Rise Of The Lesser-Blood

The next morning arrived with a crisp, freezing fog that rolled off the outer ring of the Holy City, wrapping the monolithic towers of Blackspear Academy in a heavy shroud of grey.

Thomas walked down the central stone avenue alongside Ryan, the steady crunch of their boots matching the anxious rhythm of hundreds of other freshmen heading toward the grand elevator shafts.

They weren’t heading to the lower coliseum grids. Instead, the preliminary brackets had been assigned to the Arena, the massive, wind-swept stadium located at the very top of the academy tower, right where they had taken their awakening tests just a week prior.

Thousands of spectator benches climbed up the vaulted stone walls of the high tower arena, already packed to the brim with older seniors, instructors, and wealthy delegates who had traveled from the inner ring to scout the next generation of weapons for the Crown.

”The atmosphere is insane today, Tom,” Ryan muttered, his voice barely audible over the thunderous roar of the crowd as they stepped onto the elevated sands. He kept his head down, his knuckles pale as he gripped the canvas strap of his training sword bag. ”Everyone wants to see how you, a lesser-blood handles an assassin. Just... remember the circulation pattern you practiced last night. Don’t let Raymond dictate the pace.”

Thomas didn’t respond, merely giving a firm nod as he kept his expression perfectly neutral. Beneath his academy uniform, his heart rate remained steady, his newly reinforced muscles completely loose and ready for impact under the open sky.

They reached the heavy iron gates leading onto the sand floor of Arena Sector 1.

Standing by the barrier checkpoint, completely ignored by the passing crowds of nervous teenagers, was a familiar figure. The lazy senior girl from the restricted archives was leaning comfortably against a stone pillar, a large historical scroll tucked under her arm as her ebony eyes tracked Thomas’s approach through her glasses.

Thomas paused as he drew near, slowing his stride. ”Still skipping class, Senior?”

She let out a soft, raspy chuckle, a faint smirk playing on her pale features. ”The entire senior block is ordered to spectate today, freshman. Consider this mandatory leisure time.”

Her smile slowly faded, her tone dipping into that quiet, serious weight as she gestured toward the open arena floor beyond the gates. ”You’ve got a lot cut out for you this time Thomas, It would be a disappointment to see you break so early in the competition.”

”I’ll keep that in mind,” Thomas said calmly.

”You’d better,” she murmured, turning her gaze back toward the grand upper benches where Julian sat surrounded by the highest noble houses.

”Because if you fall in the first five minutes, it’s going to make the tournament brackets look incredibly boring.”

Thomas gave her a final, quiet nod and stepped through the iron threshold, his boots sinking into the cool black sand of the coliseum floor. Across the wide-open arena block, Raymond of House Saber was already standing under the morning light, his silver hair slicked back and his twin stiletto daggers twirling effortlessly through his fingers with a sickening, metallic hiss.

The battle was officially ready to begin.