The heavy iron floor of the elevator hit the bottom of the shaft with a bone-jarring thud. Vane was the first out. He held his star-steel spear in a neutral guard. The transition from the mist of the surface to the dry, stale air of the Great Caverns was immediate. There was no mana-vacuum here. Instead, there was a dark, sprawling expanse of black rock and ancient stalactites. The air tasted of dust and wet limestone. It was a sharp contrast to the spice of the villa they had left behind.

The sounds of the other two hundred and forty-nine squads were already echoing through the tunnels. It was a cacophony of shouting, heavy boots, and the frantic chanting of opening spells. The riot had begun the moment the doors opened. For many of the students, the fear of missing out on the fifty keys was stronger than their training. They were running blindly into the dark. Their mana flared like torches in a windstorm.

"Isole, distance," Vane commanded. His voice was steady. It was a sharp contrast to the panic beginning to rise in the neighboring tunnels. He did not look back. He knew his squad was right behind him. Their footsteps were light and synchronized.

Isole closed her mismatched eyes. Her bone staff glowed with a soft grey light. She pulsed her mana through the floor to map the vibrations of the cavern. The Samsara logic allowed her to filter out the noise of the running students. She focused only on the heavy, rhythmic thrums of the floor inhabitants.

"Three Major Sentinels within a two-mile radius," Isole reported. Her voice was clinical and detached. "The closest is in the East Basin. It is a Rank 4 Guardian Construct. There are at least twelve squads already converging on its signature. They are moving with high-output speed spells."

"Two miles is too far if we walk," Valerica noted. Her violet hair caught the faint bioluminescence of the cavern moss as she adjusted her posture. Her petite frame seemed to gather the shadows around her. Her dark eyes scanned the tunnel exits. "At least ten squads are already moving in that direction. I can feel the heat of their fire-magic from here. They are being loud, Vane."

"We are not walking," Vane said. He looked at Ashe. She was already baring her teeth in a manic grin. Her red skin markings were pulsing with a faint, crimson light. Her obsidian horns hummed with the restless energy of the Oni warlord. She looked like she wanted to tear the rock walls down just to find something to kill.

"Ashe, you take the lead on the sprint. Valerica, use your gravity to lighten our load. We need to reach that Sentinel before the nobles start a civil war over the key," Vane ordered.

They moved as a single unit. They were a blur of motion through the shadows. Vane ignored the smaller scavenger beasts that skittered along the walls. They were worth points, but points were a trap for those who lacked the vision to see the end of the race. As they moved, Vane triggered his Internal Pulse. He felt his heart rate steady. His blood flow optimized for sustained speed.

He used the Argent Horizon to navigate the uneven terrain. His feet barely touched the jagged rocks. He flowed around obstacles with a liquid grace. This was the result of years of survival in the slums. He did not fight the ground. He used it. Beside him, Valerica's violet mana shimmered. She was suppressing the weight of the entire squad. This allowed them to move with a terrifying, unnatural speed.

They passed several squads from the lower towers. Those students were already flagging. They were gasping for air as they tried to maintain their heavy armor and glowing weapons. To them, the caverns were a hostile maze. To the Calamities, the dark was simply another variable to be managed. They moved in silence. They saved their breath for the battle to come.

As they crested a ridge overlooking the East Basin, the scale of the competition became clear. The basin was a natural amphitheater of jagged stone. In the center stood the Major Sentinel. It was a massive, bronze and stone Guardian Construct. It stood fifteen feet of ancient engineering. It was a machine designed to gatekeep the depths.

It had four arms. Each arm wielded a stone blade the size of a full-grown man. It rotated in place with a grinding, mechanical shriek. It was batting away the spells being thrown at it by the four squads already in the pit. These were students from the Blue and Red towers. They were dressed in expensive, polished gear that was already beginning to look scuffed and dusty.

"Look at them," Ashe rasped. She pointed at a squad in Blue Tower robes. "They are trying to kite it. They are terrified of getting within reach of those stone blades. It is like watching children play with a stray dog. They are burning through their mana pools just to stay five meters away."

"They are waiting for someone else to take the risk," Vane observed. He watched as a fireball from a Red Tower student splashed harmlessly against the Construct's bronze chest-plate. "They want the killing blow for the glory. But they do not want the repair bill for their armor or the doctor's bill for their ribs. It is a stalemate of cowardice. They are all vultures waiting for a carcass that is still very much alive."

Vane tightened his grip on the ash-wood shaft of his spear. He could see the structural joints in the Construct's knees where the stone met the bronze. He could see the mana-core pulsing with a deep blue light behind the chest-plate every time it rotated. To the others, it was a monster. To Vane, it was a target that required a specific sequence of strikes to dismantle.

'The Rank 4 rating is not an exaggeration,' Vane thought. 'Its armor is thick. A single thrust won't kill it. I need to break the joints first. I need to disable its rotation before I can reach the core.'

He watched the Construct swing a massive blade. The force of the blow shattered a nearby boulder. The students scrambled back in terror. They were shouting at each other. They were arguing over whose turn it was to draw the aggro. It was a pathetic display of the Academy's elite. They had the power, but they lacked the martial will to apply it.

"We are going through the center," Vane said. His voice dropped to a low, predatory tone. "Valerica, when I move, pin the two squads on the left. Do not let them interrupt my path. Ashe, you take the right. If anyone tries to cast a binding spell on me, break them. Isole, you provide the disruption. Pulse the floor to mess with the Construct's balance. I am taking the legs first."

"Finally," Ashe whispered. She cracked her knuckles. Her silver hair seemed to stand on end. "I was starting to think we were just here to watch the circus."

"This is not a circus, Ashe," Vane reminded her. "This is a Rank 4 construct. If you miss your timing, those stone blades will turn you into a red smear. Keep your focus on the support squads. Do not let them steal the key once the beast falls."

Vane adjusted his grip. He felt the silver mana beginning to circulate through his arms. He used the Silver Fang logic to start a low-frequency vibration in the spear-tip. It was a silent, lethal hum. It was ready to cut through the bronze and stone that the nobles were so afraid of.

He looked down into the basin. The noble squads were starting to panic as the Construct accelerated its rotation. The mechanical shrieks were getting louder. The blue light in its core was turning a violent, angry red. The sentinel was entering its secondary combat phase.

"Now," Vane said.

He stepped off the ridge. He did not fall. He glided down the steep rock face using the Argent Horizon. His squad followed like three dark shadows. They were descending into the heart of the riot. Vane felt his Internal Pulse hit the combat rhythm. His vision narrowed. The world became a series of strikes and parries.

They reached the floor of the basin just as the Construct let out a deafening roar of escaping steam. The noble students turned. They saw the four figures in standard gray suits approaching the giant.

"Who the hell are they?" a Blue Tower student yelled. "Get out of the way! You are going to get us all killed!"

Vane did not answer. He was already running. His spear-tip traced a silver line through the dust. He was a commoner entering the arena of the kings. He was a blade ready to strike.

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