The Minor Arena was essentially a glorified sparring ring, circular, forty feet in diameter, surrounded by protective barriers to keep spectators safe from flying debris (or students). Unlike the Void Arena where I'd faced Valentina, this one was designed for physical combat: no magical augmentation, no elemental summoning, just pure skill and strategy.
And I had neither.
"Remember, this is just until first blood or clear surrender," Finn coached as I prepared. "You don't have to win. Just... don't die."
"Inspiring," I deadpanned.
Professor Blackthorn approached, her wild auburn curls seemingly animated by her excitement. "Ardent! Excellent! I was worried you'd have the sense to back out."
"Still might," I admitted.
She waved dismissively. "Nonsense! This is educational! Besides, your probability field makes this the most unpredictable match of the term. I've got three other professors placing bets."
"You're betting on this?" I asked, horrified.
"Of course not," she replied, looking offended. "That would be unethical. I'm merely facilitating their wagers while maintaining professional distance." She winked and strode away.
The arena was nearly full by the time I took my position. Apparently, word had spread quickly that the Academy's unluckiest student was about to face one of its most skilled duelists. I spotted Liora near the back, her expression unreadable but her attention fixed firmly on me.
Soren entered from the opposite side, his movements graceful and controlled. He carried no weapons, but as said in his introduction, he is the weapon.
"Standard rules," Professor Blackthorn announced. "Physical combat only. No magic. Victory by first blood, surrender, or incapacitation." She paused, grinning. "Try to keep the permanent damage to a minimum. Begin on my signal."
She raised her hand, the crowd fell silent, and I felt every muscle in my body tense.
Her hand dropped.
Soren moved.
And…
Look, I could describe what happened next in excruciating detail. I could tell you about Soren's perfect form as he crossed the arena in three fluid strides. I could explain the elegant simplicity of the strike that bypassed my pitiful attempt at a defensive stance. I could recount how the world seemed to slow as I realized just how outmatched I was.
But honestly? It would be like narrating a rock falling off a cliff. Brief, predictable, and ultimately unsatisfying for everyone involved.
So let's just say this: the duel lasted exactly 8.3 seconds from start to finish. I know this because Gavril timed it. Eight-point-three seconds of Soren Valdris demonstrating why he was considered second only to Elias in combat prowess, while I demonstrated why most survival guides recommend playing dead when confronted by a superior predator.
Professor Blackthorn's stunned silence spoke volumes. The crowd's collective intake of breath suggested even they hadn't expected such an efficiently ruthless display. Soren himself looked vaguely disappointed, as if he'd been hoping for at least token resistance.
I lay on my back, staring at the impossibly blue sky above the arena, feeling the cool stone against my shoulders and the warm trickle of blood from my split lip, the technical "first blood" that ended the match.
"Well," Professor Blackthorn finally announced, sounding slightly dazed, "that was... decisive. Victory to Valdris by first blood."
Soren didn't even bother acknowledging the crowd's applause. He simply looked down at me with those cold silver eyes. "Pathetic," he muttered, just loudly enough for me to hear. "This is what interrupted my duel with Elias?"
Then he turned and walked away, leaving me to be helped up by Finn and Gavril.
"Eight-point-three seconds," Gavril informed me as we exited the arena. "That's actually the second shortest duel in the academy's history!"
"Wonderful," I winced, dabbing at my lip. "I've almost set a new record for marginally-less-immediate defeat."
"Look on the bright side," Finn offered. "No one else can challenge you this week now. And everyone saw how fast it was over, maybe they'll decide you're not worth the effort."
"Unlikely," Elias said, joining us outside the arena. "If anything, Soren just made Asher look like an easy target. Perfect for those seeking to improve their rankings with minimal risk."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I muttered.
Elias merely smiled. "The tournament will be far more interesting."
"What tournament?" I asked, for what felt like the hundredth time. "Would someone please explain what everyone keeps talking about?"
Gavril glanced around before lowering his voice. "The Equinox Tournament. It happens twice a year, at the autumn and spring equinoxes. All students are required to participate."
"Required?" My stomach sank.
