The tension in the coliseum was palpable. Several legionaries had already competed, but all eyes were on the silent rivalry between Joseph Demat and Silas, both with three medals. To ensure Joseph could not refuse his challenge, Silas needed one more medal. There were few recruits left unchallenged, but one of them, it seemed, was only looking to have fun.

  —Hey, recruit —Miguel Crociato's voice interrupted Silas's calculations—. I want to make you a deal. I really want to fight you. I offer you my two medals, win or lose.

  Of the few opponents remaining, the only one who generated curiosity in Miguel was Silas. His academy mate, Joseph, had always seemed somewhat bland to him.

  ?It's not a bad idea, but I could get badly hurt... although I can also heal myself. What do I do??, thought Silas. However, something about Miguel's carefree face attracted him, as if fate were whispering to him: ?Come on, take a break. You've earned it?.

  —Well, let's see what happens —Silas accepted.

  As the challenged party, he had the choice of weapons.

  —Miguel, right? Do you like using weapons?

  —I had never asked myself that. The truth is I haven't needed them, but it would be fun... Let's see, I think I've seen my family use something like... this. —Miguel took a medium sword with a simulated double edge.

  Silas, for his part, looked for something similar to the illustrations in the Invisible Sword notebooks. He took a thinner wooden sword, similar to a rapier, single-edged.

  With both ready, the audience's impatience grew. The duel between the "meteor half-blood" and the pureblood of the Crociato house was about to begin. Before the signal, both inhaled deeply, absorbing all the energy they could.

  —Begin!

  The clash of swords resonated in the arena. Miguel's strength was impressive; every blow cut the air with a brutal whistle. Silas, on the other hand, moved like an ethereal being, vanishing with every thrust, but the ground rumbled beneath his feet, betraying the power of his movements. From the outside, it didn't look like a fight between promising youths, but a combat between veteran legionaries.

  But inside, with every parry and every dodge, Silas's mind traveled to another place, to another time.

  ?Come on, Silas, come play!? said a boy with dark skin and brown eyes. ?Sure, Roque!? responded a younger Silas, laughing. Two children played with tree branches under the watchful eye of Sister Lucia. ?Take this, Master Etheric Attack!? exclaimed Silas, hitting Roque's branch. ?Maximum Mana Defense!? Roque responded with another blow. They were happy days, of children inventing impossible powers, with no worry other than creating an attack better than the other's.

  The reality of combat brought him back.

  —Invisible Sword: Mirage Displacement! —Silas murmured mentally.

  He advanced toward Miguel with the cadence of a walk, but at a speed that defied logic, launching a direct cut. Miguel responded by striking the ground with his sword to interrupt Silas's steps, and immediately channeled Ether to launch himself with a one-handed cut. Silas dodged it, but he didn't see the palm strike Miguel threw with the other hand. The impact reached his back, but, registering Martin's blow in the previous tournament, he channeled Ether at the last second to contain it.

  —Invisible Sword: Silent Cut!

  Silas changed his stance, jumping toward Miguel as if sheathing the sword at his left hip, only to reappear at his back in the same position. In the trajectory, an invisible cut had marked Miguel's torso, who recovered instantly. Silas repeated the technique several times. Miguel received the blows, getting used to the rhythm, but healing almost instantly.

  —It seems he also channels ichor —thought Silas.

  Suddenly, Miguel began to channel an impressive amount of Ether into his arms and launched a two-handed diagonal cut. Although Silas was several meters away, he felt the impact as if he had been hit by a sandbag. He lost his orientation, only to see Miguel almost in front of him, but without his sword, which had broken with the force of the blow. He began to hit him in a flurry; Silas's mind went back to that happy memory in his beloved Lampone.

  ?Hey, that's not fair! That power doesn't exist!? complained Silas. ?So what! Defend yourself from my rain of serpentine blows!? shouted Roque, unleashing a flurry of imaginary punches. Shouts of nonsensical powers filled the air.

  A genuine smile, the first in a long time, appeared on Silas's face. Miguel's "rain of blows" was no longer a threat, it was an invitation. The combat transformed. It was no longer a fight for survival, it was a game.

  Silas tried to defend himself. —Invisible Sword: Ethereal Defense!

  He remained almost motionless while Miguel's blows clashed against the air with a dry sound around Silas. In reality, Silas's sword was moving at such an impressive speed that it seemed not to have been unsheathed, blocking every impact. The rain of blows was too much, and Silas's wooden sword also shattered.

  Now he could only dodge. ?This might hurt?.

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  He began to respond to Miguel's punches with his own. ?It seems he has steel knuckles?, thought Miguel, feeling the pain of every impact. What Silas was doing was the same as in his training: covering his hands with condensed Ichor to repair and harden his bones with every blow.

  With every counterattack, the pain in Miguel's hands increased, forcing him to reduce his strength and heal himself. At one point, both backed away to catch their breath. Their faces showed neither anger nor fatigue, but pure joy, as if they had forgotten where they were and were just playing in their backyards.

  Images slipped into Silas's mind. ?Etheric Plasma Wings!? shouted Vin as he jumped in front of them, dealing a double slap attack to each of their backs. They were happy days, of children laughing with no worry other than inventing a power better than the other's.

  Silas channeled a large amount of Ether into his arms, not to consume it, but to pressurize with the Ichor in his fists. He launched himself to deliver a blow similar to the one he had used in Professor Alicia's class, charged with raw Ether. Miguel blocked it with both hands, being dragged two steps back. His face was one of pure surprise, as if he had discovered a new flavor.

