The matches continued through the morning.

  Malek sat in the stands and watched. His chest still ached from where Krost had hit him. But he forced himself to pay attention.

  Each match taught him something. Showed him a weakness he could exploit or a strategy he could counter.

  Elara returned after the healers had looked at her. Her shoulder was bandaged and she moved stiffly but she was walking on her own. She sat down next to Malek without saying anything.

  They watched the eighth match. Then the ninth. Then the tenth.

  Most matches followed a pattern. Two candidates entered. They used their abilities. One won. One lost.

  Nothing surprising.

  Then came the third group second match.

  "Terry versus Mikkel. Enter the arena."

  Terry stood and made his way down to the arena. He moved with an easy confidence.

  His opponent was already waiting. Mikkel was a tall boy with broad shoulders and thick arms. He wore old leather armor and carried a short sword at his belt.

  They faced each other in the center of the arena.

  "Begin!"

  Mikkel drew his sword immediately and charged forward.

  Terry didn't move. He just stood there.

  Mikkel closed the distance and swung the sword in a horizontal arc aimed at Terry's chest.

  Terry's hand came up slowly without anykind of rush.

  The sword stopped.

  Not because it hit anything. It just stopped mid-swing.

  Mikkel's eyes went wide. He tried to pull the sword back but it wouldn't move. It was locked in place like someone had driven a nail through it.

  Terry's fingers moved slightly. Making a small gesture.

  The sword ripped itself from Mikkel's hand and flew backward. It landed in the dirt twenty feet away.

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  Mikkel stared at his empty hand. Then at Terry.

  Terry still hadn't moved from his original position.

  Mikkel clenched his fists and charged. He threw a punch at Terry's face.

  Terry tilted his head to the side. The punch missed by inches.

  Mikkel threw another punch. Then another.

  Terry dodged each one with minimal movement. A step to the left. A lean backward. Never more than necessary.

  Mikkel was getting frustrated. His punches were getting wilder and less controlled.

  Terry waited until Mikkel overextended on a right hook. Then he moved.

  His hand shot forward. Just an open palm strike to Mikkel's chest.

  The impact made a sharp sound. Like a whip cracking.

  Mikkel flew backward. His feet left the ground and he sailed through the air for ten feet before hitting the dirt and rolling.

  The crowd went silent.

  Mikkel lay on his back, gasping for air. The wind had been completely knocked out of him.

  Terry walked toward him slowly. The atmosphere in the arena had shifted. Every instructor’s eyes were fixed on Terry.

  Mikkel got to his hands and knees. He was coughing. Struggling to breathe.

  Terry stopped a few feet away and waited.

  Mikkel looked up at him. Fear showed clearly on his face now.

  He tried to stand. Got one foot under him. Then collapsed back to his knees.

  "Yield," Mikkel gasped out.

  "Match over. Winner: Terry."

  Terry turned and walked out of the arena without looking back.

  The crowd stayed quiet for a moment. Then the murmuring started. People leaning toward each other and whispering. Pointing at Terry as he climbed back to his seat.

  Malek watched Terry sit down several rows ahead. The boy's expression hadn't changed. He looked the same as he had before the match. Completely unbothered.

  "What class is he?" Malek asked quietly to Elara.

  "I don't know," she said.

  "That wasn't normal."

  “I know,” she responded, not focusing on Malek at all. Her eyes were fixed on Terry.

  “Not enough,” she whispered, so softly that not even Malek, Just right beside her, could hear.

  The match had lasted maybe thirty seconds. And Terry had barely tried. That palm strike. The way he'd stopped the sword. The effortless dodging.

  All of it looked easy for him.

  Malek had seen plenty of candidates use impressive abilities. Jaron's fire control. Elara's precise barriers. Others with elemental magic or enhancement techniques.

  But Terry was different.

  He didn't just have power. He had control that made the power look casual. Like he was holding back. Like he could have ended the fight even faster if he'd wanted to.

  The matches continued.

  Twelfth match. Thirteenth. Fourteenth.

  Malek tried to focus on them but his mind kept drifting back to Terry's fight.

  That level of ability wasn’t normal for someone his apparent age. Most of the people here were still learning how to use their class abilities properly. Still figuring out the basics.

  Terry moved like someone who'd been training for years.

  The fifteenth match concluded. Then the sixteenth.

  An instructor stood and addressed the crowd.

  "That concludes the first round. All candidates will have a one-hour break for lunch. Second round matches will begin after that. Check the board for your next opponent."

  People started filing out of the stands. Heading toward the dining hall.

  Malek stood slowly.

  Elara stood beside him. She was moving even more stiffly than before.

  "You should rest," Malek said.

  "So should you."

  They made their way toward the dining hall with the rest of the crowd.

  Malek glanced back once at the arena. At the spot where Terry had sent Mikkel flying with a single strike.

  He needed to win his next match. And the one after that.

  Because if he ended up facing Terry in a later round, he had no idea how he would survive it.

  ---

  LitRPG Progression Isekai

  The World Walker on a Tuesday

  "I threw a rock at a Machine-God and leveled up. Now my bodyguard is a sentient gargoyle who hates boats."

  Kaelen Vance didn't ask for a System. He touched a corrupted server rack in a London basement and the universe glitched.

  Now hea€?s stuck in a multiverse that runs on logic he doesna€?t understand, trying to survive ecosystems that want to eat his soul. He has no fireballs, no cheat codes, and his "System" is a star-chart that tracks trauma instead of XP. Joined by Vrex, a sentient rock-golem tank who speaks like a physics professor, Kaelen must survive the only way he knows how: by exploiting the rules, abusing the economy, and applying physics where it doesn't belong.

  [System Log: Sensory Imprint]

  "The thing in the canopya€”I mentally christened it Mr. Peepersa€”wasna€?t looking at me. My new soul-compass, the Astrolabe, had made that clear. The Aetheric Shroud wasna€?t a cloak; it was a localized paradox. A glitch. And Mr. Peepers, with its dozen unblinking eyes, was staring at the glitch. It was like seeing a patch of corrupted pixels in your vision; you can't see what's in it, but you sure as hell can't miss the spot where reality forgot to load."

  a?“ Smart MC: Exploits systems over brute force.

  a?“ Unique System: No blue screens. Only Trauma and unique system with Astrolabe & Star Charts.

  a?“ Buddy Duo: Snarky Human + Literal-Minded Rock Golem.

  a?“ Creative Combat: Kinetic manipulation & social engineering.