By the third day of the National Championship, the illusion of gradual escalation had completely vanished.

There were no longer any tentative matches designed to ease competitors into the rhythm of the tournament. The early rounds, with their mismatched pairings and uneven displays of strength, had been stripped away like a temporary disguise. What remained was something far more honest, far more unforgiving—a battlefield where only those capable of sustained excellence could continue to advance.

The arena no longer tolerated hesitation.

It no longer entertained unpredictability born from inexperience.

It demanded clarity.

It demanded strength.

And above all else, it demanded consistency.

Only contenders remained.

Among them, Skygate Academy had become impossible to ignore.

Their name no longer circulated as a rumor or a curiosity whispered between spectators. It had become a point of focus—discussed openly, analyzed carefully, and watched with a growing mixture of anticipation and unease. Their previous performances had not merely secured victories; they had disrupted expectations. They had introduced variables that other teams had not yet fully understood.

Valen’s overwhelming physical dominance.

Liora’s precise and unnerving control over battlefield flow.

Aether’s calculated restraint.

Each of these elements alone would have been noteworthy.

Together, they formed something far more dangerous.

By sunrise, the Imperial Championship Arena was already alive with movement. The morning light had barely begun to stretch across the upper tiers when the projection arrays activated, casting massive luminous panels across the sky above the central arena. The brackets unfolded in radiant detail, each name shifting into place with a deliberate finality that left no room for reinterpretation.

Spectators gathered instinctively, drawn toward the glowing displays even before any official announcement was made. Conversations overlapped as people speculated on potential matchups, recalculated odds, and debated outcomes with the kind of fervor that only uncertainty could sustain.

Because everyone understood what this moment represented.

The third round would separate contenders from hopefuls.

It would define which teams possessed not only strength, but endurance.

The announcer’s voice finally echoed through the arena, amplified by layered enchantments that carried its weight to every corner of the structure.

"Third Round Match—Feature Battle!"

The pause that followed was deliberate.

It stretched just long enough to draw the crowd into silence, to sharpen their attention into something almost tangible.

Then the name was spoken.

"Skygate Academy versus Stormforge Dominion Institute."

The reaction was immediate.

A ripple passed through the arena, beginning as a murmur and expanding rapidly into full recognition. Conversations broke apart, replaced by sharper exclamations as the significance of the pairing settled into place.

"That’s an elite team."

"They were seeded in the top eight."

"They haven’t even been challenged yet."

Excitement surged, but it carried an edge now—an undercurrent of expectation that bordered on anticipation for something far more intense than anything seen so far.

Within Skygate’s preparation chamber, Rowan had already activated the information slate before the echoes of the announcement had fully faded.

The projection hovered above the central table, displaying rotating data—figures, combat records, beast classifications, and observed strategies.

"Stormforge Dominion Institute," Rowan began, his tone sharp and focused. "Elite-ranked. Consistently top-tier. Their progression through the earlier rounds has been... efficient."

Valen leaned back slightly, arms crossed, a grin already forming. "Let me guess," he said, his voice carrying casual confidence. "They hit things hard."

Rowan’s glare was immediate. "They hit everything hard," he corrected.

The projection shifted, displaying their combat patterns.

Lightning flickered across the image in arcs of sharp blue energy.

High-speed engagements.

Rapid repositioning.

Coordinated strikes between multiple beasts.

"They specialize in lightning affinity," Rowan continued. "Fast, aggressive, and relentless. They don’t build defenses. They don’t stall for advantage. They overwhelm before the opponent has time to stabilize."

Liora stepped closer to the projection, her gaze steady as she analyzed the patterns. "So they’re the opposite of Ironcliff," she said calmly.

Aether, standing slightly apart, inclined his head faintly. "Which means faster engagement," he added.

The implication settled over the room.

This would not be a battle that allowed for gradual adaptation.

This would begin at full intensity.

Stormforge was not simply another opponent.

They were the first team in the tournament capable of matching Skygate’s pace—and potentially exceeding it.

The difference between brute force and structure had already been tested.

Now came momentum.

And momentum, if left unchecked, had the potential to decide a battle before strategy could fully unfold.

Outside the controlled environment of official preparation, another kind of movement had already begun.

It did not follow the rules of the arena.

It did not rely on strength displayed openly.

It operated quietly, efficiently, and with clear intent.

Noble factions had taken notice.

Private messengers moved through the outer corridors with subtle urgency. Conversations occurred in low voices, behind closed doors, within curtained alcoves. Agreements were suggested, favors implied, and influence shifted from one hand to another in exchanges that left no visible trace.

Skygate Academy, for all its growing reputation, remained unaffiliated.

They had no noble house backing their ascent.

No political protection shielding them from interference.

No alliances reinforcing their position.

Which made them valuable.

Or expendable.

The first direct attempt came swiftly.

