caused the Sundering.
He thought about the black card in his pocket. The broken circle symbol.
Get stronger. Find the truth. Get them back.
The door opened again. "Ashford. You're on."
The arena was louder than he'd expected. Thirty thousand voices merged into a wall of sound that pressed against him from all sides. The mana-crystal projectors cast shifting light across the stone floor, and Kael's shadow stretched long behind him as he walked to the center.
His opponent was already there. Dren Voss — Level 18, Fire Mage. Tall, lean, with sun-darkened skin and flame-red tattoos running up both arms. His hands flickered with heat haze, and the air around him shimmered.
Kael's Appraisal read him: STR 15, AGI 22, VIT 18, INT 55, PER 20, LUK 12. Class: Pyromancer (Rare). Skills: Fireball, Flame Wave, Heat Aura, Inferno Lance.
High INT. High damage. Moderate speed. Low perception.
Kael's Probability Eye calculated: chance of winning if he fights at range — 12%. Chance of winning if he closes distance — 64%.
The arbiter raised his hand. "Competitors ready?"
Dren smirked. "A Level 15 in the regional championship. This should be quick."
Kael said nothing.
"Begin!"
Dren didn't waste time. Flame Wave — a wall of fire erupted from his hands, racing across the arena floor toward Kael. The heat hit first, dry and blistering, and the crowd roared.
Kael Void Stepped.
He blinked out of existence and reappeared five meters to the left, outside the flame wave's path. Dren's eyes widened — he hadn't seen the movement, just the result.
"What—"
Kael was already moving. Not toward Dren — toward the side. Circling. Forcing the Fire Mage to turn.
Dren fired Fireballs — three in rapid succession, each one a compact sphere of white-hot flame. Kael's Probability Eye tracked their trajectories: first one would miss by two meters, second by one meter, third would hit if he didn't move.
He moved. The third fireball scorched the stone where he'd been standing.
"You're fast," Dren said. "But you can't dodge forever."
Kael's PER calculated: Dren's casting rhythm — 1.2 seconds between Fireballs, 0.8 seconds recovery after Flame Wave. The window was narrow but real.
Dren cast Inferno Lance — his strongest skill. A concentrated beam of fire, faster than the fireballs, aimed at Kael's center mass.
Probability Eye: 89% chance of hit. Can't dodge.
Kael Void Stepped — not away, but forward. He blinked past the lance, appearing one meter in front of Dren. The Fire Mage's eyes went wide.
Kael's fist connected with Dren's jaw. It wasn't a powerful hit — his STR was only 8 — but it was precise. Targeted at the exact point where the mandible met the skull. The impact snapped Dren's head sideways.
Dren staggered. His flame tattoos flickered.
Kael didn't stop. He stepped inside Dren's guard and drove his elbow into the Fire Mage's solar plexus. Dren doubled over. Kael grabbed his wrist and twisted, forcing him to the ground.
The arena went quiet.
Dren struggled for a moment. Then his flames died. "I... yield."
The arbiter's hand came down. "Winner: Kael Ashford!"
The crowd erupted. Kael released Dren's wrist and stepped back. His heart was hammering, but his hands were steady.
In the stands, Ren was on his feet, cheering. Elara stood beside him, arms crossed, but Kael caught the faintest hint of a smile.
Dren sat up, rubbing his jaw. "Level 15," he said. "What are you?"
Kael offered his hand. Dren took it and stood.
"You teleported," Dren said. "That's not a normal skill."
"No," Kael said. "It isn't."
He walked back to the waiting area. The corridor was lined with other competitors — watching, whispering. His Probability Eye caught fragments: Mythic class... Voidwalker... did you see that blink?...
His reputation had preceded him. Now his performance had confirmed it.
In his chamber, he sat on the bench and closed his eyes. The Void energy in his core pulsed — steady, patient, waiting.
Round one was done. Seven more to go.
And somewhere in the stands, he knew, other eyes were watching. Not just competitors. Not just fans. People who understood what the Voidwalker class meant. People who knew about Maelis Cross.
The black card in his pocket felt heavier than before.
Phase 2.
- Writer
