Oludlana Ereshta'al, Caen's great-grandmother, had a very imposing personality, in the manner of all Percipients.

  She was taller than even Vensha and looked to be in her fifties, despite being over four times older than that. Oludlana often wore her black hair in the same elaborate style, held up by golden pins and clamps. The emblem of the Faithful Descent faction—which she had led for many decades now—was embroidered majestically on her dress. Caen was technically a member of this faction, along with everyone else in his immediate family. All of Oludlana’s descendants, in fact. Zeris had received her patronage slot through this very faction some years ago after her talent with spatial magic was confirmed by some prominent elders in the family.

  Oludlana sat at the head of the very long table in the dining room of her mansion. The seat opposite her was empty, as it always was, but all the others were taken up by her descendants. Four generations of them.

  She rarely took charge of the conversation during these dinners. She enjoyed cultivating a cozy ambience that gave room to free and open discourse.

  Her voice was as commanding as it was gentle. “You performed so well in the first trial, Fahptis, my dear. How did you find it?”

  “Thank you, Eshtr!” Fahptis said, beaming boyishly from where he sat a few chairs to her left. He was a few years older than Caen. His curly black hair framed a strong jawline. He began recounting his experience with wild gesticulations.

  Caen tuned the man out. He'd watched the man's performance, after all, and Fahptis had actually done well.

  There was some semblance of order to the sitting arrangements; it was loosely based on how much Oludlana approved of them. Zeris, frowning and poking at her food, sat two chairs to Oludlana’s right, next to great-uncles and aunts that looked older than their esteemed mother.

  Only direct descendants of Oludlana were here, thus excluding spouses. All the children younger than the age of fifteen were being entertained in a separate room.

  Caen's grandmother, Elemna, and her three children were seated far apart. Same also for Orissa, Zeris's older sister. She had tanner skin than Zeris and had tattoos on her neck and forearms.

  Caen sat quietly at the very edge of the table, next to the permanently vacant chair. A small portion of his mind observed his soul structure as he ate.

  He felt the faintest brush of something against his aura. Being currently aware of his soul structure was what allowed him to pick up on this. That and his training with his two favorite Percipients.

  And only because of those training sessions did Caen dare to oh so carefully extend his existence in Oludlana's direction. He'd specifically practiced this with Hshnol till the Vedul man could no longer tell when Caen connected to him.

  Oludlana was no different.

  Her aura presented to Soul-sense as a glowing cloud of smoke that was centered on her soul structure. It extended out in every direction and suffused the dining hall, writhing and interacting with the auras of almost everyone here.

  “But what about that Herb Mask fellow?” one of Caen's great uncles asked. He was a withered man who looked every year of his age.

  Caen perked up.

  “I hear the guy’s a real Spovan cock, that one,” the old man continued.

  Ergen choked on his food and started coughing. His cousins sitting beside him began to pat his back. Oludlana's aura encompassed Ergen, and that seemed to be helping somehow.

  “Herb Mask isn't special,” said another one of Caen's cousins, Gebda. He was in his thirties and had the build of a Body-enhancer, despite not being one. He participated in the trials regularly, though he'd never made it to the final trial before. Still, he'd done quite well this year, in Caen's opinion.

  “Of course he's special,” said a great-aunt of theirs. “The man snagged three hundred points in the first trial. Not even poor Etnei could manage that. He’s the bastard child of some old monster, I'd bet.”

  “It was two hundred points, mom,” corrected one of Caen's aunties. “And who says he's young? He could be older than you for all we know.”

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Feh! You'd have to be under a hundred years old to consider picking up that blasted sword. Reckless nonsense is what it is.”

  Gebda cleared his throat to seize control of the conversation. “He used a tactic to bypass nearly half the gates. He wasn't under any real pressure, and the suppression field was much tamer this year than I remember.”

  Fahptis nodded at this. “He was fortunate not to be in the same batch as me. Once I saw him holding Stormsong, I felt so angry. It's disrespectful. No one wielding that weapon has ever done so masked.”

