Director Magnus raised a hand, interrupting. "The tournament rules are clear: use of system skills is legal as long as the competitor doesn't violate safety protocols."

  He turned to Alex, his eyes—the same ones that had signed his expulsion months ago—studying him with an inscrutable expression.

  "However, I have my own concerns, Mr. Carter. When I signed your expulsion from the Celestial Academy, it was because your summoning was deemed defective. F-Rank. No practical value. And yet..." He gestured toward Grim. "Now you display power that would rival fourth-year students. Something doesn't add up here."

  "Evolution isn't predictable—" Alex began.

  "Don't insult me with half-truths," Magnus cut him off coldly. "I've been an educator for forty years. I know the difference between natural evolution and... something else."

  A significant pause.

  "What exactly is your companion, Mr. Carter?"

  Alex felt cold sweat on the back of his neck. This was the question—the one he couldn't answer honestly without revealing everything.

  "He's a skeleton that evolved into a Lesser Death Knight—"

  "Scans show him as E-Rank," Vance interrupted. "But his combat capabilities suggest at least C-Rank, possibly B. How do you explain that discrepancy?"

  Because I'm wearing a ring that falsifies scan readings, Alex thought. But obviously he couldn't say that.

  "Scanning systems aren't perfect," he said instead. "Especially with undead companions. Death energy interferes with accurate readings—"

  "Convenient!" Vance stood, clearly losing patience. "Every time we pressure you, you have an excuse ready. Unusual evolution. Scan interference. Tactical 'luck.' How many coincidences do we have to swallow before admitting the obvious?"

  "And what's the obvious?" Alex looked at him directly.

  "That you're cheating. Somehow. I don't know how, but—"

  "Do you have evidence?" the Head Referee asked firmly. "Real evidence, not just suspicion?"

  Vance hesitated. "The scan data is inconsistent—"

  "Inconsistent doesn't mean fraudulent. Anything else?"

  "The use of thirty reanimations in his last match—"

  "Within tournament rules," the Head Referee cut in. "We already established this."

  She turned to Alex.

  "Mr. Carter, I understand your methods are... unconventional. And I understand why they generate concern. But unless someone in this room can provide concrete evidence of rule violations—not suspicion, not discomfort, but real evidence—then technically you have no case against you."

  "However," she added quickly when she saw Vance about to protest, "given the level of concern and the public safety implications, this panel proposes the following compromise."

  She gestured to one of the Secondary Judges, who projected text onto the wall screen:

  TEMPORARY TOURNAMENT RESTRICTIONS - ALEX CARTER

  1. Reanimation limit: Maximum 5 simultaneous undead in combat

  2. Enhanced monitoring: All future matches will have Temple observer present

  3. Mandatory scans: Before and after each fight

  4. Immediate disqualification clause: Any safety incident or loss of control = tournament elimination

  "These restrictions," the Head Referee continued, "are non-negotiable. Either you accept them and continue, or you withdraw from the tournament now."

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Alex read the terms twice. They were... manageable. Restrictive, but not impossible.

  The five-reanimation limit hurt—he'd planned to use more in future matches—but he could adapt.

  "I accept," he said.

  "Excellent." The Head Referee paused. "Any other business?"

  Marcus Steele—who had been unusually silent—finally spoke, his voice soft but somehow filling the room:

  "If I may add a perspective. As the top competitor and a Celestial Academy student, I'm deeply committed to maintaining the integrity of this tournament."

  He leaned back in his chair, a casual smile on his face that somehow didn't reach his eyes.

  "And honestly, I don't see a problem here. Carter used unconventional tactics. So what? Competition is all about adapting. If his necromancy is so dangerous, then his opponents should find countermeasures. That's basic strategy."

  He turned to look directly at Alex, his smile widening.

  "I just want to make sure this tournament stays clean, Carter. No dirty tricks. No cutting corners. No..." He paused deliberately. "...unexpected surprises that could endanger spectators. As long as you play fair..."

  The smile became something slightly predatory.

  "I have no objections at all to you continuing."

  The message was crystal clear: I'm watching you. One misstep and I'll personally make sure you're crushed.

  "I appreciate your... concern," Alex said dryly.

  "Then it's decided," the Head Referee declared. "Carter continues under the stated restrictions. This meeting is adjourned."

  Everyone began to rise. Alex turned to leave—

  "One last thing, Mr. Carter," Director Magnus called.

  Alex stopped.

  "Know that I'll be watching your future matches with great interest. Not just as an educator, but as someone who signed your expulsion. If it turns out I was wrong about you..." He paused. "Well. That would be an interesting conversation, wouldn't it?"

  It wasn't clear if it was a threat or... strange approval? Alex couldn't read him.

  "Yes, sir," was all he said.

  Finally he exited, the door closing behind him with a final click.

  In the hallway, he allowed himself a moment to exhale deeply.

  You survived. Still in the tournament. But barely.

  Grim grew from 80 centimeters to a meter and a half, red lights pulsing with what could almost be concern.

  "Dangerous. Very. Dangerous."

  "I know," Alex murmured. "But we have no choice. We need to reach the finals. Need access to Fallen Citadel."

  "Worth... risk?"

  Alex thought about the Fragments. About the Reaper. About the power he would eventually have to gather.

  "It has to be worth it," he finally said. "Because if it isn't, then all of this was for nothing."

  ---

  [MAIN ARENA - QUARTERFINALS - 2:47 PM]

  The Quarterfinals had been moved to the afternoon, giving tournament administration time to "review safety protocols" after the morning's debate.

  In reality, they were probably installing additional monitoring equipment.

  Alex could see the new cameras—at least six more than yesterday, all focused on the arena from different angles. And in the judges' box, he noticed two figures in Temple robes who hadn't been there before.

  Observers. As promised.

  "Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer roared, "welcome to the QUARTERFINALS! Only eight competitors remain! And our first match is... ALEX CARTER VERSUS THE REAPER!"

  The crowd roared—this was the match everyone had been waiting for.

  The mysterious Gold-ranked competitor who had demolished every opponent in seconds.

  Versus the controversial Iron-ranked necromancer who had somehow made it this far.

  "This should be good," someone in the stands murmured.

  Alex walked to his starting position, Grim at his side in meter-and-a-half form. He'd decided to start in Intermediate Form—no point hiding that anymore.

  From the opposite tunnel, The Reaper emerged.

  Full black armor as always. Helmet with visor. Cape that absorbed light. And her scythe—that spectral weapon that seemed to exist only partially in physical reality.

  They stood facing each other across the fifteen meters of arena.

  No one in the audience knew they'd met. That they'd planned this.

  That this entire match was theater.

  But it had to look real. Had to be convincing.

  The referee—a different one this time, a man in his forties with burn scars on half his face—stood between them.

  "Competitors. You know the rules. Victory by knockout, surrender, or my decision. Ready?"

  "Ready," Alex said.

  The Reaper just nodded.

  "BEGIN!"

  ---

  For two full seconds, neither moved.

  The crowd held its breath.

  Then The Reaper took a single step forward—just one—and the temperature in the arena dropped ten degrees.

  Alex felt it in his bones. This wasn't just regular combat presence. It was something more fundamental. More ancient.

  Fragment 2 awakening.

  "Bearer," The Reaper said, her voice filtered through the helmet but somehow still clear. "Show me what Fragment 1 can do."

  Alex felt his own Fragment respond—a pulse of energy from Grim, acknowledging its brother.

  "As you wish."

  "Grim. Full Intermediate Form. No restrictions."

  Grim grew—not to his full 2.5-meter Awakened form, but to his maximum Intermediate of a meter and a half, with all armor solidified, all scythe properly materialized.

  [Grim - Intermediate Form (Maximum)]

  Level: 50 (apparent)

  HP: 650/650

  Active skills: [Aura of Death], [Reaper's Strike], [Life Drain], [Shadow Step]

  The Reaper responded by properly summoning her scythe.

  The spectral blade—which had been semi-transparent—solidified, becoming blue-white steel that glowed with otherworldly light. The shaft extended, becoming a two-meter-long weapon.

  And around The Reaper, spectral figures began to materialize—not fully solid, but shadows, fragments of souls that Fragment 2 had collected over time.

  "Impressive," one commentator breathed. "Both competitors are showing serious power. This is going to be epic!"

  The Reaper attacked first.

  She crossed the fifteen meters in less than a second—not running, but gliding, her feet barely touching the ground.

  The scythe spun in a horizontal arc aimed at Grim's neck—

  CLANG.

  Grim blocked, his own scythe meeting the spectral one in a spark of crimson-blue energy.

  The impact sent shockwaves outward. The packed earth floor cracked in a radial pattern. The spectators closest to the arena felt the air pressure, some involuntarily stepping back.

  "Holy—!" The commentator struggled for words. "The power behind that clash! Both companions are MUCH stronger than scans suggested!"

  Alex used [Shadow Step], repositioning himself twenty meters back to give Grim room to maneuver.

  [MP: 390/410]

  Grim and Seraph's spectral scythe separated, then immediately re-engaged.

  Second clash.

  This time, Grim pushed forward, forcing the spectral scythe back half a step.

  Third clash.

  The spectral scythe spun, changing angles, cutting toward Grim's legs—

  Grim leaped, the blade passing beneath his feet, then counterattacked with a descending strike—

  The Reaper shifted, dodging, Grim's scythe burying itself in the ground where she'd been.

  "Fast," Grim noted, yanking his weapon free.

  "You too," The Reaper responded.

  They resumed—an exchange of blows that blurred from pure speed.

  Clang. Clang. Clang. CLANG.

  Each clash sent sparks—crimson mixing with blue, death energy against spectral energy.

  The crowd watched, absolutely hypnotized.

  "I've never seen scythe combat at this level!" the commentator shouted. "The precision! The timing! It's like watching masters duel!"

  Alex watched, memorizing every move. This was how Fragment 2 fought. Not brute force—precision. Every strike had purpose. Every angle calculated.

  Seraph was probably at Valeria's level. Possibly better.

  After thirty seconds of pure exchange, both companions separated, creating space.

  Grim had minor cuts in his armor. The spectral scythe had small cracks in its blade.

  [Grim HP: 580/650]

  [Spectral Scythe: Damaged - 15% efficiency reduction]

  "Act One complete," Alex murmured. This was according to plan—the initial probing, showing they were evenly matched.

  Now came the escalation.