“This is getting ugly folks!”

Bruce Doyle yelled.

“The leaders have hit the fire walls! The heat is intense, the math is complex, and the chalk is literally melting in their hands!”

Down in lane three, Rina’s pick was bogged down. He was desperately trying to calculate a localized thermal-nullification ward, but the sheer complexity of the heat equation required a massive, paragraph-long runic sequence. Beside him in lane five, Svane’s burly pick was doing the same, sweating through his heavy robes as he carved line after line of frantic math.

Back at the start line, the participant in lane one finally nodded. He raised his stylus.

Scribe: “Oh… exquisite. Look at the economy of motion. Not a single wasted curve. Perfect planar alignment. He treats the matrix with the respect it demands. Beautiful.”

The Arcane Scribe practically sighed in reverence.

The participant didn’t write a paragraph. He carved three perfectly balanced, elegant runes into the first pylon. The blast door didn’t just force itself open; it hissed and slid apart with silent, frictionless grace.

The participant in lane one sprinted through the gate.

He reached the towering, roaring wall of fire at the second obstacle just as the leaders were finishing their agonizing long engravings. Rina and Svane’s picks finally slapped their hands against their pylons, activating their massive arrays to suppress the flames just enough to squeeze through.

The participant in lane one stopped at the second pylon, raising his chalk. But as his eyes swept over the thermal equation, he froze. Ray watched the exact moment the realization hit the kid. The thermal variables weren’t unique; they were derived directly from the kinetic coefficient of the first obstacle. The engineer’s eyes went wide. He didn’t need to solve a new equation; he just needed to base his solution on his understanding on the first obstacle.

He carved a single, modifying prefix-rune onto the existing control plate, testing his radical theory, and stepped back.

The fire wall in lane one instantly snuffed itself out, dropping to zero degrees in a fraction of a second.

“What in the name of the Founders was that?!”

Bruce Doyle shrieked, nearly dropping from his podium.

“Did lane one just bypass a Class-3 Thermal Barrier with a single keystroke?!”

The crowd erupted in a mix of confusion and absolute hysteria.

Bruce frantically shuffled through the glowing parchments on his floating podium, searching for the roster.

“Who is this participant?! Ah! Give it up for Clive Belcoot, folks! A 2nd-Circle Sigil from the minor College of Runic Engineering (Arcanum)! He is making the heavy favorites look like amateurs!”

It was a massacre of efficiency. The leaders hit the third obstacle, the swinging pendulum axes and were forced to stop, calculating kinetic mass and oscillation timing while dodging giant blades.

Clive simply ran up, his theory now fully confirmed in his mind. He recognized the structural matrix based on his cipher, and carved one more modifying stroke. The pendulums in lane one froze mid-swing, locking gracefully into their overhead housings.

He casually jogged underneath them, passing the exhausted, bewildered leaders without a second glance.

Cassian gripped the railing, his jaw hanging open.

“That is… that is the most beautiful piece of cascading runic logic I have ever seen. He decrypted the base frequency! He has the master key!”

“Wait, wait, no!”

Rina yelled, watching her lanky pick desperately trying to catch up.

“You got this!”

Svane could not hold it anymore and roared at his pick, who was still trying to solve the math for the third obstacle.

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It wasn’t even close. Clive treated the rest of the lethal gauntlet like a brisk afternoon walk.

While the others fought for their lives with paragraphs of messy, brute-force magic, he dropped single-rune overrides like a master key turning tumblers. He crossed the finish line a full two minutes before anyone else, barely out of breath, adjusting his spectacles as the crowd lost their collective minds.

“A stunning upset! Clive Belcoot takes the Runic Gauntlet with an unprecedented display of analytical mastery!”

Bruce bellowed over the cheering.

Eventually, Svane’s burly engineer dragged himself across the finish line to claim second place. Rina’s fast engineer stumbled in to take third.

“And there we have it, folks!”

Bruce roared, gesturing grandly to the trio of panting, soot-covered students.

“Our podium is set! As per the rules of the Runic Gauntlet, only the first three to cross the finish line survive the Second Round today! Let’s hear it for the three brilliant minds advancing to the Third Round!”

Rina sighed, leaning back in her chair.

“Well. Second and third. Neither of them took first. The bet is a draw, Svane.”

The massive warrior gave a disappointed grunt, crossing his arms.

“Next time.”

Ray didn’t say anything. He simply sat back in his chair, a quiet, deeply satisfied smile playing on his lips. Deep within his Arcanum uniform, his Custodian Crest vibrated warmly. He didn’t need to look at the interface to know what had just happened.

