The next three days, Solhaven Academy ceased to be a place of learning and became a factory of desperation.

The Open Culling was not a tournament. It was a filter. A brutal, unrefined mechanism designed to separate the elite from the ambitious rabble.

In the mud-churned outer rings of the training grounds in the College of Valor, it was a scene of controlled chaos. A mix of hundreds of 1st-Circle Novices, Bronze Aegis and other 1st level students from other minor colleges of the academy who registered for the Duelling event were thrown into different designated zones, the boundaries marked by glowing chalk. The rules were simple: The last man or woman standing in each zone advanced to the Main Qualifiers.

“Hold the line!”

A frantic 1st-Circle Novice with earth affinity screamed, raising a jagged wall of stone.

A second later, a kinetic blast shattered the wall, and three students dog-piled him, fists wrapped in mana. There was no honor here. There were no duels. There was only the frantic scramble for a spot. Spells misfired, shields shattered, and academy healers ran back and forth with stretchers like ants in a disturbed colony.

It wasn’t much better in the College of Arcanum Alchemy Wing.

The ‘Sudden Death Brew-Off’ lived up to its name. The air was thick with the acrid stench of sulfur and burnt hair.

“Stable! Keep it stable!”

An instructor bellowed from behind a heavy mana-glass shield.

BOOM.

A cauldron three rows down detonated, sending a plume of purple foam into the ceiling. The student, covered in slime that smelled like rotten eggs and despair, slumped over his desk.

“Candidate 402, Eliminated!”

The proctor barked, marking a clipboard.

“Next!”

The Culling was a meat grinder. It stripped away dignity and exposed weakness. It was the price one paid for not being exceptional enough to earn a Direct Entry.

While the rest of the student body fought in the mud, Ray Croft sat in the eye of a very different kind of storm.

The private quarters of Master Elias were less a room and more a geological formation of paper. Towers of unstable books reached for the ceiling, ancient scrolls were stuffed into teacups, and the air smelled of stale biscuits, heavy ink, and the dust of civilizations long dead.

Ray sat at the only clear surface in the room, a small patch of oak desk he had personally cleared by moving a stack of dirty plates and a fossilized sandwich.

Holographic maps projected from his Custodian Crest hovered in the air, overlaying modern terrain data with historical battle charts.

“Ah! The Siege of Balor!”

A wild mane of white hair popped up from behind a fortress of books. Master Elias adjusted his spectacles, he was wearing two pairs today, one perched on his forehead and one on his nose, he beamed at Ray with manic energy.

“Fascinating blunder, that one!”

Elias chirped, scrambling over a pile of maps to peer at Ray’s hologram.

“The invading force assumed the River Krell was passable in winter. Spoiler alert: It wasn’t.”

“It river did froze,”

Ray agreed, tracing a blue line on the map.

“But the ice wasn’t thick enough for heavy siege towers. They drowned their own artillery. A logistical failure, not a martial one.”

“Precisely!”

Elias exclaimed, clapping his ink-stained hands.

“I have the original weather reports from that year… somewhere.”

He patted a pile of scrolls that looked ready to collapse.

“Or perhaps I used them as a coaster. No matter!”

Elias leaned against the desk, his expression shifting from frantic excitement to a warm, familiar curiosity. He looked at Ray not as a student, but as the young colleague who had deciphered the Aeridorian texts and stood beside him in the Sunken Vaults.

“You know, Ray,”

Elias said, wiping a smudge of ink from his cheek.

“When most students break into my sanctuary, they are usually begging for ‘The Forbidden Scroll of Exploding Skulls’ or ‘How to Summon a Succubus without Losing a Soul’. Yet here you are, asking for grain manifests and terrain typographies from the Third Unification War.”

This story originates from NovelBin. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Elias tilted his head, his eyes twinkling behind the thick glass.

“Preparing for the War-Gaming event, I assume? A bit dry for a boy who just punched a Garrick into oblivion, isn’t it?”

Ray finally looked up from the map. His eyes were tired, but they held the sharp, focused edge that Elias recognized from their time decoding the ancient scripts.

“Fireballs win duels, Master Elias,”

Ray said softly.

“Logistics win wars.”

Ray tapped the map, dissolving the hologram into motes of light.

“The Strategic War-Gaming event uses historical simulations. If I want to win, I don’t need to be the strongest mage on the board. I need to know the board better than the person who designed it.”

Elias stared at the boy for a long moment. The frantic energy faded from the old historian’s face, replaced by a somber, deep respect. He remembered the darkness of the Sunken Vaults. He remembered how Ray saved him, Gideon, Eliza and Cassian calmly when they were trapped by an illusion array that almost killed them.

“You prepare for a game as if it were a real war, my boy,”

Elias murmured, his voice losing its scholarly affectation.

Ray stood up, gathering his notes and slipping them into his coat. He thought of the Argent Hand and its mystery patron high in the Royal Government. He thought of the Hands’ preparation and manipulation to create a civil war in Eldoria, and the other secrets buried in the high tier vaults of the academy he needed to uncover.

“In the end, Master Elias,”

Ray said, offering his old friend a small, grim smile.

“The only difference is the body count.”

Three days later, the chaos of the Culling had settled. The survivors had licked their wounds, the losers had retreated to the stands, and the Academy prepared for the spectacle.

