Chapter 6: The Arena Does Not Care Who You Are
The arena did not care about names.
It did not care about lineage, reputation, or rumors whispered in academy corridors. Stone was stone. Mana was mana. Blood was blood.
And for Aren Valerius Arcanveil, that truth was comforting.
Arena Three lay on the eastern side of the Royal Academy, a circular battleground carved directly into the bedrock. Tall stone walls rose around it, layered with defensive arrays that shimmered faintly under the morning light. These were not the grand dueling stages reserved for the top-ranked elites—but they were no less unforgiving.
Students gathered along the stands, forming a low murmur of anticipation.
"Is this the Arcanveil guy?"
"Yeah, rank one-forty-seven."
"His opponent's rank one-twelve. This should be quick."
Aren stepped onto the arena floor calmly.
He wore the academy's standard combat uniform, sword sheathed at his waist, posture relaxed but grounded. To an untrained eye, he looked unremarkable—just another noble student answering a challenge.
But Aren felt it.
The pressure.
This duel wasn't about victory alone. It was about validation.
Across from him stood Roderic Hale.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Confident in the way only someone used to winning could be. His sword was already drawn, its polished blade reflecting the ambient mana in the air.
Roderic rolled his shoulders once and smiled.
"Arcanveil," he said loudly, ensuring the audience could hear. "I hope you won't disappoint. I'd hate for all this talk to be nothing."
Aren inclined his head slightly.
"I'll do my best," he replied.
The instructor overseeing the duel—a stern woman with silver-lined robes—raised her hand.
"Academy rules apply," she announced. "No lethal intent. Victory is determined by incapacitation, surrender, or ring-out."
Her hand dropped.
"Begin."
Roderic moved first.
Fast.
His sword flashed forward in a clean thrust, mana reinforcing the blade as he closed the distance in a burst of speed that drew murmurs from the crowd.
Solid foundation, Aren assessed instantly. Good footwork. Decent mana reinforcement. But—
He stepped aside.
The thrust skimmed past his ribs, close enough for Aren to feel the displaced air, but not close enough to connect. At the same time, he rotated his wrist, blade sliding up to deflect the follow-up slash.
Steel rang sharply.
Roderic's eyes flickered.
Not shock.
Interest.
"So you're not slow," he muttered.
Aren didn't answer.
He retreated half a step, then another, letting Roderic press the attack. Slashes came in steady succession—horizontal, vertical, diagonal—each one precise, each one carrying intent.
Aren blocked some.
Dodged others.
Never fully retreating. Never fully committing.
The crowd began to quiet.
This wasn't a mismatch.
Don't rush, Aren reminded himself.
Measure first.
He allowed a shallow cut across his sleeve—not deep enough to wound, but visible enough to look careless. A mistake.
Roderic noticed instantly.
"There it is!" someone shouted from the stands.
Roderic surged forward, sword aura flaring brighter.
Aren felt it.
The shift from testing to killing intent—restrained by academy rules, but sharp nonetheless.
Now.
Mana surged through Aren's core—not explosively, but precisely. He channeled it into his legs, timing it with a sword form drilled into his muscles a thousand times.
He stepped inside Roderic's guard.
Too close.
Roderic's eyes widened as Aren's blade moved—not toward his body, but toward the flat of his sword.
Steel struck steel.
Mana clashed.
The impact echoed across the arena.
Roderic staggered back a step, shock rippling through his posture.
Aren did not pursue.
The silence in the stands deepened.
Good, Aren thought. Now they'll be confused.
Roderic laughed suddenly, shaking his arm.
"So that's how it is," he said. "You're hiding more than you show."
He raised his sword again, this time letting mana flare openly along the blade.
"Then I won't hold back either."
The next exchange was faster.
Roderic's strikes grew heavier, each one infused with more mana, his stamina burning rapidly. Aren responded in kind—but only just enough. He reinforced his blade, stabilized his stance, and let Dual Path Sovereignty do what it did best.
Mana did not erode his muscles.
Sword intent did not disrupt his casting.
They merged.
Every clash sharpened him.
Pain bloomed in his arms, sharp and insistent. His breathing deepened, controlled. Sweat traced down his spine.
This is the limit I can show, Aren decided.
He pivoted suddenly, changing rhythm mid-exchange, and allowed his mana to leak outward—not as a spell, but as pressure.
Roderic hesitated.
Just for an instant.
Aren struck.
The flat of his blade slammed into Roderic's shoulder, sending him skidding backward across the stone.
Gasps erupted from the stands.
Roderic caught himself before falling, breathing hard, eyes burning with frustration—and respect.
"Damn it," he muttered. "You really are troublesome."
He raised his sword again.
Then stopped.
The instructor stepped forward, hand raised.
"Enough," she declared. "The duel has reached its conclusion."
Roderic froze.
Aren lowered his blade.
"Result," the instructor continued, "is a draw. Both combatants remain capable of fighting, but further engagement risks rule violation."
A beat passed.
Then murmurs exploded.
"A draw?"
"He held rank one-twelve?"
"That wasn't luck…"
Roderic exhaled sharply, then laughed once.
"Fair enough," he said, sheathing his sword. "You've earned your place, Arcanveil."
Aren bowed slightly.
"Likewise."
As Aren stepped off the arena floor, the system unfolded before his eyes.
[World Convergence System]
Name: Aren Valerius Arcanveil
Title: Canon-Dead Extra | Duel-Verified Student
Affiliation: House Arcanveil
Path:
- Magic Cultivation
- Sword Cultivation
Realm:
- Magic: Apprentice Mage (Mid)
- Sword: Sword Trainee (Peak → Near Breakthrough)
Attributes:
- Strength: 16 (+1)
- Speed: 15 (+1)
- Stamina: 17 (+1)
- Vitality: 17
- Mana: 20 (+1)
- Mental Focus: 18
Combat Stats:
- Physical Power: C+
- Mana Control: C+
- Sword Mastery: B-
- Battle Instinct: B
Skills:
- Dual Path Sovereignty (Authority · Passive)
- Basic Mana Control (Refined)
- Foundation Sword Forms (Advanced)
Plot Metrics:
- Plot Engagement: 18% (+4%)
- Rival Nodes: 3 (Active)
- Fate Attention: Slight → Noticed
Condition:
- Muscle Micro-Tears (Minor)
- Mana Depletion (Moderate)
System Evaluation:
- Status: Successful Engagement
- Growth Quality: High
- Threat Classification: Confirmed Variable
Aren closed the panel slowly.
Confirmed variable, he repeated internally.
So this was the price of stepping forward.
As he left the arena, he felt it—eyes watching him from afar. Not just students.
Someone else.
Higher.
Aren did not look back.
He already knew.
This duel was only the beginning.
The academy had noticed him.
And soon, the real rivals would move.