Chapter 46 Seeding

Halcrest’s sponsor board displayed Damien’s name beneath five empty match slots while Lucas received two protected rounds and private recovery access.

Students crowded the registration hall around floating brackets, each update producing fresh arguments beneath gold academy banners.

’Five fights before the semifinal while Lucas gets two, damn, subtle corruption apparently missed registration.’

Mina stood beside Damien wearing her fitted workshop coat over a black tournament credential, with three telemetry lenses clipped near one shoulder.

Bram carried their equipment case through the crowd while muttering every rest interval from a schedule wider than his chest.

"Your shortest recovery window lasts eleven minutes," he said, spreading the bracket across one wall, "the medical recommendation requires forty-five."

"Maybe the committee believes rich bones heal through public encouragement," Damien replied, reading sponsor names beneath each opponent.

"The committee believes exhaustion makes you release Reckoning on camera," Mina said, marking every seeded counterstyle through red ink.

’Spears to drain Flicker, grapplers for Stay, then Lucas after everything hurts, good, at least their plan lacks imagination.’

An official approached in navy robes fitted around a narrow body, with oiled brown hair above a smooth square face.

Deputy Marshal Corven wore six sponsor pins near his collar and carried a silver stylus untouched by ordinary ink.

"Lord Sterling, your late registry correction created unavoidable placement complications," he said, offering a sympathy prepared for nearby cameras.

"Oh, five complications happened to carry combat styles built around my known skills," Damien replied, turning the bracket toward him.

"Randomized seeding cannot account for every contestant’s personal discomfort today," Corven answered, tapping the sponsor board until Damien’s route locked.

"Nah, randomness deserves better acting than this," Mina said, lifting one lens toward his stylus, "your seed key carries Arden authorization."

The official covered its gold edge before several students noticed Lucas’s family crest beneath his thumb.

"Workshop staff possess no recognized standing inside official tournament governance," he replied, directing his irritation toward Mina rather than the camera.

Damien stepped between them and placed one blank card against the public prediction board.

"Then let governance preserve its dignity while I predict every random result," he said, taking Corven’s unused ink.

’Make the route public before they announce it, if one name changes afterward, every student sees the hand moving.’

He wrote five opponents from remembered tournament Chapters, adjusting the third for a fighter recently injured during Flood Line.

[Round one: Joren Pike]

[Round two: Vessa Moor]

[Elimination round: Pell Duran]

[Quarterfinal: Niko Venn]

[Semifinal: Lucas Arden]

Corven reached for the card, but Mina pinned its corner beneath a telemetry seal linked to three campus feeds.

"Touch that and twelve thousand viewers receive the original beside your edit," she said, calibrating the lens without glancing up.

"Threatening corrupt officials through data preservation sounds almost responsible today," Damien said, giving her the stylus before Corven reclaimed it.

"I can make the entire threat wonderfully irresponsible if he prefers," Mina replied, smiling when the official withdrew his hand.

The central bracket chimed five minutes later and revealed every name Damien had written in the same order.

Noise spread across the hall while students photographed his sealed prediction beside the sponsor-controlled route.

Corven’s square face lost color when Niko Venn appeared inside a slot never released outside committee access.

"You obtained confidential seeding material using unauthorized access before this announcement," he said, lowering his voice while security staff approached through the crowd.

"Arresting the person who exposed your random bracket should improve public confidence," Damien replied, pointing toward hundreds of raised phones.

’Let him choose between admitting manipulation and pretending I saw the future, either answer farms aura beautifully.’

The official looked toward Lucas’s sponsor balcony before stepping away from the prediction board without calling security closer.

"Your assigned route remains valid regardless of these theatrical public accusations," he said, turning his sponsor pins away from Mina’s lens.

"Good, then leave the card beside it until my semifinal," Damien replied, fastening Verdict beneath his tournament coat.

Rhea’s arrival pushed students apart without any guard requesting space around the overall Number One senior.

She stood nearly two meters tall beneath a sleeveless gray uniform, with dark red hair cut bluntly above broad scarred shoulders.

Her angular face carried amber eyes and one crooked nose, while a blunted greatsword rested across her back through worn leather straps.

"Which one of you reaches that semifinal without crawling through blood?" Rhea asked, looking between Damien’s prediction and Lucas’s golden route.

"Academy scheduling currently favors Lucas retaining both functional legs afterward," Damien replied, showing his eleven-minute recovery interval.

"Then finish your extra matches quickly," she said, tapping his first slot with one thick finger, "I dislike waiting for injured men."

"Your heartfelt concern possesses an unusual resemblance to another direct threat," Damien answered, watching nearby students record every word.

"Concern wastes time," Rhea replied, facing the sponsor balcony, "whoever survives that semifinal fights me afterward."

’Level nine hundred and she calls five matches a warm-up, fuck, confidence looks different when nobody in the hall can challenge it.’

Lucas appeared above them inside white-and-gold tournament clothes, raising one hand toward the crowd before addressing Damien.

"I hope the committee reviews any unfair burden placed upon my friend," he said, allowing concern to carry through every recording crystal.

"Your family seal authorized the burden you hope somebody reviews," Mina called upward, magnifying Corven’s stylus across the sponsor board.

Laughter reached the balcony before Lucas’s smile adjusted around the exposed crest.

"My house supports fair tournament access rather than manipulating individual placements," he replied, keeping both palms visible for the cameras.

"Access apparently means I enter through every available door," Damien said, taking his equipment case from Bram.

Rhea looked toward Lucas until his public smile became one degree less comfortable beneath her silence.

"Arrive inside the arena instead of talking safely from expensive furniture," she said, then left through the crowd without acknowledging sponsor security.

’She roasted him through a location, damn, Mina may finally have professional competition.’

The system shop opened when Damien reached the preparation hall, displaying three options beside his remaining balance.

[Advanced Iron Veil grimoire: 9,000 SP]

[Verdict second tempering stage: 11,500 SP]

[Script Page, tournament route: 8,000 SP]

[Current SP: 25,080]

Buying two would leave too little reserve for a Death Flag already attached to the tournament barrier.

Damien closed the shop while Bram arranged healing vials according to each compressed interval.

"You are refusing all three upgrades after staring for nearly a minute," Bram said, checking the untouched purchase field twice.

"The real threat has not shown its price yet," Damien replied, tightening the recall wire beneath his cuff, "keep the reserve liquid."

"That careless sentence causes trained inventory professionals genuine physical pain," Bram answered, though he locked every grimoire back inside the case.

’Wanting power now feels good, but surviving the rigged arena matters more than shopping dopamine, ugh, responsibility remains annoying.’

The first-round gate opened onto a packed arena where Joren Pike waited beneath four sponsor cameras.

Every lens rotated toward Verdict before Damien entered its square, confirming the broadcast wanted one famous payout rather than an uncertain fight.

’They sold Reckoning before I agreed to use it, good, disappointing sponsors might become today’s most enjoyable victory.’

He wore blue showcase armor around a muscular frame and carried a split spear designed to force close Reckoning exchanges.

[Joren Pike]

[Level: 429]

[Broadcast expectation: Reckoning release]

Joren pointed both spearheads toward Damien while commentary screens displayed Blood Ledger odds above their names.

"Release your famous attack early and spare us a dull exhibition," he said, widening his stance for the cameras.

"That request saved me from wondering what your sponsor purchased," Damien replied, drawing Verdict without opening the Ledger.

’They paid him to bait Reckoning on camera, fine, win without giving Lucas a single useful release.’

The starting bell rang while Damien kept every held Debt exactly where it was.