  Silas prepared for another blow, but Miguel counterattacked with a wave of Ether that made him retreat. ?Compared to what Andros showed me, that is nothing?, thought Silas.

  But before he could continue, Miguel raised his hands.

  —Ok, thank you very much —he said, surrendering—. I don't want to take up more of your time or hurt you any further. A deal is a deal.

  He walked toward the edge of the arena. —Besides, I saw how you were looking at that weakling Joseph. He would hate me if because of me you end up in the hospital. Thank you very much, Silas. I'll be seeing you.

  With that, he jumped out of the field. Silas knew Miguel was telling the truth. If they had fought longer, he most likely would have lost.

  ?That guy Miguel... I'm sure he still had an ace up his sleeve?, thought Silas, a smile forming on his face. ?I haven't been entertained like that in a long time. Maybe since Roque left?.

  With enough medals in his possession, Silas headed to the announcement sector to make his challenge official. However, he met with a surprise: Joseph Demat had already requested a duel against him, right after his combat against Miguel began.

  ?What is this guy thinking now??, wondered Silas, trying to unravel his rival's convoluted plan, without success.

  By now, most of the recruits had finished their combats. His was the last duel of the day.

  —Last duel! —announced the legionary in charge—. Recruit Silas of Jared VII and Recruit Joseph Demat of Jared I, get ready!

  But before they could step up to the arena, a cadet ran up to the announcer and whispered something in his ear. The legionary, with a serious face, turned to the audience.

  —Due to force majeure, this duel is postponed until tomorrow. Please, enjoy the facilities of our great academy.

  Immediately, another legionary approached Silas, his voice laden with authority. —Recruit Silas, by order of Director Crociato, you must accompany me to his office.

  ?So the pieces of Joseph's plan are moving?, thought Silas, following the guard without resisting.

  The director's office was an impressive study, adorned with high-ranking weapons and armor, each of which could cost as much as a house in Lampone. Waiting in the room were Director Carlo Crociato himself and two students Silas recognized instantly: Jorge and Luis, Joseph's lackeys.

  —Recruit —began Carlo with a stern voice—, we are very strict with the rules here. The cadets present here have reported that you beat them indiscriminately and without any reason the very day you arrived.

  He paused, his expression denoting tiredness. —I didn't call you sooner because I needed to gather more information. There are witnesses who indicate that you left with them after the welcome cocktail, and the gym manager saw them enter the facilities. However, he only saw you leave. Both Jorge and Luis didn't want to cause trouble, but they felt compelled to speak when they heard their friend Joseph wanted to duel you, in retaliation for having beaten students of this academy.

  —My general, am I allowed to give my version? —asked Silas, with an impeccable protocol tone.

  —You may, but the weight of the evidence is overwhelming. The cadets had to be treated by the Devotee on duty to heal their wounds.

  —My general, the event they indicate is true, but it was in self-defense. I can only take responsibility for the blows to the nape that knocked them unconscious, and I prefer not to go into greater detail —said Silas, his voice calculating. He had understood the plan: Joseph wanted to make himself look like the righteous idol of Gavriel, and him, show him as a troublemaking half-blood. Omitting Joseph's presence was his best move—. Given that the students offended my family.

  —How so? —asked Carlo, intrigued.

  —Excuse me, my general, but I am unable to repeat the insults they told me. I apologize for my actions —said Silas, feigning shame—. And for this same reason, I want to leave you this to pay for the recruits' treatment, because it seems I have dishonored my family's name by behaving this way.

  Silas took out Andros's card and slid it across the desk. Carlo took it, noticing the rusted metal. ?I didn't think this boy had family of generals?, he thought, until he read the name. ?Holy shit?.

  —Recruit, what is your surname? —asked Carlo, his tone completely changed.

  —I have no surname, my general. I only had my mother, an Erudite without a surname who died a few years ago —responded Silas, his voice tinged with a rehearsed melancholy.

  ?Wow, I understand now?, thought the director, connecting the dots.

  —I take this back. The treatments are part of the tuition cost. If what you say is true and it didn't escalate... tomorrow I will tell you what your punishment will be. Dismissed.

  —Yes, sir! —they said in unison.

  Upon leaving, Silas looked at Luis and Jorge with a mocking smile. ?Do you think only you can lie, stupid weaklings??.

  Silas hadn't lied entirely, he had only mixed events and offered half-truths. Joseph had offended his "family" when he yelled "son of a bitch" at him. For the rest, he simply let the director fill in the blanks: a card for exclusive family use, a dead Erudite mother, a recruit with unparalleled talent and a temperament that doesn't tolerate insults toward Scholars... who could he remind him of?

  ?Ha, ha, ha, Andros will laugh a lot when I call him "daddy"?, thought Silas, amused. ?Forgive me, Andros, but it's for a good reason?. His internal laughter, however, revealed a truth: ?Andros is like my family. He worries about me and helps me when he can?.

  As he walked away, Zael met him and handed him a folded paper. In it, a brief note: "Inventory Room. 20:00". ?How strange. Could it be that Joseph has something else planned??.

  At the indicated time, Silas met Zael in the inventory room, located, as in all Jared academies, in the basement.

  —What did you want to tell me? —asked Silas.

  —Umm... I thought you had told me to come here —responded Zael, surprised.

  —Zael, but you passed me this paper —said Silas, showing him the note.

  —Yes, it's my handwriting, but I don't remember passing it. In fact, I remember you passed me this... this... where is it? —Zael searched his pockets for the paper he thought he had received from Silas.

  Silas's mind raced. He looked around, noticing that the room's implements looked strange. The armors were different from each other, and the texture of the materials, from afar, looked fake.

  And out of nowhere, everything went black.