Chapter 65: Merit Points, The Duel Arena

The damp cellar of the Class F dormitories smelled of mildew and stale sweat. Saile sat on the edge of his rusted iron bed. He adjusted the cheap linen collar around his neck, hiding the silver elven choker.

The artifact burned with a dull, persistent ache. It worked tirelessly to filter his EX-Rank core into a pathetic yellow glow.

He left the heavy, canvas-wrapped Calamity Fang hidden securely beneath his mattress. Walking around the academy with a disguised Epic-grade weapon drew unnecessary eyes. Instead, he pulled a chipped, rusted iron sword from a discard

barrel in the hallway. It was the perfect prop for a weak commoner.

Saile stepped out of the lower wing and into the sunlit academy grounds.

"It is directly beneath our feet," Naicul whispered.

The ancient God’s voice vibrated with a dark, primal hunger. The presence of the Divine Fragment acted like a magnet inside Saile’s chest.

"I can feel my blood," Naicul continued, his tone dripping with cold anticipation. "They buried my right arm deep in the dark. It rests inside the Underground Labyrinth."

Saile kept his blue eyes fixed on the marble pathways. He had studied the public academy maps earlier that morning.

The Underground Labyrinth was a multi-floor dungeon used for extreme survival exams. The lower floors were strictly classified. The entrance was guarded by

elite Inquisitors and an ancient magical barrier. Bypassing that barrier required an enormous sum of Academy currency.

Merit Points.

The entire holy institution ran on them. Merit Points bought decent food, private training rooms, and access to the Restricted Library. Most importantly, they bought the security clearance needed to enter the Labyrinth.

Saile shoved his hands into his pockets. He carried his brass student token, which currently held zero points.

He followed the loud, echoing sounds of cheering students. The noise led him directly to the central courtyard.

The Duel Arena sat in the heart of the plaza. It was a sprawling, elevated stage forged from white stone and surrounded by magical barriers. Thousands of students crowded the edges, shouting and waving their brass tokens in the air.

Saile stood in the shadows of a marble pillar. He watched the cruel economy of the Church play out in broad daylight.

The arena was not a place for honorable combat. It was a legal extortion racket.

Wealthy nobles used the stage to bully the commoners. They challenged lower-tier students to official duels. If a commoner refused, they were mercilessly beaten in the hallways after dark by noble factions. If they accepted, they were humiliated in front of the entire school and robbed of their points.

A boy in cheap armor was thrown violently from the raised stage. He hit the dirt with a sickening thud, coughing up blood.

An aristocratic senior stood on the platform, laughing. He wore flashy silver armor etched with wind runes. He casually tapped his brass token against the defeated boy’s token.

A golden light flashed. The points transferred.

"Next!" the senior noble shouted, kicking the bleeding commoner down the stone steps. "Who else wants to pay their weekly tax?"

Saile watched with plain, bored eyes. The nobles hoarded the currency. They kept the commoners starving and locked out of the restricted zones.

If Saile wanted into the Labyrinth, he needed to bankrupt them.

He stepped away from the pillar, intending to walk toward the registration board.

A sharp crack of breaking wood stopped him in his tracks.

Saile turned his head. Near the edge of the courtyard, a group of three upperclassmen had cornered a familiar face.

It was the blind runecrafter from Class F. The pale, skinny boy clutched his broken wooden staff. He backed away nervously, his gray blindfold shifting as he tried to sense his attackers.

The leader of the group was a senior noble with slicked-back blonde hair. He wore a pristine blue coat decorated with gold medals.

"I told you to watch where you were walking, trash," the senior noble spat.

"I am sorry," the blind boy whispered, his hands trembling. "I did not mean to bump into you. Please."

The noble snatched the broken half of the wooden staff from the boy’s grip. He tossed it casually over his shoulder.

"Sorry costs Merit Points," the noble stated coldly. "Hand over your brass token."

"I... I need those points for food," the blind boy pleaded. He took another blind step backward. "I haven’t eaten since yesterday."

