“MATCH FOUR.
BEGIN!”
The magical amplifiers echoing across the Colosseum hadn’t even faded before Vane Harker moved.
For a guy built like a brick wall, the C-rank closed the distance terrifyingly fast.
He didn’t bother with a martial arts stance.
He just threw a massive, looping right hook aimed directly at Kael’s jaw.
It was a strike meant to end the match—and Kael’s time at the academy—in three seconds.
Kael didn’t blink.
His faster brain processed the trajectory of the fist before Vane’s shoulder had even fully rotated.
Kael simply took half a step backward.
Vane’s fist whistled through empty air, missing Kael’s nose by less than an inch.
The sheer momentum of the missed punch dragged Vane forward, his heavy boots stumbling in the sand.
Up in the stands, the cheering faltered.
A few students laughed, assuming Vane had just tripped.
Vane snarled, spinning around with a sweeping backhand.
Kael ducked it, stepping inside Vane’s guard, and drove a textbook, perfectly executed jab straight into Vane’s ribs.
Crack.
Kael hissed, immediately backpedaling.
He looked down at his knuckles.
They were bleeding.
Vane stood completely still, grinning.
A dull, metallic gray sheen had spread over his exposed arms and neck.
His Kinetic Density evolution was fully active.
“Is that it, quack?” Vane laughed, tapping his own chest.
It sounded like knocking on a cast-iron stove.
“I heard Toris put the only F-rank in the entire academy in my bracket.
I thought it was a joke.
You hit like a servant.”
His swordsmanship forms were useless without a sword.
He couldn’t choke Vane out, and he couldn’t hit him hard enough to cause damage.
Vane charged again, this time with both arms wide, aiming to grapple.
If he got his hands on Kael, the density of his grip would crush Kael’s newly healed ribs to dust.
Kael retreated, using his superior footwork to dance around the brute.
But the arena sand was thick, sucking at his boots, and the stadium walls were closing in.
He dodged a haymaker, then narrowly slipped past a knee strike, but the physical exertion was catching up to him.
“Stop running, trench rat!” Vane roared.
Instead of swinging, Vane stomped his heavy boot directly into the sand, channeling his C-rank mana.
The dense kinetic force rippled through the ground, exploding upward right beneath Kael’s feet.
Kael lost his footing, stumbling backward.
It was the only opening Vane needed.
He lunged, his massive metallic hands locking onto Kael’s shoulders like vice grips.
The crowd erupted.
The F-rank was caught.
It was over.
Kael gritted his teeth as Vane hoisted him an inch off the sand, the crushing pressure threatening to snap his collarbones.
The translucent blue screen violently interrupted Kael’s vision.
[Warning: Opponent’s exterior density exceeds Host’s skeletal integrity.] [Physical attacks will result in shattered knuckles and severe embarrassment.] [Analyzing opponent’s internal structure…] [Exterior: Steel.
Interior: Squishy.] [Skill Evolution Unlocked: Resonance Strike.]
Information flooded Kael’s mind—not geometries of swordsmanship this time, but the physics of vibration.
Force didn’t just stop when it hit a hard surface; if applied correctly, it transferred through it.
“Say goodnight, quack,” Vane sneered, pulling his head back for a devastating headbutt.
Kael didn’t try to break the grapple.
He went entirely limp, dropping his center of gravity.
He brought his right hand up, keeping his palm flat and relaxed.
He simply placed his open palm dead center on Vane’s metallic chest.
Vane laughed.
“What is that, a pat on the back?”
No, Kael thought, his eyes turning cold.
It’s physics.
Kael triggered the evolution.
He snapped his wrist, driving a short, explosive pulse of mana directly into his palm.
The kinetic energy didn’t bounce off Vane’s hardened skin.
It bypassed the dense exterior completely, rippling straight through the bone and discharging violently into the soft tissue of Vane’s lungs.
A dull, echoing THUD rang out, like a bass drum being struck underwater.
Vane’s eyes bulged.
His mouth opened, but no sound came out.
The air had been violently forced from his lungs, his diaphragm seizing in complete shock.
The metallic gray sheen vanished from his skin.
His grip on Kael’s shoulders failed.
Vane dropped to his knees in the sand, clutching his chest, gasping frantically for air that his lungs refused to pull in.
His eyes rolled back into his head, and the massive C-rank tipped over, face-planting into the dirt.
He was out cold.
Silence slammed into the Colosseum.
Thousands of students stared at the arena floor.
The nobles in the VIP boxes put their drinks down.
Toris, standing near the tunnel entrance, dropped his data slate in the sand.
The only F-rank in the academy had just one-shot a C-rank brute with an open-handed slap.
Kael stepped back from the unconscious body, wiping a drop of sweat from his forehead.
He looked up at the suspended glass of the VIP box, finding Principal Richter and Mori staring down at him.
Kael offered them a lazy, two-finger salute, then turned and walked back toward the dark tunnel.
The blue screen hovered over the sand beside him.
[Congratulations.
You have invented the high-five of death.]