A Wager of Merit Points

Amrit's victory by forfeit sent a clear, chilling message through the tournament bracket. He was not just a competitor; he was a force of nature that lesser cultivators would rather flee from than face. As the first round of duels commenced across the hundred platforms, a strange phenomenon occurred. The platforms around Amrit's were scenes of furious battle, with Prana exploding and weapons clashing. Platform 37, however, remained a circle of serene, untouched obsidian.

The tournament progressed. The second round pairings were announced.

Platform 12: Amrit (Kshirapura) vs. Leona (Sunstone Guild)

Leona, a talented archer known for her speed and precision, took one look at Amrit, remembered the fate of Kael Volkov, and promptly forfeited.

The third round.

Platform 88: Amrit (Kshirapura) vs. Kai (Tidal Blade Sect)

Kai, a skilled swordsman, stared at Amrit for a long, contemplative moment, then bowed respectfully and forfeited. He knew his own skill with the blade was nothing compared to the perfect, minimalist defense Amrit had displayed against Arjun, a story that was now widely known.

It became a running theme. Amrit would walk to his assigned platform, his opponent would look at him, and they would concede. He was advancing through the tournament bracket without a single fight, his reputation doing all the work for him. The crowd in the fifty-thousand-seat arena would groan in disappointment each time, their desire to see the monster in action thwarted by the rational self-preservation of his opponents.

This effortless progression was, in its own way, more intimidating than a series of brutal victories. It demonstrated a level of psychological dominance that was unprecedented.

Rohan and Zian, watching from the contestant area, were dumbfounded.

"He's winning the entire tournament through sheer intimidation," Rohan said, his voice a mixture of awe and disbelief. "He's going to make it to the finals without drawing his sword."

"It's logical," Zian analyzed, though his voice held a tremor. "To fight him is to risk not just defeat, but a complete shattering of one's martial spirit, like what happened to Kael. Forfeiting and saving your strength and pride for the other ranking matches is the smarter play. He has created a situation where fighting him is a no-win scenario for any but the absolute strongest."

By the time the quarter-finals were announced, only eight contestants remained. Amrit had reached this stage without a single bead of sweat. His opponents in the quarter-finals was a name that finally caused a stir: a disciple from one of the major sects, ranked in the top 20. He was a proud, skilled youth who, after a moment of intense deliberation, chose to fight.

He stepped onto the platform, his face a mask of grim determination. The crowd roared, finally getting the match they craved.

The duel lasted five seconds.

The disciple unleashed his most powerful, signature technique, a whirlwind of energy and steel. Amrit, honoring the spirit of the duel, did not use his body as a shield. He simply took a single Ghost-Flash Step, appearing behind his opponent, and tapped him gently on the back of the neck with two fingers. The disciple's Prana circulation seized, and he collapsed, unconscious but unharmed.

The victory was so swift, so clean, and so utterly dominant that it was somehow even more demoralizing than his match with Kael. The crowd was left stunned into silence once more.

Finally, only four contestants remained: The Semi-Finals.

The matchups were displayed on the grand runic screen, and the entire arena held its breath.

Semi-Final 1: Prince Valerius (Draconian Empire) vs. Princess Fenghua (Vermilion Sun Empire)

Semi-Final 2: Amrit (Kshirapura) vs. Vikramaditya (Sunstone Citadel)

The inevitable had arrived sooner than anyone expected. The four titans, the top-seeded geniuses of the Academy, were to clash. The first match was a battle of empires, a clash between two elemental prodigies. The second was the one everyone was truly waiting for: the confrontation between the Son of Destiny and the great, terrifying Anomaly.

Before the first semi-final could begin, a voice, cool and aristocratic, echoed through the arena, magically amplified for all to hear. It was Prince Valerius. He stood on his platform, but his gaze was fixed not on his opponent, Fenghua, but on Amrit.

"This tournament has become a farce," Valerius declared, his voice dripping with disdain. "We have seen displays of brutishness and a series of cowardly forfeits. There has been no true test of skill, no demonstration of will. The title of champion should be earned, not stumbled into."

He turned his gaze to Vikramaditya. "Vikramaditya. You are the Son of Destiny. I am the Prince of the Draconian Empire. Our battle would be a glorious one, worthy of the annals of history." Then, his eyes snapped back to Amrit. "But to face him in the finals, after he has exerted no effort? It is an insult. It taints the very honor of the position."

He raised his hand, a new proposal in his eyes. "I suggest we raise the stakes. The final two matches should be more than just for a title. They should be for something meaningful. Let us make a wager. A wager of Merit Points."

The crowd murmured. Wagers between students were common, but a formal wager in the final rounds, proposed by a prince, was something else entirely.

Elder Shanti, observing from the high platform, frowned but did not intervene. The Academy encouraged competition in all its forms.