The noble barked a cruel, mocking laugh. His two friends joined in, shoving the blind boy forward.

The senior grabbed the boy by the collar of his uniform. He yanked the brass token from the commoner’s pocket. He forced the metal against his own token, stealing the meager handful of points the boy possessed.

"Consider it a lesson in academy hierarchy," the noble sneered.

He didn’t just walk away. The senior drew back his polished leather boot. He kicked the blind boy brutally in the ribs.

The sharp impact cracked bone. The blind runecrafter cried out in agony. He crumpled into the hard dirt, clutching his side and coughing violently.

The nobles laughed, turning away to find their next victim.

Saile stood frozen in the crowd.

He looked at the blind boy curled in the dirt. He saw the trembling hands. He heard the helpless, choked sobbing.

The sterile, calculating logic in Saile’s brain vanished. The cold wall of apathy he had built in the desert fractured.

A sudden, violent memory flashed behind his eyes.

He saw the ruined fishing village of Orali. He saw his twelve-year-old sister, Avery, pinned under the burning rubble. He remembered the arrogant A-Rank inquisitors standing over her, laughing at their pain. He remembered the feeling of being absolute prey.

Saile’s breath hitched. A raw, very human anger flared in his chest.

It burned hotter than the artificial light magic in his veins. It was not Naicul’s ancient, divine wrath. It was the furious, protective rage of an orphan who despised bullies.

"Break his spine," Naicul whispered darkly, sensing the shift in Saile’s heart.

"No," Saile thought. His fake blue eyes locked onto the senior noble’s back. "I am going to take everything he has."

The senior noble walked toward the stairs of the Duel Arena, flipping his newly stolen brass token in the air.

Saile stepped out of the crowd.

He did not slouch. He forgot to play the timid sheep. He walked with the slow, predatory grace of a Diamond-Tier killer. The students in his path instinctively stepped aside, shivering as a sudden chill hit the courtyard air.

"Hey," Saile called out. His voice was soft, but it carried a deadly, razor-sharp edge.

The senior noble stopped. He turned around, his smug smile faltering slightly.

He looked at the blonde-haired boy standing ten feet away. He saw the cheap linen tunic. He saw the chipped, rusted iron sword resting in Saile’s grip.

"Are you lost, freshman?" the noble mocked, crossing his arms.

Saile looked down at the rusted sword in his hand. It was a pathetic weapon. It was an insult to hold it.

He casually tossed the iron blade to the side. It clattered loudly against the stone pavement, sliding to a halt in the dirt.

The crowd of watching students fell silent. Throwing a weapon aside before a duel was a sign of absolute disrespect.

"Pick up your garbage, peasant," the noble warned. A flicker of blue water magic began to glow around his expensive leather gloves.

Saile walked past the discarded sword. He stopped at the base of the arena stairs, standing between the noble and the bleeding blind boy.

"You like taking points from people who can’t fight back," Saile stated. He looked directly into the noble’s eyes.

"I take what belongs to the strong," the noble sneered. "What are you going to do about it, Null?"

Saile reached into his pocket. He pulled out his empty brass token.

He tossed it through the air. The token landed squarely on the stone step right at the noble’s feet.

"I am issuing a formal challenge," Saile declared. His voice rang with cold, unforgiving authority.

The crowd gasped. A freshman challenging a senior was rare. A weaponless commoner challenging an aristocratic upperclassman was pure suicide.

The noble stared at the token, then threw his head back and laughed.

"You have no weapon," the noble scoffed, igniting a swirling blade of high-pressure water around his right arm. "You have no magic. What are you wagering?"

Saile tilted his head. A dark, ruthless smile slowly formed on his face.

"If you win, you can have my life," Saile offered softly.

He took a single step up the stone stairs.

"But when I win," Saile finished, his blue eyes turning dead and hollow. "I am taking every single Merit Point you own."

The air in the courtyard grew heavy. The game had just changed.