Kairos stood in silence, watching the ongoing battles with an unreadable expression. Since stepping down from the platform and blending into the crowd, he immediately sensed a shift in atmosphere.
The stares were different now—more accepting, almost welcoming. The cold doubt that had once clouded the gazes of onlookers seemed to have evaporated.
Perhaps that was the natural result of defeating an opponent no one believed he could touch—one who belonged to a prominent faction and carried a reputation as one of the strongest.
'Well,' he mused, 'I guess that's what happens when you take down someone who's supposed to be stronger than you. People start looking at you differently.'
Despite the attention and newfound respect, Kairos didn't allow himself to be swept away. His mind, ever analytical, drifted back to the battle—and more importantly, to his summon.
The voice.
The intelligence.
The synergy they shared.
'The voice and intelligence of my summon... it's what makes me stronger,' he thought to himself. 'I can analyze and adapt to techniques the moment I see them. This isn't normal—it's rare. No, it's something I believe only I possess. I can't share this with anyone... it has to remain my secret weapon.'
A secret weapon indeed, but not without danger. His gift—his curse—wasn't something that could be flaunted. If word spread that he had a summon capable of intelligent thought, of real-time analysis and feedback during combat, it would draw more than admiration. It would attract threats—jealousy, greed, and worst of all... control.
There were no known records in history or military archives of a summon possessing such intellect, much less granting its summoner the ability to evolve mid-battle through observation alone.
It was the kind of ability that factions would wage war to obtain. The kind of mystery the military would dissect and imprison him for.
Sure, it would be a dream to enter a major faction, to earn status, riches, and comfort. But that dream came with chains—ones he wasn't willing to wear.
Until he could rival the strength of entire factions, until he could protect himself without relying on anyone, he would keep it buried deep.
'Unless... I find more companions. Friends. Ones who are strong and care enough to fight beside me.'
A small smile curved his lips as his eyes shifted to the sparring platform where Darnell's match had just begun.
The fight didn't last long.
In a blur of speed and sheer power, Darnell launched his opponent off the stage with a single sweeping move. It was clean. Efficient. Brutal.
He was, without question, the best Kairos had seen when it came to Summon Integration. His fluidity, the perfect harmony with his Mythic summon—it was unmatched.
[Shadow Wolf likes good companions. Darnell has strong will,] the voice echoed inside Kairos's mind.
It was his summon Speaking.
Its ability to grasp and articulate human language was developing at an incredible rate. Another testament to its unique existence.
Meanwhile...
In a secluded chamber located deep within the second-year division of the military academy, a different kind of tension brewed.
The room—large and dimly lit—was lined with sleek computers displaying real-time surveillance footage from various parts of the academy. Screens flickered with images of classrooms, hallways, training grounds, and most notably, the first-year sparring arena.
This was no ordinary monitoring room. Access was restricted, permitted only to an elite few. The chamber acted as a control hub, hidden from view, yet capable of watching everything.
Three second-year students sat inside, their eyes locked onto a single screen.
"Wow... There are a lot of good fighters this year," one boy in the room, Radek commented, chuckling darkly.
Another held a digital list of all the first-year students. She casually cross-referenced names and faces with every fight displayed, marking those that stood out.
But it was the third figure—their leader—who radiated the most authority. Seated in the central chair, his frame was imposing, tall and muscular. His hands clasped in front of his mouth, his eyes burned with ruthless curiosity as they watched Kairos's match replay on loop.
His name was Ashen Vale.
A name spoken in hushed tones. A presence that evoked fear among students and even caution among instructors. It was no accident that he'd been placed in charge of this covert operation.
The military officers admired his brutality and relentless discipline—qualities necessary for the grim task ahead.
The screen showed Kairos and Rivet's fight once more, the moment of victory lingering.
Ashen leaned forward. His voice broke the silence.
"That boy who beat the faction dog... Who is he? Any connections? Does he belong to a faction or a family?"
The girl with the list scanned Kairos's profile. Her brow furrowed. She checked again, this time slower.
"He has no family... no faction... nothing?! But... he has a strong summon. Legendary-grade."
Ashen's lips twitched. A smirk crept across his face.
"Is that so?" he muttered, almost to himself. "Then perhaps this year... the experience for the first years will be more interesting."
The cold glint in his eyes returned as he rose to his full height, stretching his arms with calculated ease.
"It's time," he said, turning toward the others. "Tell the rest to meet me in ten minutes."
The girl bowed without question and hurried out of the room, her steps echoing.
Ashen remained, his gaze still locked onto the screen. Watching Kairos.
This wasn't just rivalry.
It was tradition.
A dark tradition passed down every year. One that had broken countless souls.
It was the second years' rite of dominance.
A secret, violent initiation—where second years would descend upon the unsuspecting first years... to break them, to crush their spirits, and to reshape them through fear.