Chapter 112: The Champion Who Does Not Fight Yet
The late afternoon sun cast long, slanted shadows across the busy arena concourse. The preliminary matches were winding down, leaving the wide stone corridors packed with exhausted competitors, excited spectators, and merchants selling cold drinks and roasted skewers.
Alex sat at a dented wooden table near a food stall, holding a simple chicken wrap in his uninjured left hand while his right hand, still wrapped in white medical bandages, rested on his knee. He had intended to eat lunch in peace. That plan had lasted less than three minutes.
A tight group of first-year mages stood around his table, shifting nervously from foot to foot. Just weeks ago, these were the same students who had snickered at his lack of magical pedigree. Now, they looked at him as though he knew the secret to becoming invincible.
"I just don’t understand how you step inside a Knight’s guard," a tall wind mage with a bruised jaw asked, leaning over the table. "Whenever they charge, the momentum makes my barriers crack before I can even cast a redirection."
"You’re casting after they move," Alex said simply, taking another bite of his wrap. He swallowed before continuing, refusing to put his food down just to give them some grand speech. "By the time your eyes register a Knight in full armor sprinting at you, they’ve already committed to their line. If you wait for the charge, you’re just building a wall for them to smash."
"So I cast early?" another student asked eagerly.
"If you cast early, you’re guessing," Alex corrected, keeping his tone blunt and practical. "Watch their shoulders. Watch the angle of their leading foot. A heavy Knight can’t change direction in the middle of a stride without losing his balance. You don’t need a massive wall to stop them. You need to ruin their footing at the exact moment their weight shifts forward."
He gave them a few more short corrections about stance, distance, and timing, but he refused to pretend that one afternoon of advice would erase years of poor fundamentals.
"That’s all the advice you’re getting today," Alex said, waving them off. "Go find an empty courtyard and practice missing instead of getting hit."
The students muttered their thanks and dispersed. As the space cleared, Martin and Hanks slid onto the bench opposite Alex.
Martin looked terrible. His face was pale, his shoulders hunched, and the excitement of his ugly, hard-fought ring-out victory that morning had completely disappeared.
"I think I need to fail my next class," Martin muttered, staring at the grain of the wooden table.
"He’s been like this since Arena Three," Hanks said, tossing a glowing Trivia tablet onto the table between them. "Look at the incoming message log."
Alex picked up the tablet. There was only one anonymous line of text.
You were not supposed to win that match.
"Someone is very upset that you survived," Alex said.
Emma appeared over Martin’s shoulder, a cup of iced tea in one hand and her thick, leather-bound timing ledger in the other. Alicia stepped up beside her, carrying another stack of tournament registration parchments.
"It’s not just Martin," Emma said, dropping the ledger onto the table. She flipped it open to a page filled with carefully recorded bracket lines. "I took a memory capture of the original preliminary board before Director Vane ’corrected’ the duplicate error last night. Alicia and I compared the matchups against the departmental skill assessments."
"The pairings weren’t random," Alicia explained, tapping one of the lines with a sharp fingernail. "They were arranged to eliminate specific mages. Ariana drew a water-resistant lancer. Emily drew a heavy hammer user meant to break her walls. I was put against an opponent whose armor was specifically designed to resist fire."
"They designed the matches around our weaknesses," Emma concluded, her voice low and serious. "And the ordinary mages who were expected to win, like the ones Martin was supposed to face, were given opponents who had already been weakened."
Alex looked down at the ledger. Someone had gone to considerable effort to arrange the lower brackets so the Magic Department would look incompetent before the Champion final.
Before Alex could speak, a shadow detached itself from the flow of people moving through the concourse. Olivia Valemont, the quiet archer from their class, slipped into the empty space at the end of the table. She didn’t bother with a greeting. Instead, she immediately pulled a folded map from her jacket. It was the copy of the academy maintenance routes Elara had been studying.
"You told me to watch the ward technicians," Olivia said quietly to Alex, her eyes continuing to scan the crowd around them. "Archers notice movement. You were right."
"What did you see?" Alex asked.
