The day before the tournament arrived under a restless sky.

The registration hall near the colosseum was already overflowing with people when Lukas, Sofie, and Marco arrived. Adventurers from every corner of the kingdom gathered there—some confident, some nervous, others barely containing their excitement. Armor clinked, cloaks brushed past one another, and mana pulsed faintly through the air like an unseen current.

As Lukas stepped inside, his body reacted before his mind did.

A strange sensation crept along his skin.

An aura—

sharp, controlled, and unlike anything he had felt before.

He slowed, his eyes scanning the hall until they landed on a lone figure standing near the far wall.

The person wore pure white robes, pristine and untouched, standing in stark contrast to the dirt and sweat of the other contenders. Draped over their shoulders was a black cape, dark and heavy, as though it absorbed the surrounding light.

Their face was hidden behind a mask.

Blank. Featureless. Smooth.

For a brief moment, Lukas felt certain of one thing.

They were looking straight at him.

The masked figure tilted their head slightly, acknowledging his gaze. Lukas hesitated, then looked away. Whoever they were, they clearly didn’t want attention—and something told him it was better not to interfere.

After completing their registration, the three stepped back out into the capital.

Lukas stopped short.

Towering white stone buildings rose above him, banners of noble houses fluttering between rooftops. The streets were alive—merchants shouting prices, children weaving through crowds, musicians performing for passing coin. Mana lamps glowed faintly even in daylight, lining the roads with soft light.

“So this is the capital…” Lukas murmured.

Sofie glanced at him with a grin. “Try not to stare too hard.”

Marco laughed. “You already look lost.”

As evening fell, the city transformed.

Lanterns were lit across every street, music echoed from plazas, and the smell of roasted meat and ale filled the air. The **Aether Festival** had begun—a celebration held every year on the eve of the tournament.

People danced openly, clashed tankards, and sang without restraint.

For the first time since leaving his village, Lukas allowed himself to relax.

Then—

That aura again.

The same presence from the registration hall.

Excusing himself quietly, Lukas slipped away from the crowd. A moment later, light gathered beneath his feet, lifting him effortlessly into the air. He followed the sensation across rooftops, toward a narrow alley far from the festival’s noise.

He arrived just in time to see several thugs surrounding the masked figure.

Weapons were already drawn.

Before Lukas could speak—

It ended.

The masked figure moved with terrifying efficiency. Steel flashed once, twice, and the thugs collapsed one after another, unconscious before their bodies hit the ground.

No wasted motion.

No hesitation.

Lukas landed softly nearby. “I figured you wouldn’t need help.”

The masked figure turned slightly toward him but said nothing.

The next morning, the colosseum shook with noise.

Nearly two hundred registered contenders stood on the arena floor—knights in armor, mages in robes, adventurers gripping worn weapons. The air felt heavy, saturated with mana and anima.

The host stepped forward.

“Two hundred registered for this year’s Royal Selection Tournament,” he announced. “However—only *twenty-four* have passed the preliminary evaluation.”

Confusion rippled through the crowd.

“The evaluation,” the host continued calmly, “was conducted in secret. Royal mages and knight commanders observed your mana circulation, anima flow, control, and potential from the moment you entered the capital.”

Murmurs turned into shouts.

Names were called. Twenty-four contenders stepped forward.

The rest were ordered to leave the arena.

Outrage exploded.

“This is unfair!”

“We didn’t even fight!”

“Who decided this?!”

The **Head of the Royal Knights** stepped forward.

“Strength reveals itself whether you wish it to or not,” he said evenly. “Those who failed lacked either the mana, the anima, or the control required.”

The anger didn’t fade.

Several disqualified contenders rushed him at once.

Lukas barely saw the man move.

In a single instant, the commander vanished, reappearing behind them as a crushing pressure swept through the arena. One by one, the challengers collapsed unconscious.

No spell.

No blade.

Just raw power.

The colosseum fell silent.

Then erupted in cheers.

Lukas swallowed. *what was that *

“That was bodily reinforcement,” a voice said beside him.

The masked figure stood there once more. “Anima responds faster than mana when mastered.”

Lukas turned toward them. “You’re explaining it to me now?”

“Don’t misunderstand,” the figure replied coldly. “Next time, mind your own business.”

Lukas smiled faintly. 

The figure said nothing.

Moments later, the host returned to the center of the arena.

“The tournament proper will now begin,” he announced.

“The first match—**Marco of the Adventurer’s Guild versus Carlos**.”

Marco cracked his neck, grinning as he stepped forward.

The selection was over.

The real test had begun.