An Open Challenge

The day of the final trial dawned bright and clear. The mysterious mist that had shrouded the city for the past few days had vanished, leaving behind a crisp, clean mountain air that buzzed with anticipation. Today, there would be no puzzles or labyrinths. Today, there would be combat.

The entire Academy was focused on the Grand Dueling Arena, a colossal structure near the city center that could seat over fifty thousand spectators. The arena floor was a vast, circular platform of polished obsidian, inscribed with powerful defensive formations that glowed with a steady, protective light.

Amrit, Zian, and Rohan made their way to the contestant's entrance, joining a throng of over a thousand young cultivators. The atmosphere was a thick soup of nervous energy, bravado, and killing intent. Reputations had been forged in the first two trials, but this was where true glory would be won or lost.

"The tournament is a single-elimination bracket," Rohan explained, nervously adjusting the new, sturdy-looking leather armor he'd bought with his Merit Points. "The initial pairings are randomized by the Elders. After that, you fight, you win, you advance. Simple. Brutal."

"Not entirely random," Zian corrected him, his eyes sharp. "The top sixteen seeded contestants, based on the first two trials, are placed so they cannot face each other in the early rounds. They are expected to crush the lower-ranked disciples to prove their dominance."

"So Amrit is the number one seed," Rohan realized, his eyes widening. "Which means…"

"Which means I am guaranteed to face the weakest opponents first," Amrit finished, understanding the logic. It was a way for the Academy to showcase its top talents while efficiently thinning the herd.

As they entered the massive contestant staging area beneath the arena stands, the crowd of geniuses parted, creating a wide circle around Amrit. The awe and fear from the previous days had now morphed into an intense, focused rivalry. He was the man to beat, the mountain everyone wanted to climb.

He saw Kael Volkov across the room, cracking his knuckles and glaring at him with undisguised hatred. He saw Prince Valerius, standing with his Imperial Clique, his expression one of cool, aristocratic disdain, as if Amrit were an interesting but ultimately solvable problem. And he saw Vikramaditya, the Son of Destiny, whose calm, golden aura seemed to create a peaceful sanctuary around him, his gaze holding not malice, but a kind of sad, resolute certainty, as if he were looking at a foe he was destined to put down for the good of the world.

Before the officials could begin announcing the pairings, a loud, booming voice silenced the entire hall.

"Amrit of Kshirapura!"

The voice belonged to Kael Volkov. The brutish northern warrior strode into the center of the cleared space, his powerful frame radiating raw, untamed energy. He pointed a thick, accusatory finger at Amrit.

"I am tired of the whispers and the tricks!" Kael roared, his voice echoing in the stone chamber. "The broken stone, the labyrinth record… it's all parlor tricks and illusions! You hide your power, you refuse to show your true face. You are a coward, not a genius!"

The other students watched, their expressions ranging from eager enjoyment to nervous apprehension. A direct, public challenge before the tournament had even begun was a bold move.

Amrit met Kael's furious gaze without a change in his own calm expression.

"You think you are clever," Kael continued, his voice dripping with scorn. "You humiliate my betters, like Prince Valerius. You disarm the Crown Prince of your own kingdom. You stand there as if you are above us all. I say you are nothing. A hollow shell. And I will prove it."

He drew the massive, crude battle axe from his back. The weapon was a brutal piece of work, its edge chipped and scarred from countless battles. He slammed its butt onto the stone floor, the impact sending a tremor through the room.

"I, Kael of House Volkov, issue an Open Challenge!" he bellowed. "Not in the tournament. Right here. Right now. I will wager all of my Merit Points—nearly twenty thousand—against yours. A winner-take-all duel. No tricks. No running. A battle of pure strength, to show this entire Academy what a true warrior looks like!"

The hall erupted in gasps and excited murmurs. A Merit Point wager of that magnitude was unheard of. It was a fortune that could set a student up for their entire Academy career. Kael was putting everything on the line, driven by a desperate need to shatter Amrit's mystique and reclaim his own pride. He was trying to force Amrit into his kind of fight: a direct, head-on clash of power where he believed his physical superiority would triumph.

Rohan grabbed Amrit's arm. "Don't do it, Amrit! It's a trap! He's trying to provoke you into a brute-force contest before the tournament even starts. Even if you win, you might expend too much energy or reveal too many of your skills. It's not worth it!"

Zian nodded in agreement. "Rohan is right. This is a foolish, emotional challenge. A true strategist would ignore it. There is nothing to be gained."

Amrit looked at Kael, at the raw, desperate fury in his eyes. He understood the man's motivation perfectly. Kael's entire identity was built on his strength, and Amrit's very existence, his quiet and effortless power, was a negation of that identity. This wasn't about Merit Points. It was about validation.

Ignoring the challenge would be the smart, strategic move. It would also be seen by many as a sign of fear. It would allow the narrative that he relied on tricks to fester.

Sometimes, the best way to deal with a roaring bear is not to ignore it, but to silence it so completely that no other animal dares to roar again.

"You wish for a battle of pure strength?" Amrit asked, his voice cutting through the noise of the hall. It was the first time he had spoken.

"Yes!" Kael roared. "No more of your ghostly steps or clever tricks! Just you and me, warrior to warrior!"

"You wager all of your Merit Points?" Amrit continued, his tone still perfectly even.

"Every last one!"

"And the terms are 'no running' and 'no tricks'?"

"That's right! Face me like a man!" Kael bellowed, puffing out his chest.

Amrit was silent for a moment. Then, he gave a slight nod. "Very well. I accept your challenge."

A wave of shock and excitement passed through the crowd. Rohan groaned, burying his face in his hands. Zian's eyes narrowed, his mind furiously trying to calculate Amrit's angle. Prince Valerius watched with a cold, analytical smile, intrigued to finally see the "enigma" forced into a direct confrontation. Vikramaditya's expression turned somber, as if he were about to witness a foregone, tragic conclusion.

Amrit walked into the center of the circle, facing the massive northern warrior. He did not draw Soul-Sunder. He did not even assume a fighting stance. He simply stood there, his hands clasped loosely behind his back.

Kael grinned, a savage, predatory expression. He thought Amrit's acceptance was a sign of arrogant folly. "You will regret this," he snarled.

An Academy official, seeing that the situation was escalating but that both parties had agreed to a formal wagered duel, stepped forward reluctantly. "The rules of an Open Challenge are binding. The duel will be to submission or incapacitation. Are both combatants ready?"

Kael roared his affirmation.

Amrit simply nodded.

"Then begin!" the official shouted, leaping back to a safe distance.

Kael did not hesitate. He poured every ounce of his powerful Body Tempering Prana into his axe. The brutal weapon began to glow with a furious, blood-red light. He let out a primal scream that was more beast than man and charged, his heavy footsteps shaking the floor. He swung his axe not in a clever arc, but in a straight, downward cleave, a single blow of absolute, overwhelming force designed to split Amrit in two.

The crowd gasped. The sheer power of the attack was terrifying.

Amrit watched the glowing axe descend, a miniature red sun of destructive power. He remained perfectly still. He did not move to dodge. He did not raise a hand to block. He did not use a Ghost-Flash Step.

He honored the terms. No running. No tricks.

Instead, he did something so unexpected, so utterly insane, that it would be burned into the memory of everyone present for the rest of their lives.

He took a deep breath, and from the boundless ocean of his Spirit Sea, he drew upon his colossal, newly-forged power. He did not channel it into a technique. He channeled it directly into his own body, reinforcing his very physical form.

Then, just as the axe was about to cleave his skull, he met the attack.

With his forehead.