The origin of the concept of tiers is unknown, but no reference to the concept can be found in BAE documents. While the stratification of souls was understood, the terminology was not formalized until around one hundred years Before Ancient Empire.

Starting from the bottom, we have tiers zero and one. Functionally identical, both tiers represent the weakest form of soul currently discovered. Attempts to drain souls below this level have all failed, sometimes catastrophically. * Professor clears throat *. On death, all souls quickly shed their excess energy and return to this base form, regardless of pre-death energy levels. The exact nature of this energy will be discussed in a future lecture.

The purpose of splitting lifeforms between tier one and zero seems to be an arbitrary choice, simply placing lifeforms created by the demiurge into tier zero and lifeforms created by other Archons into tier one. Over the centuries there have been many movements among academia to drop the tier zero concept entirely, but they've been held back by concerns that modern scholars may be missing key knowledge lost at the fall of the Ancient Empire.

Once a soul had absorbed a certain amount of soul energy, it becomes possible to ascend to a new tier. For those who have strengthened their soul enough, the tier increase can often come with pronounced physical mutation. This event is rare in the Sapients, who usually choose to focus their soul energy gains on refining their soul's shape. By contrast, magical beasts almost always focus their energy on strength. As a result, magical beasts will often mutate with every tier advancement.

-Lecture on the Tiers by Professor Sitio

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Opposite me stands the one known as Mud. Recently, the crowd has taken to calling him 'Executioner'. The Pancal word for a professional killer, or so says my lord Cain. The miasma of death clings to him, but it is still weak and thin. His path of death has started only recently. Among the specters floating behind him, I see no humans. Only beasts.

Around the arena, a strange dance began among the population. Not some strange ritual as I first believed, but a new Skill discovered. The civilians here are fools. This technique would be useless to one of our kind. It requires inhuman anatomy to perform correctly, or at least a suitable Rare Skill. I won't bother to learn it.

"Fighters, are you ready?" I glance through the slit in my mask at the judge. He seems uncomfortable near Mud. The people of Pancal are uncomfortable with intelligent non-Sapients. Not a surprise, as they are rare in this land. While the judge looks strong and well trained, there is little death around him. He is weak.

"I can."

The judge seemed slightly put off by my answer. Perhaps my grasp of the Pancal tongue is still lacking. Even with the aid of the Akashic Record, learning it has been difficult. Opposite, the construct again uses his mind magic to speak to the judge. A spirit of a mentalist whispers into my ear the content of his message; "I am ready."

I rest my right arm on my sword's hilt, hanging from my left hip, and await the signal. The judge steps back sharply and lifts his arm. "Begin!"

I unsheath my sword and streak forward in one motion. The same test I gave him the day before in the pit of Abraxas, will he respond in the same way? A burst of his mind magic flows towards me, but it is effortlessly pushed aside by my Loyalty. Mental tricks will not work on me so long as I am the strength of my lord. My blade streaks down towards the golem's neck.

The sword on his back leaps from its sheath and blocks my blade with surprising swiftness, following a burst of mana flowing from Mud. I suspected that the Executioner was using mind magic to move his weapon in the previous fight against the mage Suzy.

But that is not the case. Not nearly enough mana is being used for the movements and strength I see.

My blow was redirected by a hanging block, but a skilled swordsman would not be unbalanced by such an expected defense. I push the base of my sword handle with my left hand while pulling up on the top of the handle with my right, swiftly swiveling the tip of my blade around to deflect a stab from Mud's sword.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

As our swords make contact, the floating blade pushes back. If I move my sword, I will be cut. With our weapons locked, Mud attacks my opposite side with blades hidden below his cloak.

How nostalgic, to see chain weapons so far from my homeland. Such flimsy things are no threat to me, however. I call upon the aid of a spirit. Beside me, my grandfather swings down his blade; his sword resembles the one I now hold in my hands, for indeed it is the same blade. A reflection from another time. With a sweeping motion of the phantom blade, the construct's attacks are deflected.