"Tradition is heavily valued at Arcanis," Elias explained. "The tournament determines rankings, influences your academic standing, and... well, let's just say it's considered the true measure of a student's potential."
"And when exactly is this tournament?" I asked, already dreading the answer.
"Twenty days from now," Gavril replied.
"Which means," Finn added grimly, "that anyone you've annoyed, accidentally or otherwise, will probably target you in the tournament."
"And I've annoyed... let me see... approximately half the Academy at this point," I concluded.
"More like two-thirds," Gavril corrected, consulting his ever-present notebook. "I've been keeping track. There's Valentina and her admirers, obviously. Augustin and the noble houses who think you're disrupting tradition. The four senior students who were injured. The environmental magicians whose plants mutated. Oh, and Professor Vex's entire class after your inverted luck turned their protection sigils into attraction symbols for minor void entities…"
"I get the picture," I interrupted. "Everyone wants a piece of me."
"Not everyone," Elias offered. "I find your chaotic influence quite refreshing."
"High praise," I said dryly.
We rounded a corner to find Liora leaning casually against a column, as if she'd been waiting for us. Her light green hair shifted like liquid fortune around her shoulders, and her eyes—those impossible eyes—found mine immediately.
"That," she said, gesturing vaguely toward the arena, "was embarrassing."
"Thank you for the assessment," I replied. "Any other observations you'd care to share?"
A hint of a smile touched her lips. "Many. But most pressing is that your condition isn't improving as Lady Althea predicted. The probability field around you is actually expanding."
That got everyone's attention. "Expanding how?" Gavril asked, immediately extracting a quill from his sleeve.
"His negative probability resonance is seeking equilibrium by drawing in more positive energy," Liora explained. "It's pulling from anyone and anything nearby."
"Is that why I keep feeling like I'm walking through syrup?" Finn asked. "Like something's being drained out of me?"
Liora nodded. "Precisely. And it will get worse."
"Worse how?" I asked, not really wanting to know the answer.
"The tournament uses specialized arenas that amplify magical potential," she explained. "If your condition hasn't stabilized by then..."
She trailed off, but her expression completed the thought more effectively than words ever could.
"So I'm going to enter a combat tournament where everyone wants revenge, while leaking bad luck that affects my allies, in an arena designed to make everything more intense," I summarized. "Perfect."
"Actually," Liora said, "it might be. The tournament might be exactly what we need."
We all stared at her.
"Probability always seeks balance," she continued. "And nothing creates more potential for dramatic probability shifts than high-stakes competition where multiple outcomes are possible."
"You think the tournament could reset Ash's luck?" Gavril asked, scribbling frantically.
"It's possible," Liora admitted. "But we'll need to prepare properly."
"We?" I echoed.
Liora's eyes met mine, and for a moment—just a moment—I thought I saw something almost like concern in their depths.
"Yes, we," she confirmed. "Your condition is my responsibility. I am Fortune, after all."
"And misfortune," Finn added under his breath.
Liora shot him a look that could have wilted steel. "I suggest we begin training immediately. With the barest minimum of magic, of course, given your restrictions."
"Training for what? Getting beaten in new and exciting ways?" I asked.
"Training," she replied with unexpected seriousness, "to survive. Because right now, Asher Ardent, the odds aren't in your favor."
"Are they ever?" I muttered.
Before she could respond, the air around us shimmered with an ethereal light. I recognized the telltale signs of spatial displacement, not unlike Professor Parallax's demonstrations, but vastly more refined. The corridor melted away, and my stomach lurched as reality reassembled itself.
We stood in Headmistress Astra's office. The constellations on the ceiling shifted more rapidly than before, as if reflecting agitation in the cosmic order itself.
"Eight-point-three seconds," Headmistress Astra said, not looking up from the ancient tome on her desk. "Quiet the feat Mr. Ardent."
"You knew about the duel," I blurted.
"I approved it." She closed her book with a soft thud that somehow resonated throughout the entire chamber. "Consider it... a preview."
"A preview of what, exactly?" I asked, though I suspected I wouldn't like the answer.
Headmistress Astra rose from her seat, her movements fluid like a celestial body in orbit. "Of the consequences I mentioned. Did you think your little reality-altering incident would be addressed with mere detention?"
"I was hoping for community service," I offered weakly.
Her lips curved in what might have been amusement on anyone else's face. On hers, it looked like a solar flare, beautiful but potentially devastating.
"In a way, that's precisely what I've arranged." She gestured toward a shimmering projection that appeared in the center of the room, a tournament bracket with names arranged in tiers. My name was at the very bottom, highlighted in an ominous red.
"The Equinox Tournament," Gavril whispered.
"Indeed, Mr. Moridian." Headmistress Astra's gaze swept over our small group. "And I've taken the liberty of assigning Mr. Ardent the lowest possible rank."
"Dead last," Finn translated unnecessarily.
"There's more, isn't there?" I asked, recognizing the look in her eyes. It was the same one Lady Althea had when delivering particularly unpleasant medical news (the normal look on her face in my case).
"Perceptive, Mr. Ardent." She waved her hand, and the projection shifted to show Professor Nihil's severe face. "Professor Nihil will be overseeing your... remedial training. Three evenings each week until the tournament."
The room temperature seemed to drop several degrees. Nihil's reputation as the most demanding and least forgiving instructor at Arcanis was well-earned.
"Additionally," she continued, "any unauthorized training sessions, particularly with Personifications," her eyes flickered briefly to Liora, "will result in immediate disqualification from the tournament and potential expulsion."
"But…" Liora began.
"However," Headmistress Astra interrupted, "I recognize that Mr. Ardent's unique condition requires certain accommodations. Therefore, Lady Fortune, you may continue your probability lessons, but only under supervision, in designated training areas, with proper containment protocols in place."
Liora's mouth snapped shut, her eyes narrowing but clearly recognizing that this was the best outcome she could hope for.
"Finally," the Headmistress said, turning her full attention to me, "you will be responsible for repairing the physical damage caused by your... incident. Without magic."
"Without magic?" I echoed. "But the Rift Garden alone would tak..."
"Approximately eighteen days of manual labor, working six hours daily," she finished for me. "Which should leave you precisely enough time to attend your classes, your remedial sessions with Professor Nihil, your supervised training with Lady Fortune, and complete your tournament preparation."
"That's impossible," Finn protested. "He needs rest, especially with his probability field still unstable."
"Nothing is impossible, Mr. Thorne. Merely improbable. And improbability," Headmistress Astra's gaze shifted between Liora and me, "is the very heart of this situation, is it not?"
She turned back to her desk, a clear dismissal. "The Equinox Tournament begins in twenty days. I suggest you use them wisely, Mr. Ardent."
As the spatial displacement began again, returning us to the corridor, I caught a final glimpse of Headmistress Astra's face. There was something there, not quite concern, not quite interest, but something ancient and calculating that made me wonder if this punishment was exactly that... or something else entirely.
"So," Finn said as we materialized back in the corridor, "on a scale of one to 'completely screwed,' where would you say we stand?"
"We've invented new numbers," Gavril muttered, already writing furiously in his notebook.
Elias, oddly, looked thoughtful rather than concerned. "It's actually rather elegant," he said. "Forcing you to face consequences while simultaneously creating conditions that might stabilize your probability field."
"Or kill me," I pointed out.
"There is that possibility," he conceded.
Liora had been unnaturally quiet since our return. Now she stepped closer, her voice low and intense. "This changes nothing. We'll work within the restrictions."
"And Professor Nihil?" I asked.
"Will do everything in his power to break you," she replied bluntly. "Which is why you can't let him."
For a moment, just a moment, her hand brushed against mine, and I felt a tiny spark of something that might have been hope... or might have been static electricity from my perpetually unlucky field.
"Twenty days," she said, her eyes meeting mine with unexpected determination. "Twenty days to turn the most unfortunate student in Arcanis history into someone who might actually survive."
"And if I don't?"
Her expression hardened into something both beautiful and terrifying, the true face of Fortune in all her capricious glory.
"That," she said, "is not an outcome I'm willing to accept."
As I looked around at the concerned faces of my friends and the determined countenance of Fortune herself, I realized something both comforting and disturbing:
For the first time in my life, people were actually betting on me.
I just hoped their luck was better than mine.