"During Maya’s match, one of the technicians assigned to the southern grandstand abandoned his post," Olivia reported. "He entered the south service tunnel wearing a gray utility coat. Twenty minutes later, he came out through a different access grate wearing a blue one."
She tapped a specific junction on Elara’s map.
"The shift wasn’t recorded. He went underground, and he didn’t want anyone to recognize him when he came back."
Alicia reached into her uniform pocket and placed a jagged piece of metal on the table beside the map.
"I pulled this out of the heel of the Knight I fought," she said. "It’s pure black alloy. The same corrupted metal mentioned in the Demonic Nail text."
Alex stared at the evidence spread across the table. The manipulated brackets. The technician changing coats. The black alloy beneath the arena. The old service tunnel connecting the southern arena directly to the abandoned western dormitory.
"The southern grandstand," Alex said quietly. "The ward lines there are being altered. Someone is planting something beneath the arena."
He didn’t wait for a committee vote. Alex stood, leaving his lunch unfinished.
"Keep the ledger safe, Emma. Olivia, mark every alternate exit from that tunnel. I’m going to the southern service hall."
The southern maintenance corridor was secluded, separated from the main spectator concourse by heavy iron gates. When Alex arrived, he expected to find a locked door or a careless guard.
Instead, he found Director Maelor Vane.
The senior administrator stood calmly before the heavy steel door leading into the service tunnel. Two academy golems stood on either side of him, their magical cores glowing as they sealed the entrance. Maelor held a clipboard, his white robes perfectly clean, looking every bit like the diligent administrator he claimed to be.
"Ah, our Champion," Maelor said, offering a warm, perfectly polite smile as Alex approached. "Shouldn’t you be resting that hand before the final duel?"
Alex stopped a few feet away, letting his eyes move over the reinforced magical seals Maelor was placing across the tunnel entrance.
"I was taking a walk," Alex said smoothly. He reached into his pocket and held up the jagged piece of black alloy Alicia had found. "I found this on the tournament floor. It looks like part of a damaged foundation. I wanted to check the southern anchor points to make sure the floor isn’t going to collapse under us tomorrow."
Maelor’s expression didn’t change. His eyes flicked toward the metal, acknowledging its presence without the slightest sign of surprise.
"How observant of you, Alex," Maelor said calmly. "But there is no need for concern. That alloy is quite common in the older foundation anchors beneath the arena. As they age, they occasionally shed small pieces."
"And the tunnel?" Alex asked, gesturing toward the heavy seals being placed across the door.
"A safety precaution," Maelor replied smoothly. "The maintenance shafts beneath the southern stands have shown signs of structural weakness. With the massive crowds expected for the final, I have ordered the tunnel completely sealed to prevent an accident. No one goes in or out until the tournament is over."
Maelor’s explanation was perfectly reasonable.
That was what made it suspicious.
By sealing the tunnel under the excuse of safety, he had prevented Alex from inspecting whatever was hidden beneath the arena. The response had been too smooth, too quick, and far too convenient.
"Of course, Director," Alex said, slipping the alloy back into his pocket. "Safety first."
"Indeed," Maelor said, turning away to inspect the next gate. "Rest well, Alex. The whole Academy is counting on you tomorrow."
Alex remained in the dim corridor, watching the Director walk away. Maelor was a credible suspect, but his position protected him. He had the authority, the paperwork, and a perfectly reasonable explanation for everything.
Alex couldn’t simply break the seals. Doing so would trigger an academy-wide alarm and could lead to his arrest just before the final duel.
He had to balance the investigation with the reality of Ivan Baker waiting for him in the arena.
A quiet footstep sounded behind him.
Professor Cassandra stepped from the shadow of a nearby archway, her arms crossed and her sharp eyes fixed on Maelor’s retreating back.
"He’s a very efficient administrator," Cassandra murmured as she stepped beside Alex.
"He just sealed the only access point to the southern foundations," Alex replied quietly.
Cassandra didn’t look at him. Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"You should know something else about our efficient Director, Alex."
Alex turned toward her.
"During the expedition week, when the forest barrier fell," Cassandra said quietly, "Director Vane was the only administrator in the capital who had the authority to change the perimeter codes."