Kaelen emerged from the illusion like someone surfacing from freezing water. His face was pale as iron, eyes stormy and sharp, fixated on Borius standing at the center of the arena. He said nothing.They’d tied for first. In the chaotic final moments, both Kaelen and Theron had surged forward, each scoring a perfect fifty. But to Kaelen, it felt hollow. Frustration coiled tight inside him.Backdoors. Bribes. Cheating. All happening right under his nose. And there was nothing he could do. The authority of a Level‑100 warrior brooked no challenge. Whatever they did was “right,” simply because they could make it so. The thought made his blood boil.Theron had played every card in the deck. Dual strategies in the first stage of the maze, mercenaries planted to take Kaelen out early, and then—when that wasn’t enough—blatant cheating. Every reason in the world to be furious.And Theron was furious too—but for a different reason. At the very last moment, his lead had been shared. Jealousy sp

The air was scorching, almost alive with heat.In the dry city of Faust, not even the faintest breeze dared to move.Over in the eastern district, this year’s festival felt... different. Quieter. The laughter, the noise, the excitement that used to fill the streets—it was gone. What replaced it was something heavier. Tense. Like everyone was waiting for something big to happen.And honestly, it wasn’t hard to guess why.The first trial had been brutal. Out of hundreds of participants, only seven were left standing. Seven. The rest had been crushed—some injured, most simply not good enough.“Eh, average,” a grizzled professional muttered as Greg’s match unfolded in the arena. “This Greg kid doesn’t seem that special.”Another shrugged. “He’s not terrible. When I was Level 5, I couldn’t do half of what he’s pulling off.”The pros couldn’t agree—some unimpressed, others giving reluctant nods—but the regular folks? They were loving it. Greg’s fight had them hooked.Compared to Antonio’s d

First place—Kaelen.There was no question about it. His victory wasn’t just clear; it was overwhelming.This year’s festival challenge had only two rounds, fifty points each, a perfect score being one hundred. A little while ago, everyone had been losing their minds over Theron’s stunning ninety-eight. Then, before anyone could even catch their breath, Kaelen went and did the impossible—he scored a perfect hundred.A flawless score. Untouchable.Sure, ninety-eight might be broken someday. But a perfect hundred? That could only ever be matched, never beaten.“I knew it! Kaelen was destined to win! How could Theron ever compare?” someone shouted from the crowd, full of smug satisfaction.“You’ve got to be kidding me,” another voice shot back. “Weren’t you just cheering for Theron five minutes ago? You switch sides faster than the wind changes direction.”“I’ve never switched sides! I’ve always believed in Kaelen! Come on—how’s Theron supposed to compete with a dual-affinity genius?”The

The sky stretched endlessly above, a pale-blue canvas trimmed with gold sunlight. One lone white cloud drifted lazily, like a solitary sail sliding over a jade-green sea.Afternoon light spilled across the world like liquid music—warm, shimmering, and bright enough to soften even the faintest shadows of sorrow.On the east side of Faust City, the Class-A arena was deathly silent. Every spectator held their breath. Eyes locked. Hearts pounding. All of them were glued to the two figures standing across from each other, waiting for a spark to ignite.“Begin!”The Sheriff-General’s voice cut through the air, cold and merciless, sharp as a blade. The duel had begun.Charge!In a heartbeat, Kaelen became a streak of light, tearing across the arena. A phantom trail lingered behind him, a blazing mark of speed and precision.PK combat wasn’t new to him. To Kaelen, the real thrill in the game wasn’t dungeon farming or chasing loot—it was dueling another player. Nothing else came close.The cha

Night swept across the sky. The cold moon hung like a silver hook, slicing the darkness.Faust had been alive with noise all day. Now, it has finally surrendered to quiet. The festival’s clamor faded, leaving streets wrapped in a calm so deep it almost felt sacred.People would remember this year’s festival for decades. Every clash in the Class-A Arena—every spectacular victory, every dazzling display—had become the talk of the city. A purple epic weapon against an orange artifact. Just saying it out loud made your chest tighten. Excitement buzzed in the air like electricity.Even with all the celebrations outside, the grand Faust Cathedral remained untouchable. Divine light poured over its walls, bright as mid-morning. The revelry couldn’t touch its majesty.Inside the main hall, Borius paced like a lion trapped in a cage. Each footfall clanged against the stone floor, echoing sharply. His eyes flicked to the clock again and again, like it might move faster if he stared hard enough.