  Caen tilted his head at that. He was probably referring to popular wielders of Stormsong: those who had distinguished themselves. It wasn't abnormal for most people to only watch the highlights of the first trial.

  Several masked participants had wielded Stormsong. Most of them ended up being eliminated by the second trial. Between the mana cost of using the weapon, its constant surge of electrical attacks, and being targeted by other participants, their chances were slim.

  “I heard he was—”

  Caen noticed one of his cousins, who was a year older, elbowing another and gesturing subtly at Caen. They sniggered quietly. One of them picked a pea off his plate and used his spoon to propel it at Caen.

  Without even looking in their direction, Caen flicked his index finger as soon as the pea reached him. It was immediately redirected into the man’s eye.

  “Ah!” he yelped.

  A grand-aunt beside him cuffed him on the head. “Are you a child? Stop playing with your food.”

  “—happens every time,” Fahptis was saying. “I personally think he's perfunctory with a sword.”

  Aunt Vensha shrugged. “Well, we haven't seen much, but if I had to guess, I'd say he has military training.”

  Caen’s grandparents had already begun spreading rumors that Herb Mask was a Vedulan soldier, and Vensha was pushing that same narrative now.

  “I think I see it,” Gebda said with a sneer. “Military dogs have that air about them.”

  “Good thing we have a solution in the works to eliminate the guy,” Fahptis said.

  “Oh, really?” Zeris asked, finally speaking up. “This is intriguing. Please, enlighten us.”

  He opened his mouth, excited, then closed it. “No, no, I shouldn't say anything about it.”

  Their relatives around the table began pressing, their interests clearly piqued.

  Fahptis looked to his great-grandmother, as though asking for her permission.

  Oludlana smiled benevolently. “I personally don't mind.”

  “Yeah,” a great uncle of theirs said. “We are all family here.

  “Indeed,” Elemna added. “No one here would betray our secrets.” Several of her aged siblings turned to her. “What? I know when to keep my mouth shut.”

  “Okay,” Fahptis said. “I really can't say much. But we have a little surprise planned for him in the second round.”

  “Even if you forced him to bow out of the round, would that really do anything? Considering how many points he already has, that is.”

  ‘Resurrections’ were possible within the trials. Though they cost a participant eighty-five percent of their points. If Caen ever had to use this option, he'd be in serious trouble.

  “It's about rankings,” Gebda cut in. “A major loss would prove to everyone that he is weak. A cheater. Someone who only uses tricks. It's about public perception, and that influences the scoreboards more than you'd think.

  “After we've dealt with him, he'd need to make it to the fourth trial to keep the remainder of his points, and I honestly don't see him getting that far. Once we knock off the crown, everyone else will want a piece of him. And guess who they'll remember as the ones that revealed all that.”

  Many around the table were nodding and smiling.

  Caen smiled, too.

  ***

  Each of the four trials was spaced by a week, giving the participants time to rest and prepare themselves.

  In the waiting hall beneath the arena, nearly five thousand participants loitered, chatted, or scanned the light projections on the wall.

  They'd been divided into five batches, each of which constituted randomly selected groups of six and seven participants.

  The group and batch listings had been released the night before, and Caen was named the leader of a group of six. This meant that it fell to him to decide which zones they explored in the trial.

  Caen stood with arms folded across his breastplate, Chasma strapped to a loop on the back of his armor, and Stormsong hovering beside him. His group consisted of a Metal practician, a burly Body-enhancer, a Fire practician, and two other masked individuals—Moon Mask and Crane Mask. They all exchanged polite nods as they came to stand around Caen. He quickly gave them a rundown of his plans. Some seemed reluctant, but there were no protests.

  Due to their rankings, both Caen and Goat Mask had been slated in the first batch, though, of course, in different groups. Through Rithya, they had planned to meet up and work together.

  The second trial was notorious for being easier than the first. It was undoubtedly the easiest of the trials. And while there was less of an opportunity for most to earn many points, any diligent participant stood the chance to acquire various treasures and resources for themselves.

  “Batch 1 participants, make your way to the trial grounds immediately,” a disembodied voice echoed from voice projection enchantments in the walls.