The following week marked the dawn of the final test—The Duel.

A deep, resonant toll of bells and horns tore through the dorms, rolling like thunder across the academy grounds. It was the long-awaited day, the day that would separate pretenders from true nobles.

Eran was already awake, sitting on the edge of his cot, uniform crisp and perfectly aligned. His gaze was steady, calm, while outside, the corridors came alive with sound... footsteps, hurried voices, and laughter.

Doors slammed open as nobles spilled out of their chambers, their finely tailored uniforms and embroidered robes sweeping along the marble floors. Every movement, every shimmer of cloth was a reminder of lineage, of pride, of houses sworn to glory.

Their laughter echoed down the halls.. sharp, and confident, almost arrogant—carrying the same song of certainty: victory already written.

Eran rose quietly, joining the flowing current of bodies with silent steps. In that tide of silk and pride, he was just another shadow unnoticed, unimportant, yet calm… and watching

The corridors emptied into the grand courtyard where the morning sun stretched long over the academy's stone spires. The air shimmered faintly with mana currents as the banners of noble houses flared to life, each one burning with its own crest of color and flame. The roar of excitement swelled from the stands that rose in tiers around the arena. It wasn't just a test anymore; it was spectacle, pride, and judgment bound into one breath.

At the center of it all, the duel grounds gleamed like a ritual altar.

The marble floor was carved with runes older than the kingdom itself, layered into a grand Crest Circle.. a web of mana lines intertwined in gold and silver that pulsed with life. It was the academy's symbol of power and hierarchy.

Around it, judges and high-ranked professors took their seats upon the high table... each bearing the insignia of their station. And above them, an obsidian crest floated in the air, projecting the names of the duelists in glowing script that shifted slowly for all to see.

Whispers rose and fell like waves as each name shimmered.

'Kael Vorthen versus Rai Estell.'

'Liora Venn versus Toran Kells.'

Continuously...

Then came the one that made the crowd stir into an uproar...

'Miyu Valerane versus Eran Vale.'

The sound spread like fire through the stands.

A commoner facing a true noble of Miyu's caliber; it was unthinkable. Some laughed, others leaned forward in disbelief. But those who had witnessed the week before, when she defended him, watched in silence, their curiosity caught somewhere between awe and confusion.

Eran stepped quietly through the archway leading down to the lower chambers where the duelists prepared. His boots struck the stone with a calm rhythm. Above, the roar of the nobles echoed, but it felt distant, like a world he no longer belonged to.

Soon, the gate would open, and the hierarchy would see what a "commoner" could truly do.

The resonating hum of the arena fell into silence as the next names rippled through the crystal amplifiers..

'Liora Venn ...versus... Toran Kells.'

And just above their names was etched in the obsidian crest floating mid air.

A low murmur swept across the air. Two figures emerged slowly from opposite gates, the marble floor beneath them gleaming with etched crests of the Great Houses. Above, the shimmering sigils began to align, forming the Crest Circle... a dome of faint gold energy that would serve as both their stage and their prison.

Then came the sound of a single staff striking the floor.

THUD!

Professor Girzar stepped forward, robes heavy with runic trims that shimmered faintly with mana light. His presence alone quieted the crowd, every whisper swallowed by the gravity in his tone.

"This," Girzar's voice carried across the dome, deep and commanding, "marks the beginning of the Hierarchy Trials."

His gaze swept through the rising stands, over nobles draped in house colors and over the clusters of common-born students lining the lower rows.

"Each transcript signed earlier binds you not only to your house," he continued, "but to your bloodline, your pride, and your right to ascend."

"For nobles, this is where you prove your names are worthy of ink upon history as your first duel."

"For commoners, this is where you prove you belong among them."

A hush lingered. The mana lights flickered once, as though reacting to his words.

"Your duel is your record. And your record determines your advancement.

Fail... and your transcript becomes a seal of decline."

"Those who cannot climb the Hierarchy will be swallowed by those who can."

A wave of murmurs rippled through the audience.. half excitement, half dread.

"And for the common-born…" Girzar paused, his voice hardening like tempered steel.

"Failure means expulsion from the ranks entirely. And Grade E holds no place within this Academy."

The words hung heavy.

A few students gasped. The nobles, on the other hand, shifted in their seats with a gleam of superiority, whispers turning into mocking laughter.

