The tunnel reeked of stone dust and tension.

Tristan leaned against the wall, arms folded, his Infernal Fang Cheetah crouched at his side like a living ember. Its crimson runes pulsed in rhythm with its heartbeat, each flicker of flame casting jagged shadows across the corridor.

But Tristan wasn't smirking. His eyes lingered on the far end of the tunnel, where Aston had disappeared only minutes ago with his tiger.

That kitten! That… thing!

The thought gnawed at him. For once, the Graves heir wasn't the center of attention. His beast wasn't the one leaving the audience gasping in awe.

"Tristan Graves!" the referee's voice boomed, echoing down the tunnel. "Prepare to enter."

The cheetah growled low, sparks curling from its paws. Tristan forced himself upright, shaking off the irritation. Fine. Let them cheer for the Scouting brat. When I'm finished, they'll remember who commands this arena.

—

The gates yawned open, light flooding in. The crowd roared as Tristan strode out, swordless, arrogance rolling off him in waves.

Across the arena, Alain Price stood ready with his spirit beast—a hulking Cauldron Beast, its bronze body steaming as molten essence sloshed beneath its lid.

"Quarterfinal Match Two!" the referee bellowed. "Tristan Graves versus Alain Price! Begin!"

The Cauldron Beast hissed, vents flaring as it spewed a jet of boiling steam.

Tristan didn't flinch. His Infernal Fang Cheetah blurred forward, paws blazing, flame orbs spinning into place. "Flash Pounce!" he commanded.

In a streak of fire, the cheetah tore past, claws shrieking against bronze. Trenches of molten red opened across the cauldron's body. A second strike shattered its vents, flames detonating the beast's own pressure back against it.

The hulking construct wobbled, lid rattling, then collapsed in a thunderous crash.

"Victory—Tristan Graves!" the referee declared.

The Combat Division roared in triumph. Tristan raised a hand, basking in the noise, but his expression faltered for a heartbeat. No matter the cheers, the memory of Gray's claws cleaving fire lingered in his mind.

—

The next match cut deeper.

"Quarterfinal Match Three! Genevieve Ortega versus Yosef Redrich!"

The two entered side by side, exchanging glances that spoke volumes. They had fought together before—during the academy's brutal entrance test. They'd stood beside Aston, bloodied but victorious, their beasts shoulder-to-shoulder in survival.

Now they faced each other.

Genevieve's Shadow Strider, Umbra, padded silently beside her, obsidian fur gleaming in the arena light. Its dark eyes glimmered with malice and cunning, body seeming to dissolve into the ground's shadows with every step.

Yosef's Scorching Venom Krait, Sling, coiled high, scales glimmering like burnished copper. Its tongue flicked, fangs dripping with sizzling venom. Flames licked along its body as though the venom itself burned with heat.

The crowd hushed in anticipation.

The referee dropped his hand. "Begin!"

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Sling struck first, a blazing whip of venom arcing through the air. Umbra melted into the shadows, the liquid fire splattering harmlessly across empty stone.

"Void Fang!" Genevieve called.

The Shadow Strider lunged from beneath Sling's coiled body, fangs gleaming with dark energy. It sank its strike deep into the serpent's scales. Sling roared, thrashing violently, venom spraying in all directions.

But Umbra wasn't done. Its eyes gleamed, and a black tether stretched from Yosef's shadow—Shadowbind. Yosef stumbled as the serpent's movements slowed, shadow chained to the arena floor.

Yosef grit his teeth. "Poison Lash!"

Sling spat a scorching torrent of venom-laced fire, narrowly clipping Umbra's flank. The dark fox hissed, fur singed.

The fight raged for long minutes, the serpent's power against the fox's guile. The audience leaned forward with every exchange—friends locked in deadly dance, neither yielding.

But little by little, Sling's movements grew sluggish. Its scales dulled, its flame sputtered. The shadow mark from Void Fang had weakened its defenses, every strike landing deeper, harsher.

Finally, with one last lunge, Umbra's fangs sank into Sling's neck. The serpent convulsed, then collapsed, essence dimming to a faint glow.

The referee raised a hand. "Winner—Genevieve Ortega!"

The crowd erupted. Cheers mixed with sorrow—applause for Genevieve's victory, sympathy for Yosef's loss. Genevieve herself looked torn, her hand lingering at Sling's side as healers rushed forward. She turned once, meeting Yosef's gaze, and she managed a tired grin.

"Still friends," she mouthed.

Yosef's lips raised to a smile and nodded.

—

The fourth and final quarterfinal match was brisk by comparison.

"Francheska Guilbar versus Vincent Fairbanks!"

The arena had barely cooled when the referee lifted his hand again.

"Quarterfinal Match Four! Francheska Guilbar versus Vincent Fairbanks!"

The crowd cheered as the two opponents stepped out.

Francheska wasted no time—her beast thundered onto the field, a bear-shaped juggernaut clad in spirit-iron armor, each footfall cracking stone. Its eyes gleamed with savage intent, and the crowd roared approval at the sight of raw, crushing power.

Opposite them, Vincent raised a hand calmly, his air far less showy than his opponent's. His beast padded forward—a Crimson-feathered Drake, lean and sinewy, its wings half-unfurled. Ember-haze shimmered with each breath it exhaled, and sparks danced across its crimson scales.

"Begin!"

The bear charged like a living avalanche, claws raking furrows in the stone. The drake beat its wings once, twice, and shot skyward. A stream of fire burst from its jaws, searing against the bear's armor, but Francheska's juggernaut only roared and pressed on.

"Hold the ground!" she barked.

The bear reared, swiping at the air, its iron claws barely missing the drake as it swooped past. The impact of its strike sent shockwaves through the floor, drawing gasps from the stands.

But Vincent's eyes narrowed. "Stay light. Bleed him out."

The drake obeyed, weaving through the air in tight arcs. Each pass unleashed a torrent of fire, licking at gaps in the bear's armor, searing exposed fur and skin. The juggernaut's speed slowed, steps faltering as heat and pain gnawed at its endurance.

Francheska clenched her jaw. "Push through!"

The bear lunged again, jaws snapping—but the drake flipped above it, wings striking down with a blast of heated wind. In the same motion, it raked its talons across the beast's exposed flank. Blood hissed as it met glowing embers.

The juggernaut stumbled. Its armored bulk shuddered, knees buckling beneath its weight.

Vincent raised his hand, voice sharp. "End it!"

The drake ascended high, ember-light flooding the arena. Then it dove, wings tucked, a crimson bolt of fire and fury. Its claws struck true, slamming the juggernaut into the ground. The iron-plated beast howled once before collapsing, spirit essence bleeding away.

Silence swept the arena—then thunderous applause.

The referee's hand rose. "Victory—Vincent Fairbanks!"

Francheska stared, stunned, before returning her beast with a solemn nod. Vincent, by contrast, stood composed, his drake folding its wings neatly, as if it had done nothing more than complete a routine exercise.

The arena buzzed with disbelief as the referee's voice echoed the verdict. A ripple of murmurs spread, then swelled into a roar—the Trade and Commerce Division had toppled Spirit Combat.

Many in the stands shook their heads, stunned that a merchant-track student could outmatch a hardened fighter like Francheska, while others erupted in cheers, thrilled by the upset. Shouts of "Fairbanks!" cut through the noise, the shockwave of Vincent's victory proving that even divisions often dismissed as non-combat had teeth sharp enough to bite.

The quarterfinals were decided.

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