The three weeks pass quickly, each day vanishing like mist. We spent our evenings in combat against the vicious beasts that prowled the Hellzone, honing our abilities and testing our limits, while during the day we were devoted to lectures and studies. My companions, though tired and weary, showed satisfaction in their progress. The monster students, Genta and Loland, managed to gain two levels, while my human friends each climbed one rank higher. Our group had never been more physically prepared as we approached the beginning of the tournament between academies.

When the day finally arrived, we were more than ready.

I made several modifications to my war frame for the tournament. The deadly barbs that had once tipped my tendrils were gone, replaced with blunted claws designed for grappling rather than killing. These changes would prove more versatile in non-lethal combat, allowing me to restrain opponents without causing permanent harm.

The aesthetics hadn't been neglected either. My blank auric steel mask, which covered the damaged portions of my face, now bore delicate filigree work along its edges, catching light in mesmerizing patterns. Similar decorative trim adorned my torso armor, the golden metal creating elegant lines against the darker steel beneath. A white robe wrapped around my waist like a skirt, its fabric concealing the vulnerable connection points where my tendrils emerged from my frame. The cloth flowed with my movements, adding an almost graceful quality to my mechanical form.

Kolin's estoc remained my primary weapon, though it had gained new capabilities. Eyarna's enchantment work had transformed it into something more formidable; now anyone foolish enough to touch the blade would receive a shocking surprise. I gripped the familiar handle in my right hand, feeling the weapon's balance and testing its enhanced properties with small pulses of mana.

These alterations served multiple purposes. The decorative elements weren't mere vanity; they presented a more refined appearance that might help ease the tensions that often arose when others saw my true nature. The protective coverings guarded weak points while the modified weapons demonstrated our team's commitment to honorable combat. Every change reflected careful consideration of both form and function.

Langdon's boots echoed against the stone floor as he guided us through the Academy's winding corridors. His usual disheveled appearance had been replaced by a crisp instructor's uniform, though his sword remained as battered as ever.

"Gutter House," he chuckled, shaking his head. "You lot really know how to make a statement."

"Is that bad?" Yulios adjusted his leather armor for the tenth time.

"Bad? It's perfect." Langdon's eyes sparkled with something that wasn't alcohol for once. "Nothing makes nobles squirm more than seeing the people they look down on embrace the insults thrown at them. Trust me, I know a thing or two about that."

The southern arena loomed ahead, its ancient walls now festooned with colorful banners representing the two schools. The War Academy's somber emblem of a crimson bull's head with twin blades underneath on a black background stood in stark contrast to the Vocation Institute's vibrant green and blue design featuring a white fox.

"Now listen carefully," Langdon's voice dropped lower. "Institute students aren't trained in formal combat like Academy brats. They learn by doing; fighting real monsters, solving real problems."

"He's right." Annes fingered the pommel of her sword. "When I was adventuring, we'd run into Institute graduates all the time. They fight dirty, use whatever works."

Her eyes grew distant. "Had this one job, escorting a merchant caravan. The Institute mage with us couldn't cast a proper fireball to save his life, but he knew exactly how to use minor cantrips to trip up bandits and tangle their weapons. Saved our lives more than once with those tricks."

"Exactly." Langdon nodded. "Academy students follow forms, patterns. Institute folks? They improvise. Don't expect clean duels. They'll use the environment, their equipment, whatever gives them an edge."

I absorbed this information, already calculating adjustments to my combat protocols. My tendrils could be used for more than just striking; they could alter terrain, create obstacles, or clear paths.

"What about their levels?" Sven asked.

"The vast majority of them will be less than the average Academy student. Most will be between ten and fifteen. But remember, their experience is practical. They've faced real danger, not just training exercises."

So have we, I reminded him.

We reached the arena's preparation chamber. Through the archway, I could hear the growing crowd, their excitement a tangible presence.

"One last thing," Langdon turned to face us. "You've chosen to call yourselves Gutter House. That means something. The gutters might be where society's castoffs end up, but they're also what keeps the city running. Without them, everything falls apart."

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He looked at each of us in turn, monster and human alike. "Show them what the cast-offs can do."

As we filed into the arena proper, I caught glimpses of our competition. Institute students in practical leather and chain, their equipment well-worn but functional. They moved with the easy confidence of those who had faced real battles.

This would be interesting.

I used Analyze on each Institute student as they entered, mentally cataloging their levels and classes. Most clustered between levels eight and twelve, with well-maintained but practical gear that showed signs of actual combat use. A few older students caught my attention, particularly a level 24 Archer whose bow hummed with complex enchantments, as well as a level 22 Hydromancer whose staff bore intricate runes I'd never encountered before.