His head swivels to look for that which blocked his attack. You will not find it, no matter how you look. The spirit of my lost friend holds his floating sword in place with her tekpi, locking it between the tines. Escaping the grip would be difficult in any case, but the phantom weapons being unseen by my foe complicates matters greatly.

Now, it is the Executioner whose weapons are locked away while mine is free. Pulling the tip of my blade high, I swing down my blade in a vertical slice. My right hand aims the blow. Near the end of the downward arc, I pull back sharply with my left hand. The tip of the blade whistles through the air as death falls towards Mud. A perfect strike.

A blast of magic strikes the blade from below, but it is useless. My blade is loyal to me, just as I am loyal to my lord. Only I may control it.

The blade cuts through the black cloak and strikes into the muddy flesh, squarely in the middle of the beasts head. Resistance is much greater than expected. While Mud appears to be made of wet dirt as his name implies, it now feels as though I'm cutting through a boulder.

Regardless, my blade sinks deeper. After sinking a finger's length into the beasts flesh, the resistance increases greatly. The familiar feel of striking metal. A stronger blow will be needed to defeat this opponent.

As I try to pull the blade out, I am surprised to find the wound already closed over, brown flesh flowing around the blade and rejoining. Instead of freeing my blade, I instead lift Mud off of the ground.

More hidden weapons appear from below the beast. Hooks and blades.

I lift my leg, knee nearly reaching my own chest. A forward thrust kick strikes Mud, the heel of my sandals striking his topmost eye. The force of my strike slides him off of my blade, and sends him far backward.

As he flies backward, his attacks are now out of range to strike me.

Some distance away, he stops suddenly in the air after releasing a burst of mana. He hovers in place a moment, as though such concepts as momentum and gravity do not apply to him. The spirit of my grandmother whispers into my ear. He's preparing another spell to dive towards me, just as he had done against Suzy.

I do not think he's realized I can read his magic easily. He likely thinks his charge will take me by surprise. A chance to destroy him with his own power, then.

Turning my mind inward, I focus on the Ideal of Separation. Subtly, the concept of splitting in half fills my blade. I lower the tip of my blade to my right side, low to the floor. One inexperienced in fighting swordsman might think this is a defenseless stance. This should cause him to attack recklessly.

As hoped, the beast rockets towards me, striking itself in the back with a spell to propel itself. A dangerous method of movement, although not uncommon.

As he draws near, he hides his many hidden weapons behind himself. To the side, his sword still struggles against the binds of my friend. I remain motionless.

When he enters my range, I explode into motion. Step forward with my right leg, rotate my hips to the left, push my right shoulder forward, aim my blade towards the upper left with my right arm, pull sharply back at the perfect moment with my left hand.

I feel little resistance as my blade slides through his flesh, and my blade passes entirely through his body, exiting the opposite side. So swift is my attack that the beast has no time to recombine the wound behind my blades path. The Ideal of Separation pushes the halves apart, removing any lingering possibility of the beast reforming.

His lower body and some of his weapons fly past to my left side, and his upper body flies over my right shoulder. A moment later, both halves land behind me with a wet thump.

I turn around. It seems my strike did not kill him immediately. His upper body is twitching wildly now, nearly vibrating. The sword behind me falls to the ground with a heavy impact, activating the ability used to defeat the last opponent. Useless, it can not escape the spectral bonds.

I take a step towards the fallen form of the beast. It crawls now towards its motionless lower body, which has lost all cohesion and collapsed into a pile of wet dirt. Mud has not given up, and the judge has not stopped the fight. Does the judge think that Mud can still fight, or does he merely enjoy watching a beast suffer?

Such determination on the part of my opponent is inspiring, but I must win for the sake of my lord. I raise my blade to finish off my opponent, but hesitate as a disturbing sensation in my Unique skill fills me with dread.

Some things are more important than simply winning a duel. Even seconds can matter. Lowering my blade, I turn towards the VIP booth and yell at the gathered officials.

"Death... soldiers death!" Already, the Association Leader has stood and is moving towards the arena ground. "Leader Ghul, I sense death at the dungeon. Many death. Human."

"Stop the fight! This tournament is postponed until further notice!" The roaring voice of an enraged Ghul cut through the stadium.