“{That concludes the final match of the quarter-finals!}” Cerevil announced when Synthra’s opponent, an elven Spellblade, was dragged out of the arena while spasming from head-to-toe full-body burns. “{We will now proceed to the semi-finals, and the Final Four. After Synthra’s victory, they are: Achilles, Bardulf, Luciaro, and Synthra!}”

Leonidas looked at Synthra at the same time as she lifted her head to stare at him, and his sapphire eyes narrowed when they met her topaz glare.

“{The Final Four is already a staggering achievement, and as such, all of you will be granted the right to begin your licenses at Copper, instead of Iron!}”

A wave of gasps and applause rippled through the crowd, though Leonidas could distractedly tell that several people were throwing their hands up in annoyance or burying their face in their hands at missing the opportunity.

“{Furthermore,}” Cerevil continued without missing a beat, “{and given that this is the most competitive License Trial we have had since Transmigration; the finalists of today’s trial will not merely be fighting for the right to accolades and glory—but for the unique reward of 200 Aetherium, and the right to commission one item of their desire from the Guild’s crafting masters!}”

Another wave of shock rolled through the crowd, and this time the finalists themselves were forgotten before the immensity of the reward. At least, that was Leonidas’ view on what happened. He had little context for what it actually meant, as he still didn’t even fully understand what the actual value of Aetherium was, nor how strong an item made by craftsmen—masters or not—could be.

Hell, he had seen Ceruviel paying the shopkeepers they’d visited with gold and silver, though he’d not had a chance—nor the wherewithal, truthfully—to ask her what the actual currency of the land was. In Elatra, it had been Platinum, Electrum, Gold, Silver, Bronze, and Copper. Each one had correlated roughly to ten thousand dollars, one thousand dollars, one hundred dollars, ten dollars, one dollar, and one cent respectively.

He didn’t know whether it was the same for Altera, and if they’d adopted equal calculation since coming to Terra, or if there was a new system of valuation he needed to learn.

“{As I am sure many of you are eager to see the end of the trial, both to see who the winner is and to start your journey, I shan’t keep you with pointless oration. Instead, let us begin the semi-finals! It’s time for the Final Four!}”

Leonidas turned to Bardulf at Cerevil’s words, and grinned at him beneath the helmet.

“{If we face each other, no hard feelings,}” Leonidas said immediately. “{But I want Synthra.}”

“{How bold of you, Achilles!}” Bardulf said with a warm laugh.

“{Huh?}” Leonidas asked one second before it clicked, and he felt embarrassed heat suffuse his cheeks. “{Wait, Bardulf, that isn’t what I—}”

“{I’m jesting, Achilles, I’m jesting.}” Bardulf said while slapping him companionably on the knee. “{I understood your meaning, and I daresay she feels the same. The Princess has been staring at you like you, ah, kicked her puppy as the Terrans say.}”

“{Yeah,}” Leonidas said while looking to where Synthra had returned to her seat, and was staring with golden intensity at the arena floor as if, too, had kicked her puppy. “{The animosity confuses me, but I think maybe she’s just a haughty type, I dunno. The girl needs some humbling.}”

“{Wait… Achilles, are you actually super old?}”

“{What?}” Leonidas asked with confusion while turning back to Bardulf.

“{You used the term for ‘female child’, Achilles. Didn’t you mean to?}”

“{Oh.}” Leonidas said, and then shook his armored head. “{No. I meant to use the term for ‘immature female’. Is that not what I said?}”

“{Hm… I suppose you did say it, though it may just be a quirk of your dialect…}”

“{Oh,}” Leonidas said in a genuinely surprised tone. He hadn’t considered that.

“{Much of how you speak is the same, honestly. You use a very grandiloquent and ceremonial form of Haelfennyr.}” Bardulf was staring at him curiously when he spoke, and the half-wolfman’s gold eyes—darker than Synthra’s—were intent. “{At first I thought you were simply affecting airs, but you really do just speak that way, don’t you?}”

“{I guess I just had a different kind of instruction,}” Leonidas said with a shrug, and an attempt at seeming dismissive.