Their equipment wasn't ostentatious like the gilded weapons favored by Academy nobles, but I recognized quality craftsmanship. The leather armor many wore had been treated with expensive waterproofing and flexibility enchantments. Their weapons showed signs of regular maintenance and custom modifications, notched sword hilts for better grip, weighted knife pommels for throwing, staves wrapped with gold cord to enhance mana flow.

These weren't pampered students who'd only faced controlled duels and limited Hellzone runs. The scars and patches on their gear told stories of real battles against monsters and bandits. I found myself analyzing their equipment's practical adaptations, already considering how to incorporate similar functional improvements into my own design.

They may be lower level, I communicated to my teammates through Mind Speech, but don't underestimate their experience. Those weapons have tasted blood.

The Institute students' reactions to my form were predictable. Some recoiled, hands instinctively moving to weapons. Others leaned forward, eyes gleaming with professional interest. One particularly bold student even pulled out a notebook, sketching my chassis design with quick, practiced strokes.

Interesting, I noted to my companions. They assess before judging.

"Makes sense," Genta whispered. "Institute students work with all sorts, including intelligent monsters. They're probably trying to figure out if you're a threat or potential ally."

Around us, the Academy's noble students presented a stark contrast in both equipment and attitude. Their armor gleamed with fresh enchantments, decorated with house crests and elaborate filigree. Many wore capes in their house colors, pristine fabric that had never seen real combat.

"Look at that pathetic excuse for a sword." A young noble from House Dragon gestured at an Institute student's well-worn blade. "Did they pull it from a scrap heap?"

The Institute student, a scarred dwarven woman with close-cropped blond hair, simply smiled and tested her weapon's edge with her thumb. The blade might have been plain, but I noticed the careful way she handled it, the precise angle of her grip. That sword had ended lives.

My tendrils shifted restlessly beneath my white skirt as I observed the gathering crowd. The arena seats filled with spectators: wealthy merchants, noble families, and other Academy students. In one section, I spotted a group wearing the green and blue of the Institute, their equipment showing the same practical wear as their younger counterparts.

"Those must be Institute graduates," Annes nodded toward them. "They came to support their school."

"Unlike our noble alumni," Sven added quietly, "who only show up to network and show off new enchanted accessories."

Professor Shawe strode past our group, his lip curling as he noticed me. "Try not to embarrass the Academy too badly, monster." He paused, eyeing my companions. "That goes for all of you... Gutter House."

The way he spat our team name made it clear he considered us beneath contempt. But I noticed something interesting; while the Academy nobles snickered at his insult, several Institute students watched the interaction with narrowed eyes and knowing looks.

They recognize that type, I sent to my teammates. They've dealt with his kind before.

"Good," Loland straightened his copper-scaled shoulders. "Then they know exactly why we chose our name."

A horn blast cut through the growing noise. Headmaster Reins and Principal Hilltuck stepped onto a raised platform, their voices enhanced by magic to carry across the arena.

"Welcome, students of both institutions," Reins began, his tone formal. "Today we celebrate the different paths to knowledge and power that our schools represent..."

Headmaster Reins' voice boomed across the arena, his white armor gleaming under the morning sun. "War is the crucible that forges true warriors. Lord Kaldos himself showed us this truth when he established our sacred Academy. Through combat, we discover our limits, then break past them."

His gaze swept across the gathered students, lingering on the Institute's practical leather and worn weapons before shifting to the Academy nobles' gilded armor. "Some learn through formal training, mastering ancient techniques passed down through generations. Others gain wisdom in the field, facing death with nothing but their wits and will to survive."

When his eyes found me, they shone with intensity. I felt the weight of his attention, heavy as a sword pressed against my neck. My tendrils coiled tighter beneath my robes, responding to my unease.

"Both paths lead to the same destination," he continued. "Whether through academic rigor or hard-won experience, we seek to create warriors worthy of Kaldos' blessing. Warriors who can face any challenge, any enemy."

That last word caused a tingle in my mind. I focused on my fractured memories, trying to understand why his tone stirred something in my damaged mind. A flash, one of ancient soldiers charging across a battlefield, their weapons glowing with starlight. But the image slipped away before I could grasp its significance.

"Today's tournament will demonstrate the strength of both approaches." Reins raised his hand, sunlight catching on his gauntlet. "Show us your determination. Prove yourselves worthy of the power you seek."

Principal Hilltuck stepped forward then, his simple gray armor a stark contrast to Reins' martial splendor. Where the headmaster radiated military precision, Hilltuck moved with the casual confidence of someone who'd survived brutal battles by the skin of his teeth.

"Enough fancy words," he grinned, earning chuckles from the Institute students. "You're here to fight, not listen to old men talk. First round is one-on-one duels. Winners advance to the artifact hunt. Survivors of that mess get to beat each other senseless in the final free-for-all."

He clapped his hands together. "Let the games begin!"

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