Tristan awoke from unconsciousness, his body wracked with pain and his mind struggling to piece together the aftermath of his battle. Groaning, he ran a hand through his tangled hair, searching for answers in a barren room filled with nothing but empty beds and silence.
"I must have collapsed... Will this happen every time I use my Necromancer abilities?" he muttered bitterly to himself.
He inspected his battered frame; though his wounds had been treated, the lingering pain was a cruel reminder of his ordeal. He attempted to rise, but every slight movement ignited sharp bolts of agony throughout his body.
"Damn it," he hissed, wincing.
"Are you alright, my lord?" Killington's concerned voice echoed from nearby.
Tristan answered in a sharp, irritated tone.
"Does it look like I'm alright?"
Resigning himself, he ceased his struggling and lay back against the creaking bed. Then, a memory flickered—he remembered the system notifications he received after slaying the beast: a victory, a reward... Death Shards.
"System, show me my Death Shard count," he commanded weakly.
Instantly, the familiar cold lettering appeared before him:
[25 / 100 Death Shards collected.]
'I gained them after defeating the beast... but what are they really for?' he wondered.
The system responded without hesitation:
[Once an adequate number of Death Shards have been collected, your rank shall ascend, your strength will multiply, and your abilities shall evolve.]
"A straightforward answer... but if every battle is like that one, I may well die before reaching such strength," Tristan muttered, recalling with a shiver the awe-inspiring might of Headmaster Sylvia Light.
As he stared at the floating message, a sudden burst of noise drew his attention. The door slammed open, and a familiar, boisterous figure stormed in.
"Brother! It's good to see you're awake!" Garfield shouted, practically vibrating with energy.
Tristan clicked his tongue in irritation but forced himself to compose his expression with a long breath.
"What are you doing here? Don't you have a fight to worry about?"
With a proud grin and a booming voice, Garfield replied,
"I already won my fight! And several others passed while you were unconscious! But if you're feeling up to it, you should come — the second stage is nearly over!"
Suppressing a groan, Tristan dismissed the notification and, clutching his ribs, painfully pulled himself out of bed. Together, they made their way back to the Colosseum, arriving just in time to witness the final match.
A lone boy with purple braids, brown skin, and tattered clothing stepped into the arena's center. Despite his ragged appearance, he radiated an eerie composure — utterly unshaken. The iron cages creaked open, and the last beast of the stage exploded forth, charging like an enraged bull with its jaws gaping wide.
But the boy only smiled — a subtle, chilling smile that few noticed. Tristan, however, did.
'Why is he smiling?' Tristan wondered, unease creeping into his heart.
The beast barreled toward him... but as it neared, something strange happened. Its steps faltered. Its pace slowed, as if invisible chains dragged it down. Step by step, its momentum drained away, until the colossal creature finally collapsed at the boy's feet — dead.
The crowd was paralyzed by the sight. There had been no spectacle, no clash of power — only death, delivered without a single blow.
Soldiers rushed to the fallen beast, checking its breathing, its pulse. Moments later, one confirmed what all had feared to believe: the beast was indeed dead.
Sylvia's voice, clear and commanding, rang out through the stunned silence:
"We have our final student to claim a place in the academy—Victor Heart! This exam was grueling, perhaps the most punishing in our history. Those who stand here today have truly earned their place."
Her words split the crowd. Those from the Middle and Low Districts erupted in joyous celebration — finally, they were recognized. But the High District nobles watched in cold disgust, their pride bruised by the success of 'lesser blood.'
Garfield, arms folded and grinning ear to ear, needed no words to express his triumph. Tristan, meanwhile, remained reserved, studying Victor Heart intently as he disappeared from the stage.
"What was that ability?" Tristan muttered aloud. "He wasn't even armed…"
The results were then announced.
"We have witnessed the rise of the finest among you," Sylvia declared. "The following have passed: Tristan Merigold, Garfield Frutia, Yaron River, Francis River, Hendrick Trafford, Bella Grand, Tory Favour, Harry Derinson, and Victor Heart. Congratulations. To those I have not named—you have failed. You were not ready to walk the path of a Star Master."
She delivered the news with a brutal finality that left many crushed and hollow.
After a short pause, she continued, her voice cutting through the murmuring crowd.
"As promised, there will be a third stage: an all-out battle royal among those who passed. It will determine your initial ranking within the Academy and showcase your strength. Today, you rest. Tomorrow... you fight."
The Colosseum erupted. Speculation flooded the stands: Who would triumph? Garfield? The mysterious Victor Heart? Perhaps even Tristan Merigold?
Sylvia raised a hand to silence the noise.
"My apologies. I forgot to mention: Tristan Merigold will not participate in tomorrow's battle."
A furious wave of booing rose from the audience. Tristan had become a symbol of hope — a defiance against the high bloodlines — and now he was sidelined without cause. Only the High District nobles cheered, relieved to see a threat removed.
Sylvia's next words were blunt and scathing:
"Are you fools blind? Tristan Merigold fought valiantly, but he is clearly injured. I will not allow a wounded combatant to risk death for your amusement."
Garfield, who had been among the booing crowd, glanced sheepishly at Tristan. He opened his mouth to protest but Tristan cut him off.
"I won't participate," Tristan said calmly. "She's right. I'm injured, and no miracle will change that. I'm satisfied just making it into the Academy."
Garfield smiled ruefully and nodded.
Sylvia, preparing to end the day, addressed the crowd one final time:
"Thus concludes the second stage of the entrance exam. Rest well, victors. Tomorrow, your true journey begins."
With that, she transformed into a radiant beam of light and soared into the sky, leaving the Colosseum buzzing with anticipation and unease.
Tristan departed the Colosseum, and the other observers soon followed. However, as he made his way out, droves of people began to crowd around him. One voice rang out:
"Congratulations! I'll be rooting for you!"
The sentiment was shared by the others, who responded with a resounding, "Yeah!"
Tristan, overwhelmed and slightly suffocated, found himself unable to reply. The crowd's rowdiness was abruptly silenced by the arrival of an unseen presence.
"It's him," members of the crowd whispered.
From the entrance of the Colosseum emerged a silver-haired man, with Darren trailing closely behind him.
"My sister has truly chosen a popular partner," the man said, his voice carrying a calm but undeniable weight.