Jacob wasn’t just a random challenger — he was one of their top junior students, a second-level awakener near the peak.

And Quade had just floored him with a single move.

Quade raised an eyebrow, already turning away. “Next—”

“Hold it.” Jacob coughed, spat blood into the snow, and stood up shakily. His face flushed with effort, but his eyes burned. “I’m not done yet.”

Quade gave a shrug, casually channeling more force into his core. If anything, he looked mildly annoyed. “Suit yourself.”

Jacob didn’t charge in this time. He moved fast and wide, circling the arena, eyes locked on Quade. He was clearly avoiding a head-on clash, keeping distance to react in time.

It almost worked.

Boom!

Another explosion — this time behind him.

Jacob went flying again, this time skidding face-first through the snow, his back shredded and bloody.

Quade walked up, looking down at him with a smirk.

“Who told you my skills only work from the front?”

His voice was cold and full of venom, but the grin on his face made it worse. God, this feels good.

Back home, in his wealthy, insulated life, Quade had never met a peer who could even challenge him. But in the Syndicate? He was just another promising recruit. No one bowed. No one gave a shit about his pedigree.

But here… Here, he could remind people what dominance looked like.

Jacob was pulled off the stage, barely conscious.

Quade turned back to the audience, that same sneering grin still on his face. “Next.”

He made a loose, taunting gesture with his hand. “If you’re all like that, then stay the hell in your seats. This is pathetic. Is this really all you’ve got?”

Up front, Luke was fuming. If Quade had been on his team, he’d have yanked him off the stage already — maybe slapped him twice for good measure.

“Unbelievable,” Juno muttered under her breath. “Is this guy for real?”

Colt added. “He’s trying to humiliate everyone.”

Thousands of students at Bloodstone Warfare School still sat upright, silent.

Then, slowly, one student stood up. Short and lean, he walked steadily toward the stage. "Pan. Please grant me a match.”

But before he could step into the ring, a tall figure stepped forward and blocked his path.

“I’ve got this,” the newcomer said.

The man was built like a tank — tall, muscular, and clean-shaven. His physical energy practically radiated from his body. Brandon.

Pan hesitated, then nodded and sat back down without protest.

“Oh? the finale is on the stage so soon.” Quade taunted with a lazy grin.

Brandon ignored him, stepping into the ring with heavy, deliberate strides.

“There are students here much stronger than me,” Brandon said seriously. “But I should be more than enough to handle you.”

He gave Quade a formal pre-battle salute. Quade just snorted.

“Pfft. Show-off.”

From the stands, Luke’s jaw tightened. His expression darkened. What the hell is Quade doing?

“Begin!” the referee shouted.

Brandon exploded forward like a charging war machine. For a man that size, his speed was unreal — each thundering step shook the ring.

“Not bad,” Quade said with a smirk. But despite the casual tone, he instinctively backed up. He didn’t want to take that kind of force head-on.

He summoned his Force again and fired — the air compressed into a blast that shot toward Brandon like a cannonball.

A direct hit was all but guaranteed. Brandon was huge, a literal moving target. But the outcome wasn’t what Quade expected.

Just before impact, Brandon crossed his arms in front of his chest, tucked his head, and curled his legs, tucking himself into a ball mid-charge — and launched into the air!

The compressed air slowed him, but didn’t stop him. His arms and joints suddenly shimmered, shifting into a purplish, crystalline sheen. Armor-like. Tough as hell.

“Zha!” With a roar, Brandon burst through the air blast and slammed toward Quade like a meteor.

Gone was the calm, sunny demeanor. On the battlefield, Brandon was a war god — brutal, unrelenting. In a blink, he closed the distance and reached for Quade’s collar.

Quade’s eyes widened. What the fuck?! He hadn’t expected a second-level Awakener to take his full hit and keep coming.

Just as Brandon’s fingers were about to grab hold, Quade triggered another skill.

Puff!

A transparent barrier of air erupted between them with a fart-like pop. Brandon smashed into it — but kept going. The air membrane bent, rippled, and finally gave way under the sheer force of Brandon’s charge.

Quade barely managed to disengage in time. He slipped free, dodging backward and widening the gap again.

“This guy’s fucking Level 2?” Quade muttered under his breath, his face pale. His breathing grew heavier. That last dodge had taken effort — real effort.

He stared at Brandon with new eyes. The guy had broken through his air cannon and breached the membrane shield.

Brandon narrowed his gaze. “Agile bastard,” he said. His fingertips bled, but his stance remained solid. He coiled himself and launched forward again.

Quade watched closely. He’s injured.

And that was Quade’s edge. Even if Brandon pushed into close range, Quade’s superior agility and higher Force rating gave him room to evade — and strike.

The tide of battle slowly became clear. Brandon was relentless. His pressure didn’t let up. For a Level 2 Awakener, he was fighting *way* above his rank — but it came at a price.

Each exchange left him a little weaker. The force of Quade’s skills was still carving him up piece by piece. After several minutes, Brandon’s attacks slowed. His footing faltered. Blood leaked from his palms and elbows, and his face was drawn with pain.

He was running out of gas.

“Brandon… that’s enough,” Varric said quietly from the front row, already rising from his seat.

Brandon stood in the center of the ring, trembling slightly, teeth clenched — but still upright.

At this point, even Colt and Juno had dropped their usual easygoing looks. That kind of raw fighting spirit… it moved them.

“Teacher, I’m still good to go,” Brandon said calmly. His voice was hoarse, his face pale, but he stood tall. He wiped the blood from his mouth, eyes locked on Quade. “One more round.”

“Tch. Fine, I’ll help you go down properly.” Quade’s voice dripped with annoyance. This wasn’t the kind of match he’d wanted. He was expecting a clean, crushing victory—something that would make him look untouchable. But Brandon had held on far longer than expected.

By now, Brandon could barely stand. His legs trembled from the damage he’d taken. His awakening skill, Scale Armor, was a melee-based ability that boosted both defense and offense—but after so many direct hits, even that wasn’t enough. His vision blurred, and blood trickled down his side.

BOOM!

This time, the compressed air cannon was far more brutal than before.

Quade had been fighting non-stop, yes, but unlike Brandon, he wasn’t running on fumes. Thanks to his river-level origin vein, his Force had already recovered. What he launched now wasn’t just a regular skill—it was his advanced awakening skill: a high-energy compressed air cannon.

“So that’s the ace up your sleeve,” Brandon muttered, breath hitching.

His body wouldn’t let him dodge anymore. He was too battered, too slow. But still, he stood his ground. Because he was used to it.

Out in the wilds, against mutant beasts, there was no such thing as surrender. You either won… or you died.

“Brandon, get out of there!” Varric’s voice cut through the growing tension.

He could feel it—something was wrong. But he and Luke were too far from the stage to do anything.

But just then—

Swish.

A faint sound brushed past everyone’s ears.

Then a figure appeared in front of Brandon.

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