A man approached Rowan in one of the outer corridors, his attire polished, his posture measured. His expression carried a practiced politeness, the kind that concealed intent behind courtesy.

"My lord sends his regards," the man said smoothly.

Rowan did not ask which lord.

"And?" he replied, his tone flat.

"A minor suggestion," the man continued. "Withdraw from the upcoming match."

For a moment, there was silence.

Then Valen laughed—loud, unrestrained, and entirely without regard for the surrounding attention.

"You walked all this way to say that?" he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

The noble representative ignored him completely.

"Compensation would be generous," he added.

Rowan’s expression hardened. "Leave," he said.

The man hesitated only briefly.

Then, lowering his voice slightly, he added, "Stormforge is not your concern."

Aether’s voice came from behind him, calm and unwavering.

"It will be."

The noble turned, studying him for the first time. There was a flicker of recognition in his gaze—followed by something else, something less certain.

Then he inclined his head slightly and departed without further argument.

Once he was gone, Liora spoke, her tone measured.

"They don’t want us eliminated," she said.

Valen blinked. "What?"

"They want us removed quietly," she clarified.

Understanding followed.

Valen’s grin faded slightly. "...That’s worse."

"Yes," Liora said.

Far above, in the controlled environment of the royal observation chamber, Lion Solvaris watched the unfolding situation with calm precision.

"They didn’t bend," one of his advisors noted.

Lion’s gaze remained fixed on the projected bracket.

"No," he said.

A faint smile touched his lips.

"Then we apply pressure differently."

His instructions followed—subtle, indirect, and entirely within the boundaries of plausibility.

"Adjust resource distribution."

"Delay equipment deliveries."

"Prioritize other teams."

Nothing overt.

Nothing that could be traced.

Yet the effects began immediately.

Training grounds were suddenly unavailable, booked under vague administrative claims. Supply requests experienced unexplained delays. Repair services became "temporarily occupied." Even arena preparation time was reduced under logistical adjustments.

Each disruption was minor.

Individually insignificant.

Collectively deliberate.

"They’re pushing us," Rowan said, frustration evident.

Valen shrugged. "Push back."

"We don’t control infrastructure," Rowan snapped.

Aether’s response came without hesitation.

"Then we control outcome."

Silence followed.

Because there was nothing incorrect about that answer.

For the first time since their arrival, Aether took full control of strategy.

Not reactive.

Not adaptive.

Planned.

The three of them stood around the central table as the Stormforge projection rotated slowly above it, lightning flickering across its surface in sharp, erratic bursts.

"They will rush immediately," Aether said.

"Faster than Blackstone. More chaotic than Ironcliff."

Valen’s grin returned. "I like them."

"They will try to isolate targets," Liora added.

"Yes," Aether confirmed.

He extended a hand, indicating the projection.

"We do not meet them head-on."

Valen frowned. "That’s new."

"You will still hit them."

Valen’s expression brightened. "That’s better."

Aether continued.

"Phase one—disruption. Liora controls spacing. Break their formation before it stabilizes."

"Phase two—controlled entry. I engage with the Flame Sovereign Pup. Target their central link."

"Phase three—collapse. Valen enters at full force against separated targets."

He paused briefly.

"No overextension."

Valen groaned. "That sounds boring."

"It keeps you alive," Liora said.

"...Less boring," Valen admitted.

Liora’s gaze shifted to Aether. "You’re still hiding something."

"Yes."

"Will you use it?"

Aether paused.

"If necessary."

She understood immediately.

The Fallen Succubus remained concealed.

Outside, rumors spread quickly.

Skygate was being pressured.

Skygate had refused noble backing.

Skygate stood alone.

Which only increased interest.

Because nothing drew attention more than someone standing alone against pressure.

As evening approached, the arena came alive once more.

Lights ignited across its structure, casting golden brilliance over the stone and steel. The crowd swelled, louder than before, anticipation rising with every passing moment. Betting lines shifted again, reflecting the weight of expectation now attached to the upcoming match.

Skygate stood at the tunnel entrance.

Valen rolled his shoulders, energy evident in every movement. "Finally," he said, his voice low with anticipation. "Something interesting."

Liora adjusted her gloves with precise movements. "Stay within the plan," she said.

Aether rested his hand briefly on the Flame Sovereign Pup, feeling the steady heat beneath its fur.

"Stay precise," he said quietly.

The gates began to open.

Across the arena, Stormforge Dominion Institute stepped forward.

Lightning crackled around them, arcs of energy snapping through the air as their beasts manifested with violent intensity. Their presence was immediate, overwhelming, and entirely unapologetic.

Fast.

Relentless.

Hungry.

The crowd erupted.

Because now—

This was no longer a rising team proving itself.

This was a true test.

And for the first time since the tournament began—

Skygate would fight as one.