“{Maybe so,}” Bardulf said with a thoughtful look. “{Though if I didn’t know better, I’d assume you were secretly a Royal. You sound like one, you know.}”

“{Definitely not.}” Leonidas stated firmly. “{Not even remotely Royalty.}”

Bardulf laughed at his words, and seemed to believe him.

“{That’s a relief. I was worried I’d been too familiar with you. Excellent!}”

Leonidas shook his head when he responded, “{your kindness has been a boon for the duration of this impromptu tournament, Bardulf. It would be a pleasure to form a Party with you, too, after this is all over.}”

“{Ha!}” the Shadowblade laughed, “{here I was, thinking the same! It’s a deal, Achilles.}”

“{The next match,}” Cerevil declared and cut through their chatter, “{will be Achilles against Luciaro!}”

All eyes snapped back to look at Leonidas, and then to Synthra, and then back to Leonidas. The disappointment, amusement, tension, and anticipation of the crowd was palpable by that point—and even the actually disqualified contenders had all remained, seemingly eager to see the result, or perhaps to simply watch the eventual explosion when Leonidas and Synthra fought. For all the Sorceress’ haughtiness, she actually seemed markedly more popular than he was.

He had the feeling that many of them wanted to see her pummel him.

Leonidas rose from his seat amid the stares while Bardulf gave him a chuckled “{good luck!}” and made his way toward the steps leading down toward the arena. His next opponent was an armored fighter like him; an orc who wielded an immense warhammer and had also been a recommendation like Leonidas, Bardulf, and Synthra.

Luciaro’s matches had been quick and brutal affairs, and the greenskin had wasted no time in bringing the full force of his physical strength to bear against his opponents. He seemed to combine that power with both high Endurance and exceptional Vitality, and even the most powerful blows thrown against him had broken upon the warrior like the tides against a mountain.

Leonidas was already breathing to achieve Battle Meditation by the time his armored feet hit the sand, and his eyes swept over the expanse of the arena with the intent of memorization. Luciaro would be an opponent against whom Leonidas could only barely afford to hold back, and that meant he needed to keep his wits about him.

Even if he likely had far more experience in actual combat than the orc, that meant little in the face of overwhelming power—and in many ways, Luciaro was the worst kind of opponent for Leonidas to face. If he had been able to use [Psionic Swordforce] and there was no restriction on killing his opponents, then it would be a far less complex affair.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have the freedom to simply execute his opponents.

The thought pulled him up short almost as soon as he had it. When had he become so desensitized to murder that it was his preference? A flicker of alarm threatened to pierce his nascent Battle Meditation, and Leonidas suppressed it ruthlessly. He could wax ethical and berate himself for his bloodthirst later. At that moment, he had to focus.

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If he didn’t defeat Luciaro, he’d never get a shot at Synthra, and a petty part of him found that to be a far worse cost than losing the chance at Aetherium or an item.

“{Aspirants ready!}” Cerevil called when Luciaro joined Leonidas on the sands.

The massive orc, easily close to seven feet, removed the warhammer from his back at the same time as Leonidas invested his Mana and summoned his [Archon’s Psiblade] in a flash of scarlet lightning.

“{Aspirants salute!}”

Luciaro slammed the squared head of his warhammer, its opposite side ending in a massive spike, into the sand and thumped his fist against his breastplate.

Leonidas lifted his psiblade and brought it before him in a duelist’s salute.

“{Aspirants…}”

Luciaro lifted his hammer smoothly into both hands and lowered his stance, and Leonidas snapped up and started formulating a plan in his mind at the same time, while his left hand focused on corralling Psi.

“{...begin!}”

Luciaro lumbered forward with inexorable and powerful strides, and Leonidas stepped up to meet him. The orc swung with his warhammer immediately, and Leonidas ducked the initial attack and let it pass overhead, while simultaneously thrusting his blade for one of the gaps in the orc’s armor.