Somewhere in the arena, twelve student bookies were currently staring at their ledgers in absolute, soul-crushing despair.

His anonymous account had just been credited with a staggering payout of 24,000 Academy Marks.

Down in the arena, Clive was awkwardly trying to wipe the soot off his spectacles while proctors swarmed him to verify his runic sequences. He looked exhausted, bewildered by the cheering, and completely unaware that he had just bankrupted a dozen student bookies.

Scribe: “Such peerless craftsmanship deserves patronage. We cannot simply hoard the spoils of his genius while he returns to his dorm with nothing but soot on his robes. Reward the artisan.”

The Arcane Scribe muttered in Ray’s mind, his tone surprisingly soft, filled with a rare, genuine respect.

Ray couldn’t disagree. He believed that Clive had earned it.

System,Isolate the academy network signature for ‘Clive Belcoot’. Prepare an anonymous fund transfer of 4,000 Academy Marks with an attaching message from my proxy account.

Ray commanded silently, tapping into the interface humming beneath his consciousness.

[RECIPIENT ISOLATED: CLIVE BELCOOT (COLLEGE OF RUNIC ENGINEERING). READY FOR TRANSFER. AWAITING MESSAGE ATTACHMENT…]

Ray leaned his chin on his knuckles, composing the attached note in his mind.

Message: “Brute force wins battles, but true elegance wins the war. I watched you decrypt the foundational matrix while the heavy favorites were banging rocks together. I made an absolute fortune betting on your intellect today. Consider this your rightful cut. Keep treating the craft with the respect it demands.”

Ray dictated mentally.

Execute transfer.

Ray finalized.

[TRANSFER COMPLETE: 4,000 ACADEMY MARKS DELIVERED ANONYMOUSLY.]

Down in the arena, Clive suddenly flinched. He patted his robes, pulling out his own student medallion. Ray watched from the spectator box as the young engineer’s eyes went wide, his jaw dropping open as he stared at the glowing digits on his screen. He looked around the stadium wildly, trying to find the source of the sudden, life-changing fortune.

Ray nodded and patted his uniform once, incredibly grateful that he had listened to the Arcane Scribe. The tournament was proving to be exceptionally profitable, in more ways than one.

The heavy gates at the northern end of the Grand Arena shuddered and groaned, parting to allow the massive, tread-driven Forge-Engines to exit. With their spiked anchors retracted and their weaponized arms neatly folded away, the mechanical behemoths hissed with arcane steam as they rolled off the scarred sands, concluding the Runic Engineering event.

Almost immediately, a group of academy proctors that mostly have Earth and Nature affinity took the field. Moving in perfect, synchronized formations, they drove their staffs and wands into the dirt and air. The arena floor rumbled, the sand violently shifting and rising as the mages sculpted the battlefield for the next spectacle.

Massive structures erupted from the earth. A staggered grid of runic vents snapped into place, the Geyser Grid. Next to it, thick, writhing black vines wove themselves into a long, magically darkened tunnel, the Shadow-Bramble Tube. A steep, frictionless pyramid of solid ice rapidly froze in the center of the arena, the Glacial Apex. Finally, floating slabs of stone balanced on gravity fulcrums hovered just above the ground, the Kinetic Seesaws.

High above, Bruce Doyle’s magically amplified voice snapped the crowd’s attention back to his floating platform.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we trade the cold precision of metal for the primal fury of the wild! It is time for the Second Round of the Beast Taming Event!”

The heavy gates crashed open once more. Eight nervous handlers wheeled out eight reinforced cages. Inside, the massive, steel-furred Dire Wolves from the first round snarled and paced, their intelligent red eyes locking onto the cheering crowd with absolute hostility.

“Our eight remaining candidates proved they could dominate these apex predators,”

Bruce boomed, pacing his platform.

“But subjugation is only the first step! A true tamer does not just break a beast; they lead it! Welcome to the Apex Circuit!”

Bruce threw his arm out toward the newly formed obstacle course.

“The rules are absolute! No leashes. No physical forcing. The tamers must run alongside the obstacles and guide their beast through the circuit using only voice, aura, or hand signals. The fastest four times will advance to the next round! But these beasts are fresh from the Deep Woods. They don’t know what a seesaw is, and they certainly don’t like loud noises. So, we are granting our participants a one-hour familiarization period to introduce their partners to the course. Grab a snack, folks, the timer starts… NOW!”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep