Because the tournament continued tomorrow, Luo Wei didn’t linger at Star Luo Residence. She had Chris pack some bread from the kitchen, then returned to Siria Magic Academy.

  The third phase would use single-elimination: teams paired off, winner advances, loser is out.

  That format leans heavily on luck.

  If the two strongest teams met in the very first knockout round, the loser would miss the championship entirely. Even if they were far stronger than everyone else, they could end no better than the middle ranks.

  Double- or triple-elimination reduces luck and yields fairer results, but those systems take more time, more staff effort, and grind down students physically. After weighing pros and cons, the professors still chose single-elimination.

  There were twenty-five academies in the junior division. With pairing each round, one team would draw a bye in each of the first three advancement rounds.

  In a perfect streak of luck, Siria’s junior squad could theoretically draw three straight byes, only meeting St. Teno Divine College on the final stage—and defeating them.

  In that case they’d only have to fight twice to take the title.

  In the worst case, they could face St. Teno in the first match, lose, and then—battered—have to scramble among other eliminated teams for placements between twelfth and twenty-fourth.

  Whenever luck is involved, Luo Wei never feels secure.

  Someone like her—perpetually unlucky—lives every day proving Murphy’s Law. She can’t just force herself to think rosy thoughts.

  Prepare for the worst: that was life’s hard-earned lesson.

  If they met St. Teno in one of the last two matches, she could even choose to forfeit—three match points total would still lock a top-five slot.

  But what if they drew St. Teno in the very first match?

  She needed a fully worked plan to beat them—like the one she’d considered that morning: snap their wands.

  St. Teno students were dual-element mages with strong close combat, so literally “snapping” a wand mid-fight would be hard, but blocking or disrupting their casting through the wand was far easier.

  Luo Wei took out her own wand—a black Spiritwood branch. Its smooth, dense surface should accept enchantment.

  She tried carving a Magic Rune. The branch was thin, the shaft round; under motion it would be easy to slip and ruin the carving—but not impossible.

  Besides, St. Teno’s wands were four or five times thicker than her Spiritwood branch—much easier to carve.

  Their shafts, metal rods smelted from multiple magical materials, had superb mana conductivity: for her, ideal enchanting stock.

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  With tomorrow’s potential match against St. Teno, she already felt she had a fifty-percent shot.

  At three-thirty in the afternoon, Professor Moses called them together for a short meeting.

  Though the five members of the junior team didn’t get along personally, their combat coordination was knife-tight. The friction between Luo Wei and Axina hadn’t dented their cooperation—better, in fact, than most intermediate division squads.

  Professor Moses’s chief worry was still the St. Teno matchup. The two teams were evenly matched and had formed enmity in the first round; a fierce clash in the third phase felt inevitable.

  With two-thirds of the tournament complete, everyone could see the junior division championship would go to either St. Teno or Siria—no third possibility.

  Whether the runner-up also came from one of them depended entirely on which round they collided.

  Like Luo Wei, Professor Moses feared that uncertainty. He reminded them: whatever round they met St. Teno, be mentally ready.

  All five nodded, promising they would not lose formation.

  After the meeting, Luo Wei laid out her plan to the others.

  To sabotage enemy wands successfully, she needed their cover.

  Fortunately, all four teammates agreed and would cooperate.

  A night passed. The bell tolled, and Siria welcomed bright dawn.

  “Hey, it’s the North Clock Tower bell today!”

  “Yeah, the sound’s from the north. Is the South Clock Tower not in use anymore?”

  “Under repair, maybe…”

  Chatting, the magic apprentices headed toward the riding grounds on the academy’s eastern side.

  It wasn’t even eight yet, and the grounds were already packed—students far more eager for matches than for class.

  Iron fencing and wooden stakes were gone. The former track’s center had been walled off into three broad circular arenas—the combat zones.

  Rather than “platforms,” “arenas”—even “coliseum pits”—fit the arrangement better.

  Tiered rings of steps rose outward, crammed with spectators. Students sat in the upper tiers; competing academies occupied the middle; the lowest ring—closest—was the VIP section for professors.

  At a glance Luo Wei felt she’d stepped into an ancient Roman coliseum.

  At eight-thirty, a fiery sun climbed Mount Xilian, pouring warm light over the grounds.

  Prince Alfried’s luxurious carriage rolled in and halted below the stands.

  Everyone stood in solemn salute. The august prince of the Church alighted, flanked by two knights, and ascended the steps.

  His ornate seat stood at dead center: Headmaster Morrison to his right, Professor Chester of Snake Academy to his left.

  Under thousands of devout gazes—professors like stars encircling the moon—Prince Alfried sat in stately composure. The two knights stepped back to either side, right hands resting on sword hilts.

  “Headmaster Morrison,” Prince Alfried asked to his right, expression concerned, “is your health improved?”

  Headmaster Morrison bowed his head. “Your Highness, thanks to your blessing, I feel much better.”

  Prince Alfried smiled. “You labor tirelessly for Siria Magic Academy. If any academy matter weighs on you, the Church is willing to assist.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness. Should the academy face difficulties, I will certainly not stand on ceremony,” Morrison replied with a smile.

  Their smiling eyes met, held for three seconds, then Prince Alfried looked away.

  “Headmaster Morrison, the time has come. Shall we begin?”

  “Certainly, Your Highness.”

  Morrison raised a hand. Three Siria professors immediately stepped forward carrying ceramic jars.

  Facing the crowd, they upended the jars and smashed them on the ground.

  For major events, people of the Western Continent were always this ceremonial.

  The three professors picked up the shards and, before Prince Alfried and the attending faculty, engraved each academy’s name onto a shard. They placed the inscribed pieces into a new jar and stepped aside.

  Judges from ten academies advanced; one by one they drew two shards to decide the upcoming pairing.

  Soon, the first match list appeared.

  “Junior Division: Valhorn Academy versus Stone Academy!” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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