The training arena stretched wide beneath an open dome, its floor lined with pale stone etched in glowing wards. Students filled the stands, buzzing with excitement—sparring evaluations were always the highlight. Victories built reputations. Defeats branded the weak.
The instructor's voice rang out:
"Combatants will demonstrate skill, mana control, and composure. First pairing—Kian Valen and Arin."
A ripple of whispers surged through the crowd.
"Kian's going first?"
"And against him? That poor guy doesn't stand a chance."
"Arin? Who is he again?"
Kian strode onto the platform with a confident grin, his sword gleaming, aura already shimmering around the blade like golden fire. His father's influence, his uncle's favor—everyone knew he was destined for high ranks.
Arin stepped forward more hesitantly. He had no aura-forged weapon, just the standard practice blade provided by the Academy. His heart hammered, but the whispers inside him were already stirring.
Threat proximity confirmed.
Adaptation protocol: engaged.
The signal bell chimed.
Kian lunged instantly, his sword flashing down in a blur. Arin raised his blade too late—the strike should have smashed him aside.
But something shifted.
His muscles reacted faster than his mind, body twisting just enough to deflect the blow. Sparks scattered across the stone.
Kian's eyes narrowed. "Huh?"
Arin blinked, just as startled. He hadn't meant to dodge like that.
Kian pressed forward, slashing with fluid, practiced strikes. Each swing carried the weight of years of training—and yet Arin found his body adjusting, angles changing, timing improving with every clash.
The whispers grew louder with each strike.
Adaptation speed: accelerating.
Movement efficiency: optimized by 14%.
The crowd murmured. Some leaned forward. This was not the helpless one-sided match they expected.
Kian's smirk faded into frustration. "You think you can make a fool of me?" His aura flared, golden fire coating his blade. He slammed down a heavy strike that cracked the stone floor.
Arin staggered back, arms trembling under the force. His chest burned. For a moment, he felt he'd collapse—
Then his eyes locked, just for a heartbeat, with Lira's in the stands.
Her gaze held no pity. Only curiosity. As if she were watching something she had seen before… and was waiting to see again.
The whispers surged.
Critical pressure detected.
Muscle reinforcement unlocked.
Power flooded his limbs. Arin pushed Kian back, steel ringing in the hall. Gasps erupted from the crowd.
The instructor raised a hand sharply. "Enough!"
The barrier around the arena shimmered, signaling the match's end. Kian's blade was stopped mid-swing. Arin's chest heaved, sweat dripping, but his stance was steady.
Murmurs spread through the students.
"How did he keep up with Kian?"
"He's… different."
Kian's glare burned hotter than his aura. "This isn't over, Arin."
Arin said nothing. His hands still shook—not from fear, but from the voice echoing inside him.
Adaptation synchronized: 11%.
Next evolution—awaiting trigger.