Girzar raised his hand slightly, with a calm and smooth motion as he strucked his staff against the ground.

Mana surged, the Crest Circle came alive in a storm of gold and blue. Liora and Toran who had been standing few steps away from girzar.. readied themselves, the air crackling between their mana crests.

From the judges' table, one of the enforcers stepped forward and called,

"First Match: Liora Venn ..versus.. Toran Kells. Step forward!"

The two nobles moved to their places at the arena's heart as the crowd stirred alive...

They bow their heads slightly to the judge's, and the crowds.

From the upper rows, nobles cheered and placed wagers, shouting names and house boasts.

Down below, through the arched corridors that led to the preparation chambers, the echo of their laughter carried faintly... taunting.

A few of the younger nobles leaned against the railings near the archway, smirking toward the lower levels.

"Commoners will drop like flies before the day ends."

"You'll see, the Academy should have never let them sign the transcript."

Their laughter grew, some eyes drifting briefly toward the corridor where the next participants waited.

Eran stood among them, silent, his gaze fixed upward toward the glowing dome. The mockery washed over him like wind—barely stirring him.

A low hum stirred through the chamber again as the air shimmered.

High above the arena, the Obsidian Crest began to stir, a massive black sigil, rimmed with faint streaks of gold. Slowly, it rotated, unfolding like ancient metal awakening from slumber.

Then... light.

From its core, two names burned into existence, suspended for all to see.

LIORA VENN — House Venn, Rank II (Grade D)

TORAN KELLS — House Kells, Rank II (Grade D)

The glowing script shimmered across the mana-dome, visible even to those seated in the farthest tiers. It shifted slowly, pulsing in rhythm with the mana flow of the entire chamber.

The crowd roared, the first duel had officially begun.

"Marked," the enforcer's deep voice resonated from the edge of the platform, echoing through the mana amplifiers.

"Begin."

A sharp wave of mana rippled out as the two duelists stepped forward, boots tapping against the polished obsidian floor.

Toran was the first to raise his hand, mana surging around him in swirling arcs of violet. His House crest flared behind him, a glowing emblem of fanged wings—the mark of Kells, known for raw mana pressure and force attacks.

Across from him, Liora Venn stood calm, one palm raised, her expression unreadable. Her mana glowed in rippling lines of silver that traced along her arm like living veins.

A murmur spread through the nobles' seat.

"She's controlling her crest manually, look at that form."

"Venn's bloodline favors precision over brute strength."

Then... impact.

Toran thrust his palm forward; violet mana erupted into a spiraling arc, slamming toward Liora like a crashing tide. The dome flickered under the force, but Liora moved almost lazily, her form dissolving into streaks of silver light before reforming behind him.

Her voice was quiet, but her words carried.

"Too slow."

A sharp wave of silver light cracked across the floor, striking Toran's crest shield and sending him stumbling.

The crowd gasped. The nobles in the higher rows began cheering wildly, while others leaned forward, studying every movement.. every line of power.

Eran watched in silence from the lower archway. The Obsidian Crest rotated above, the names glowing brighter each time a mana collision struck the arena. Every clash sent a thrum through the stone, as if the Academy itself acknowledged each strike.

Toran roared, gathering his mana again, his veins glowing violet. The pressure thickened. Dust and mana smoke swirled between them, veiling their silhouettes.

Then Liora's silver flared once more.

A single word left her lips, etched with mana intent..

"Fracture."

The arena floor split open beneath Toran's feet. The sudden impact threw him backward, his crest sputtering as it failed to stabilize.

The dome dimmed. As the Obsidian Crest pulsed once again from above... then the glowing script shifted, its letters reforming before the silent crowd:

Winner: Liora Venn.

A thunderous applause erupted, shaking the entire chamber. The noble spectators rose to their feet, clapping, cheering, already wagering for the next bout.

In the corner near the entrance, Professor Girzar's gaze flickered briefly, perhaps in approval, perhaps in evaluation. Then, with a faint motion of his hand, the next names began forming in the floating Crest above.

The duels would continue until all transcripts had been tested.

Until every name was proven... or erased.

Eran's fingers brushed against the edge of his sleeve, eyes still locked on the glowing sigil overhead.

'His turn would come'... He thought

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