Valerius's lips curved into a predatory smile. "I propose that the losers of the two semi-final matches transfer half of their total Merit Points to the winners."

A gasp went through the contestants. This was a brutal condition. It meant the two losers would be financially crippled.

"Furthermore," Valerius continued, his eyes locked on Amrit, "the loser of the final match will transfer all of their remaining Merit Points to the champion. The winner takes all. Glory, the title, and a fortune that will set them up for their entire Academy career. The loser is left with nothing but shame."

This was a direct, targeted challenge. Valerius had a massive number of points, but Amrit, after the trials and his victory over Kael, had the largest fortune of any new student, possessing over 40,000 Merit Points. Valerius was not just trying to beat him; he was trying to utterly bankrupt him, to strip him of the resources he needed to function in the Academy. He was turning the final into a battle for survival.

Princess Fenghua, his opponent, looked furious at his arrogance, but her pride would not let her refuse. "I accept," she said, her voice sharp.

The entire arena now looked at Vikramaditya and Amrit.

Vikramaditya, ever gracious, gave a calm nod. "Competition breeds excellence. The terms are harsh, but the stakes should be high at this level. I accept."

All eyes fell on Amrit. This was a trap laid specifically for him. Refusing would make him look like a coward, afraid to risk what he had. Accepting meant playing a high-stakes game designed by his rival.

Amrit looked at Valerius, at the smug, arrogant certainty on the imperial prince's face. He understood the strategy. Valerius was supremely confident that he could defeat Fenghua, and he believed that even if Amrit somehow defeated the Son of Destiny, he would be weakened in the process. Valerius was planning to face a drained Amrit in the finals and take everything from him.

A faint, cold smile touched Amrit's lips. Valerius thought he was being a clever predator. He had no idea he was a lamb challenging a hidden dragon to a battle of appetites.

"The wager is… acceptable," Amrit said, his voice calm and clear, echoing through the arena. He then paused, letting the silence hang in the air, before adding one more thing.

"However, the terms are not interesting enough."

The crowd, Valerius, and even the Elders leaned forward. What could be more interesting than winner-take-all?

Amrit's gaze swept from Valerius to Vikramaditya. "Merit Points are a means to an end. Let us wager something more meaningful. Let us wager a promise."

He looked directly at Valerius. "If I am crowned champion, you, Prince Valerius of the Draconian Empire, will pledge one year of service to me. You will act as my subordinate, following my commands without question, within the bounds of the Academy's rules. Your status, your pride, your empire—none of it will matter. You will be my man for one year."

The entire stadium exploded into pandemonium.

The audacity of it was breathtaking. A nameless prince from a backwater kingdom was demanding a year of servitude from the heir to the mightiest empire on the continent. It was an insult so profound, so impossibly arrogant, that it defied belief.

Valerius's handsome face went from smug, to shocked, to a deep, furious crimson. His aura blazed. "You DARE?!"

"It is a wager," Amrit said coolly. "If you are so certain of your victory, what do you have to fear? Or is the Prince's confidence as hollow as his threats?"

He had turned Valerius's own trap back on him, wrapping it around his pride. To refuse now would be an admission of fear, an admission that he thought he might actually lose.

Valerius was trapped. His imperial pride, the very thing that drove him, was now a chain around his neck. He stared at Amrit, his eyes burning with a hatred so intense it was a physical force.

"FINE!" he roared, the word shaking the very arena. "I accept your insane terms! But the promise must be mutual! If I am champion, you will become my slave for one year, to command and discard as I see fit!"

"Agreed," Amrit said without a moment's hesitation.

He then turned his gaze to Vikramaditya. "And you, Son of Destiny. If I am champion, your promise will be different. For one year, you will not interfere with any of my actions. You will not oppose me. You will not seek to 'correct' my path. You will simply stand aside and bear witness. If I win, you will cede your Mandate of Heaven to me, for one year, and let my path unfold, for better or worse."

This was an even more profound challenge. He was asking the hero of the age to abandon his very purpose, to stand down and let chaos reign.

Vikramaditya looked at Amrit, a deep, sad wisdom in his eyes. He understood. This was not about points or servitude. This was a battle of ideologies, of destinies.

"The Dao does not bend to the wagers of men," Vikramaditya said softly. "But I will accept your terms. If my path is truly the righteous one, I cannot lose. If you defeat me, then perhaps my destiny is to bear witness to yours, however tragic it may be."

The wagers were set. The stakes had been raised from a mere fortune to the servitude of a prince and the very destiny of the age. The final rounds of the tournament were no longer just a competition. They were a clash of kings, a battle for the future.

The crowd was silent, their minds reeling. The tournament had become a legend in the making.

Elder Shanti, watching from above, let out a long, slow sigh. This boy, Amrit, did not just break the rules. He rewrote the entire game to his own liking. And he had just wagered his freedom and his future on his own, absolute, terrifying confidence.