His larger opponent slapped away the sword-thrust much as Leonidas had done to Zalaza, ironically enough, and brought his warhammer around on a backswing.

Leonidas stepped back, ducked down forward, and stepped to the right to smoothly arc under the weapon and come up at Luciaro’s left. Another stab with his psiblade met only armor this time, and Leonidas grunted under his breath at being foiled once more.

Luciaro lifted his hammer into a two-handed overhead pose, and Leonidas half-dodged, half-danced away from the descending weapon and the subsequent explosion of sand it sent up when it hit. His [Archon’s Psiblade] sliced through the small cloud of obfuscation that filled the air, and his eyes widened at the shadow of something moving toward him.

Leonidas barely managed to drop flat on his knees and bend backward as the orc’s warhammer sailed through the air his head had occupied a heartbeat earlier. A curse of surprise left his lips, and Leonidas threw himself to the left when Luciaro stomped the ground where he’d been kneeling, and rolled up to his feet.

The orc was like a walking fortress. With [Psionic Swordforce] he’d have been able to eviscerate him, but keeping the skill in reserve meant that the armor shielding Luciaro’s body was a massive impediment to his attacks. With enough force, he could puncture it with his psiblade—but that was also a potentially self-sacrificing move, if the orc had the wherewithal to hit him when he did.

The hammer came back for another reverse swing, and Leondias once again found himself ducking low and dodging right to come up on Luciaro’s left—only to be met by a sudden impact to his breastplate. Before he could register what had happened beyond pain, Leonidas found himself on his back on the sand, several yards away from Luciaro and at the edge of the arena.

The orc had baited him in, and then kicked him!

Leonidas’ entire body throbbed from the force of the impact, and he was almost positive he’d cracked at least two ribs from the hit. His eyes blinked rapidly to clear the spots from his vision, and he pushed himself up to his elbows to see the orc lumbering steadily toward him, and only feet away.

That was not good.

Leonidas rolled sideways to the jeering of the crowd and staggered to his feet while thankfully having instinctively held onto his sword. He’d wanted to take the larger warrior with guile instead of anything else, but that had clearly been a fool’s errand. His eyes moved across Luciaro’s massive physique, and settled on the orc’s warhammer.

If he wanted to win, then he needed to do so by disabling the largest threat to him, first.

Leonidas’ left hand curled into a fist when he made his decision, and he turned to promptly put as much distance between himself and the semi-rapidly approaching orc as possible. His stamina depleted at an alarming rate while he ran, but Leonidas ignored it and put on as much speed as his armored form could muster. Laughter rippled through the crowd, but he ignored that too—instead, he focused inward.

While distantly remaining aware of his rapidly exhausting Stamina, he pulled his attention to his [Cataclysm Core] and the brighter, more solid churn of power it represented within his solar plexus. Might, force, and disastrous power roiled inside the space it occupied, and he once again had the same thought he’d had against Pheona: his Core was growing more solid.

When he’d first developed it, it had been nascent, and more loose energy contained in one location. Now, as he reached toward the end of his Formation levels, his Core was solidifying somewhat. It now had the vaguely circular shape it would likely assume with permanence during his first Tempering and Cultivation Tier, and he could feel that the energy within was… denser, somehow.

More potent, as well.

It was that source of condensed power into which Leonidas reached, and opened the proverbial sluice gates for the first time—truly—since the tournament had begun. Volatile power exploded like the unleashed force of a tsunami through his veins, and he felt his concerns and doubts evaporate like they’d never existed. His sprinting pace abruptly arrested itself, and Leonidas skidded through the sand while turning toward the towering orc.

Luciaro had not attempted to match his speed, and had simply waited for him to finish his run, by the looks of the orc’s positioning—and that was just fine with Leonidas. His Battle Meditation melded with the ravaging thirst for destruction his [Cataclysm Core] incited within his eidos, and Leonidas flexed his left hand at his side.

