Martial-Mana Tournament

"Elias…"

A voice—soft, persistent, unfamiliar—pierced the silence.

"Elias, wake up."

He stirred, frowning in his sleep.

"You're going to be late."

Elias's eyes snapped open in frustration. He jolted upright in bed, breath uneven, heart racing. His gaze darted around the room, scanning for whoever had dared to disturb him.

But there was no one.

The room was empty.

The other beds were neatly made, their occupants long gone. Sunlight poured through the window, casting a faint glow across the wooden floor. Silence clung to the corners.

"What the hell?" he muttered, dragging a hand through his tangled hair. "Was I... dreaming?"

He threw his legs over the side of the bed, his bare feet touching the cold floor.

"No, you're not."

The voice again.

His head snapped toward the window—the source of the sound. His eyes narrowed.

Perched casually on the edge of the windowsill was a black crow. Its feathers gleamed like polished obsidian, and its dark eyes locked onto Elias's—unblinking, intelligent, wrong.

He rose slowly, every nerve on edge, and moved toward the bird like he was approaching a ghost. Crouching down, he met its gaze.

"…Don't tell me…" he whispered, unsure if he was losing his mind. "Did you just…?"

"Yeah. It's me."

Elias recoiled slightly, nearly slipping. "What the actual hell…?"

"Don't overthink it " the crow said, voice calm and casual as if this were normal. "You're not imagining this."

His mouth opened, closed, then opened again. "How is this possible?"

"It is."

"That's not an answer!"

"But it's the only one you're getting—for now."

Elias blinked hard. Once. Twice.

This wasn't a dream. He could feel the ground beneath him, hear the rustle of wind outside, the distant chatter of students, the faint scent of leftover breakfast in the air. Everything was too real.

"What even are you?" he asked, voice cautious. "Some kind of summoned familiar? A cursed beast? Or did I finally lose my mind?"

The crow tilted its head, amused. "Let's just say… I'm part of you. A piece you've forgotten. But I've always been here, waiting."

The blood drained from his face.

A part of him?

"What does that even mean?"

"You'll understand soon. The world you built is starting to wake up, Elias. And so are you."

Before he could speak again, the crow spread its wings and took off, vanishing into the sky with a sharp caw that echoed deep inside him.

Elias remained by the window, frozen.

What the hell had just happened?

And yet… something inside him shifted.

Like a door creaked open inside his soul—just a crack.

And now… he couldn't close it.

Elias's thoughts swirled like a storm he couldn't escape, so finally decided to get dressed.

He donned the standard martial uniform—black and gray, embroidered with Astarst's crest over the chest. Same fabric. Same weight. But today… it felt different. Like it didn't just rest on him. It belonged to him.

He made his way to the training grounds.

The open courtyard buzzed with activity. Students sparred, mana flared in colorful bursts, laughter and commands echoed off stone walls. It was chaos—organized, rhythmic, alive.

Until Elias stepped in.

The moment he entered, everything changed.

Movements slowed. Heads turned. Conversations paused. A hundred eyes landed on him—curious, wary, some openly hostile.

"He is the one who took out Zaden's crew…"

"No way. Must've been luck."

The whispers followed, but Elias didn't flinch. He smirked.

He walked across the courtyard, calm and slow. Students moved aside instinctively. None dared challenge him.

Not yet.

At the far edge of the field, Kael stood among instructors. His silver hair caught the sunlight, making him look almost ethereal—so different from the sharp and concerned figure who had shoved a medicine vial into Elias's hands under the cover of night.

Elias remembered that moment clearly.

"You don't have to trust me. But if you want to stop being a punching bag, then get stronger."

He never thanked him.

He didn't understand why Kael had helped him.

But here they were again. Back in the open. Back in the game.

Elias offered a subtle nod. Nothing more.

Kael didn't return it.

His eyes were calm. Empty. No trace of recognition in them.

Of course. He didn't remember. That moment—whatever it was—belonged to Elias alone.

Kael stepped forward, voice cutting through the courtyard like a blade.

"Good morning, students."

Everything fell still. Sparring ceased. Mana faded. Attention locked onto him.

Two other figures flanked Kael.

Professor Marrien—Zaden's father and the Academy's harshest Combat and Mana instructor.

And beside him…

Headmaster Lanoh Jarkartaye.

The courtyard turned sharp with tension.

Kael's voice was clear and unwavering. "Today, you're not just here to train. I have something important to share—something that might define your future at this Academy."

Whispers erupted.

"Future?"

"Something big's coming."

"Did someone die?"

"Another expulsion?"

The headmaster stepped forward.

He didn't need to speak loudly. His presence commanded silence.

"In less than three weeks." He said, voice smooth and cold. "The Continental Martial-Mana Tournament will commence."

The courtyard exploded with energy.

Cheers. Shouts. Fist pumps.

"Finally! A global event!"

"Do you think Dante will compete?"

"I've been waiting for this!"

But Elias remained still.

Watching.

Processing.

"This is not a showcase." He continued.

"This is war—between the strongest academies in the world. You are not being invited to show your talents. You are being summoned to prove them. To win."

Elias watched as excitement, anxiety, and ambition surged through the students around him.

"This tournament will not tolerate weakness. It is brutal. Unforgiving. Victors are remembered across continents. Losers are forgotten."

Kael stepped in again.

"Astarst Academy has been selected to send a team. But not just anyone will go. Only the strongest. Only those who survive the trials."

"The top nine." Kael said. "Three from the Martial Division. Three from the Mana Division. And three who can command both."

A gasp swept the crowd.

Nine students. Out of hundreds.

And Elias?

He was still considered the weakest.

He could feel the stares return—curious, confused, dismissive.

The anomaly. The mystery. The mistake.

Let them look.

Let them doubt.

Because if he made it—if he earned a spot among the nine—they'd all see it.

This wasn't just a game anymore.

This was his world. His stage.

"And those nine." Kael added. "Won't just represent our Academy. They'll carry our reputation, our legacy, and our honor. If they lose, they lose that for all of us."

Elias's pulse thundered in his ears.

This was the event Elias had written into the world—a prestigious, global tournament where young prodigies clashed for glory, where reputations were forged in the heat of battle. But now, standing there not as the creator, but as a participant, he saw the truth hidden beneath the glamor.

This wasn't just a chance to fight.

It was war between academies.

Politics.

Power plays.

And survival.