The Grand Arena of Solhaven Academy was a massive, open-air coliseum carved from white marble. Today, it was packed to capacity. The roar of the student body was a physical force, shaking the banners of the three major Colleges, Valor (Red), Arcanum (Blue), and Statecraft (Green), that snapped in the coastal wind.

In the VIP box, high above the common seats, Headmaster Andrade sat on a center chair, looking down at her academy with an impassive expression.

Down on the arena sands, a platform had been raised.

The head of the College of Valor, Master Alvon Brekka stepped up to the podium with the amplification crystal. He was a giant of a man, built like a fortress wall, with a beard that looked like it was carved from granite.

“Students of Solhaven Academy!”

Alvon boomed, his voice echoing like thunder.

The crowd quieted.

“The Culling is complete! The chaff has been separated from the wheat! Today, we announce the participants who will compete to be the representatives of our glorious Academy in the Azure Cup!”

A cheer went up, wild and hungry.

“We begin with the participants of the Duelling Event!”

Master Alvon swept his hand toward the northern gate of the arena.

“First, we present the 3rd Level Group! The Titans of Solhaven!”

The heavy iron gates creaked open, and a group of twenty students marched onto the sand. These were the survivors of the ‘Open Culling.’ Their robes and armors were stained with mud and scorch marks, and many wore fresh bandages, badges of honor from the brutal three-day melee they had endured to earn their spot.

The crowd gave them a respectful roar. They were the grinders, the ones who had fought tooth and nail.

“And joining them…”

Alvon bellowed, pointing to the sky.

“The participants that have registered for the Duelling Event! Those who have secured Direct Entry!”

Massive illusion crystals flared to life, projecting towering pillars of light into the air. The pillars resolved into glowing names. These were the heavy hitters, the 3rd-Circle Adepts, Iron Aegis, and their counterparts who were on the verge of graduation.

The crowd roared louder as familiar names appeared.

[Lazlo Durkin – Rank-3 Vanguard, Minor College of Rangers (Valor), Direct Entry]

[Kaelen Thorne – 3rd-Circle Adept, College of Arcanum, Direct Entry]

[Dawn Moran – Tier-3 Deep Veil, Minor College of Intelligence (Statecraft), Direct Entry]

[…]

Ray, watching from the tunnel entrance, smiled slightly. He wasn’t surprised to see Kaelen’s name in the participants for the Duelling Event. She had been training with a terrifying intensity for the past couple of months, her academy rank skyrocketing as she climbed the arena ladder. She belonged up there with the Titans now.

Master Alvon continued the proceedings.

“Next, the 2nd Level Group!”

The process repeated. The Culling survivors of the intermediate tier walked out, looking weary but proud, followed by the projection of the 2nd-Level Direct Entries. The list was filled with established students and rising stars from the different major and minor colleges, solidifying the middle bracket of the tournament.

“And finally…”

Alvon took a deep breath, his voice amplifying to shake the very foundations of the stands.

“The seed of our Academy! The future of Solhaven! The 1st Level Group!”

The northern gate opened one last time. A larger group of Novices,Bronze Aegis, Tier one and others from different colleges walked out. They looked scrappier than the seniors, vibrating with nervous energy and raw ambition. These were the ones who had clawed their way out of the mud pits of the Culling, hungry to prove they belonged in the main event.

“And joining them…”

Alvon roared.

“The Direct Entries Participants!”

The projection shifted to a blinding gold. The crowd leaned forward. This was the bracket everyone was waiting for. The Novice division was always the most volatile, filled with rising stars, noble grudges, and raw potential.

The names populated the golden grid.

[Viktor Garrick – 1st-Circle Novice, College of Arcanum, Direct Entry]

The crowd cheered. Even with his loss in the unofficial spar to Ray a couple of days ago, the scion of House Garrick was still the obvious favorite.

[Darian Varrus – Rank-1 Bronze Aegis, College of Valor, Direct Entry]

[Kogar Ramsey – Rank-1 Bronze Aegis, College of Valor, Direct Entry]

[Kima Ramsey – Rank-1 Bronze Aegis, College of Valor, Direct Entry]

[Lorelai Silverburg – 1st-Circle Clay Vial, Minor College of Alchemy (Arcanum), Direct Entry]

[…]

The list went on, filling the slots with the high-ranking students and prodigies who had skipped the culling.

But as the list completed, a strange murmur rippled through the stands. People scanned the glowing text, squinting, pointing at the empty space where a specific name should have been.

“Where is he?”

“I don’t see his name.”

The murmur grew into a buzz of confusion.

Ray Croft was not on the list.

Viktor Garrick, looking at the list of Direct Entry participants. His eyes narrowed. He scanned it twice.

He’s not in the participant list?

Viktor thought, as he felt a complex knot of emotions tighten in his chest.

Relief, that he wouldn’t have to face that monster in the official Duelling Event. Anger, that he was being denied his chance at redemption. And confusion.

“He pulled out?”

A student in the stands shouted.

“The Artificer pulled out!”

“I told you!”

another voice jeered.

“The spar with Viktor was a fluke! He knows he can’t survive a full tournament bracket. He’s scared of getting exposed!”

“Coward!”

The reactions ignited instantly. The ‘One-Punch Artificer’ had folded before the cards were even dealt.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep