Dressed in a plain blue-gray training suit, a young man held a simple bamboo sword in one hand. He moved it through the air with a slow, deliberate motion—almost like he was painting a line in space.

The violent cannon blast tore through the air… but instead of hitting Brandon, it was subtly redirected. The energy veered off-course and slammed into the reinforced energy barrier at the back of the arena, dissipating harmlessly.

“Don’t be such a hero, big bro,” the young man said casually. The entire stadium froze.

Quade’s eyes widened in disbelief.

Who the hell is this guy? Not only did he just block my advanced skill… he did it with a fucking bamboo sword?

And worse—he looked even younger than him.

Axel, sitting near the front row, was just as stunned. Wait… isn’t that the guy I ran into while training?

That strike just now—he didn’t destroy the cannon. He changed its direction… with pure technique.

“Marcus… sorry for making the school lose face.” Brandon tried to stand again, but a wave of blood poured from his mouth. He doubled over.

Marcus sidestepped the blood easily, catching Brandon by the arm and helping him upright with steady hands. “Let me take it from here.”

The arena exploded.

Students from the War Academy—who had been silent until now—burst into cheers. Several people jumped to their feet. Faces lit up with recognition and even awe.

“Marcus is here!”

“I thought he wasn’t coming back this semester!”

“That’s our junior! That’s Marcus!”

Luke exhaled hard when he saw Brandon had survived. But then his eyes shifted to Marcus. “Who… the hell is that?”

Varric, standing nearby, grinned with clear pride. “That’s Marcus. First-year student. Strongest in his grade.”

Juno and Colt stared at each other, stunned.

He’s a freshman? He’s two years younger than us?!

“What was that move just now?” Luke asked, still trying to process what he’d seen.

“Sword Intent,” Varric said proudly. “It’s his awakening skill. The move just now? That’s a technique he developed himself. He calls it Sword Transformation.”

Luke blinked. “He created his own awakening skill… and he’s only level two?”

Varric nodded. “That’s right.”

There were many types of awakeners, and plenty of existing skill templates out there. Most people just inherited or developed known ones—like Quade’s air cannon or Vincent’s Physical Enhancement. Those had been seen and studied before.

At Level 3, you could start advancing existing skills or learning new ones. For example, Rosaline’s Ice Wall was a standard protective awakening skill—but her Ice Spike was something she learned after leveling up.

But to create a new skill entirely? To pull it from your own intuition and understanding?

That was something only the most gifted, terrifyingly talented awakeners could do.

Geniuses. Real ones.

And Marcus had done it… at level two.

Luke’s voice was quiet, almost a whisper. “He can already create his own skills at Level 2…”

“I’ll fight you.” Marcus stepped back into the ring after helping Brandon down, his face as unreadable as ever.

Quade, though surprised at first, had relaxed again. After all, Marcus was just a second-level awakener.

“I can give you a moment to recover your Force,” Marcus said quietly, holding the bamboo sword in one hand.

“No need.” Quade scoffed. He didn’t come here to trade blows—he came to crush people. And he was going to do it, right now.

“Begin!”

Boom!

Without hesitation, Quade launched his signature move: the air cannon. Fast, powerful, and direct—he intended to overpower Marcus with raw force.

In the stands, Luke nodded slightly. If it were him, he’d have made the same choice.

The blast came quickly. The ring wasn’t large, and Marcus had little room to maneuver. But he didn’t even try to dodge.

Not because he didn’t want to. Because he couldn’t.

“Swish… swish…” Marcus moved slowly, almost lazily, tracing elegant arcs through the air with his bamboo sword, like an artist brushing strokes onto a canvas. He walked calmly toward Quade.

Boom!

Boom!

Each of Quade’s attacks struck the barrier beside the ring with force, rippling its surface—but Marcus just kept moving forward, untouched. Quade’s expression, once smug, began to shift.

This doesn’t make sense. Marcus was supposed to be using Force to block the air cannons. But Quade had already spent over half of his reserves, and Marcus? He still looked fresh—calm, composed, and getting closer with every step.

Panicking slightly, Quade fired again—this time using his advanced awakening skill: a wide-range, high-power compressed air cannon.

The massive blast thundered through the arena. But Marcus didn’t flinch.

He shook his head—disappointed. The attack dispersed almost effortlessly around him. It wasn’t even a contest.

“What the fuck are you?!” Quade’s voice cracked. His hands trembled. He’d emptied almost everything into that last attack. And Marcus was now less than five meters away.

“You think I’m scared of a close-range fight?” Quade roared, pulling a short sword from his belt. “You’re just a level two!”

Clang!

The next moment, his short sword clattered to the ground.

Marcus’s bamboo sword hovered a finger’s width from Quade’s forehead, centered directly between his eyes.

“You lost,” Marcus said flatly.

Quade stood frozen. He looked down at his own hand, where a red mark had bloomed across his skin. When did he even move?

Juno and Colt looked equally shocked. From a tactical perspective, Quade hadn’t made any obvious mistakes. But Marcus’s energy—his Force—had seemed limitless.

“He deserved to lose,” Luke said coldly. Luke continued, calm. “Quade *did* have more Force than Marcus. But Marcus didn’t waste his own to block the air cannons. He redirected them—with technique.”

Colt and Juno still didn’t fully understand, but Axel did. His face darkened slightly.

“Fucking terrifying…” Zara muttered, fists clenched at her sides. As a third-level awakener herself, even she couldn’t muster confidence facing someone like Marcus.

While the others whispered, Marcus remained in front of Quade, bamboo sword still aimed at his face.

“Now tell me,” he said quietly, “who’s the real trash?”

There was no anger in his voice. No pride, no gloating—just quiet disappointment.

Quade looked down, fists trembling. He could feel it—every eye in the arena drilling into him, laughing at him.

Marcus shook his head. “I honestly don’t know why the Whisper Syndicate would send someone as brainless as you to represent them.”

Quade’s temper finally snapped. “History is written by the victors! What’s the point of this preaching?!”

Marcus didn’t even blink. “With your attitude, even if you beat me—do you really think anyone here would’ve wanted to join your Syndicate?”

Quade froze. He had no answer. The crowd was silent.

“Alright, enough. You lost—get off the stage,” Luke barked from the stands. “Don’t embarrass yourself any more.”

He motioned to have Quade removed.

Back at his seat with Juno and Colt, Quade burned with shame, unable to look anyone in the eye.

And Luke? He was already running through damage control strategies in his head. If this mission really failed… how the hell was he going to explain it to HQ?

“Mr. Varric, thank you. Your students are… impressive.”

Luke could only offer a few polite words at this point. But before Varric could respond, all eyes were drawn to the stage—Marcus was still standing there, looking straight at them.

“You should step up now,” Marcus said calmly, his eyes focused.

The audience had already begun shuffling in their seats, preparing to leave. But at Marcus’s words, everything stopped. Even the Whisper Syndicate members froze, unsure of what he meant—until they followed his gaze.

It landed on one man.

“…Axel?” Quade muttered, brows furrowing.

“Yeah,” Zara nodded, eyes sharp. “It’s time for Axel.”

“There’s another contestant?” Varric asked, surprised. Luke looked just as caught off guard.

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