The Psi he’d been building formed into an invisible dagger built by his [Psikinetic Blade], and he waited while his Stamina steadily refilled, and his breathing began to stabilize.

The clarion call to war roared through his veins, and his Cataclysm Mana seared his channels with violent power. His body had somewhat adapted to the violence of his power, though the pins-and-knives feeling of the mana never quite faded. Leonidas could only revel in the clarity of purpose the rage and pain gave him, while simultaneously keeping it corralled by his on-going Battle Meditation.

When Luciaro lumbered across the halfway point and closed distance, and Leonidas’ own Stamina reserves filled properly; he launched himself forward to meet the towering orc.

This time, Leonidas didn’t make the mistake of testing his guard.

The moment the two came into range, Leonidas threw a light stab at Luciaro’s left shoulder, and when the orc used his warhammer to deflect the attack, Leonidas smiled under his helmet. He stepped back, disengaged to reset, and then danced back into the orc’s guard immediately.

Leonidas ducked the close-range swing that came from the orc as a result, and when he did, he lifted his left hand. Cataclysm Mana surged into the [Psikinetic Blade] he’d created in his fist, and as the warhammer sailed past, Leonidas hid his hand behind his back. Once again he side-stepped away from a kick sent by the orc, and after waiting for Luciaro to have his hammer at the ready, sent another stab forward—this time for the orc’s vulnerable gorget.

As expected, Luciaro brought his hammer around close to try to deflect the assumed fatal strike.

When he did, Leonidas slammed his hidden left hand into the exposed flat surface of the warhammer’s head.

The psikinetic weapon cut into the normal metal like it were butter, and though the puncture was razor thin, due to Leonidas hyper-compressing the blade’s edge like it were swordforce, it was not just Psi.

The Cataclysm Mana reacted with expected results.

Leonidas flared his [Psikinetic Shield] in-front of the hammer’s head with fully half his remaining Psi.

The weapon exploded like a fragmentation grenade. Shrapnel eviscerated Luciaro in a storm of metal, and his helmet was sheared through in several places, where metal pieces embedded themselves in his chest, his head, and his torso. The orc stumbled drunkenly from the attack, and even his hands spasmed from the ruination the exploding metal had put them through.

The crowd exploded into shouts when it did, and Leonidas ignored their yells, screams, and even hollers of approval and took his blade into both hands while dismissing the [Psikinetic Shield].

“Sixth Sword Art,” he snarled under his helmet, “Pierce the Mountain!”

Leonidas wrapped a partial layer of [Psionic Swordforce] around the tip of his blade, and punched it home through Luciaro’s abdomen like the avenging fist of a god.

The orc staggered backward when the sword impaled itself in his gut, and fell to his knees while still trying to recover from the fragmentation of his warhammer, and spasming all the while.

Leonidas felt something impact him, and slapped his hand to push it away. The kill was before him, all he had to do was—

This time he felt something powerful take hold of him, and he looked around to find Cerevil gripping his arms like a vise.

“{You’ve won,}” the elf said tersely under his breath. “{Don’t ruin the victory, Achilles. You’ve won.}”

Leonidas breathed heavily at Cerevil’s words, and turned to see Menders rushing toward the twitching and spasming orc, who seemed to be held up solely by his body’s own mass and refusal to fall over. With a grimace, Leonidas sucked in a breath and forced back his Cataclysm Mana, while simultaneously summoning his sword to his hand.

Blood pumped out of the orc’s wound the moment he did, but he paid it no mind.

“{Achilles wins the first semi-final round!}” Cerevil announced in a voice that may have been slightly shaken to Leonidas’ ears. “{He advances to the finals!}”

Leonidas turned away when Cerevil spoke, and marched for the stands.

This time, nobody in the crowd was brave enough to meet his gaze when he did.

Nobody but Synthra.