Polystar ca from behind. Like the others, he had heard the conversation between Soren and Goldsworth.
"Don’t even think about it!" He said sternly.
"About what!?" Soren asked back.
"Forfeiting the match!" His gaze remained on Soren. The kind of look one gave when they were threatening a criminal.
Soren looked away.
Polystar caught him red-handed. He had indeed been trying to forfeit the match. After all, he did not see the appeal.
He already had so many points, and after growing up in rags, he really did not mind sleeping on the ground.
As long as he could be warm and have food on his plate, he had no complaints.
As if reading his thoughts, Polystar spoke again.
"You don’t know, do you?"
"Know what?"
"The reason we gather points. I bet you think it’s just for food and clothes." Polystar shook his head in pity.
"Isn’t it?"
"No!"
Soren turned around.
Bloodshine and Pencil also shook their heads. And Vass looked at him like he was stupid.
"What are they for?" Soren asked.
"Haven’t you ever wondered how pilots get their own Soul chas?" Polystar adjusted his glasses.
"I have... but," he scratched his head. "I thought the empire just built them for—"
—Vass snickered, holding himself back from laughing at Soren.
"No, Soren," Tommy chipped in softly. "The Imperial Soulforge Academy only trains you to beco Soulbound knights and Soulbound cha pilots. However, being a pilot and actually piloting a Soul cha are two different things."
"Unless you have a strong, wealthy family backing you, even if you qualify to beco a soul cha pilot, you’ll need the money to build one.
Otherwise, you’ll just be grounded. And trust , there is nothing worse than that."
Soren fell into thought. "But from what I heard, not everyone gets to beco a Soulbound pilot. What of those that do not have the ambition for it?"
"You still need money to live your life, don’t you¿" Vass asked rhetorically.
And he was right. Soren wondered why he had never thought about that.
Even back in prison, prisoners were allowed the opportunity to exchange their points for gold coins and resources.
He ca from a poor background. aning that even if he managed to sohow qualify to beco a Soul cha pilot, he would need to build his own Soul cha.
The thought of it actually excited him. Why wouldn’t it? He was the son of a chanic. Having to take on such a grand project was a dream co true.
Machos would be proud.
However, he suddenly frowned. He rembered the piece of soul-steel Machos had and how expensive it was.
And then his mind pictured a full-sized Soul cha the size of the Lady Quiet.
Out of curiosity, he decided to ask.
"Uhhh... How many points does it take to build a Soul cha?"
"For the old 3rd Generation Soul chas that were recently decommissioned, we are talking at least a million points." Polystar replied.
Soren’s chest seized.
But Polystar was not done. In a way, he actually enjoyed breaking Soren’s heart like this.
"And that is just the cost of materials—if you can find all of them. There is still acquiring personnel with good talent in several fields for maintaining the Soul cha—and of course, the ans to pay them.
The amount is just unimaginable. Unless employed by a strong family or royalty, a Soul cha pilot might simply leave a life as a soulbound knight.
Close enough to touch the stars, but still far out of reach."
Soren massaged his forehead. "You know, you could have just told to fight Goldsworth simply because you don’t like him."
Polystar nodded, "True," a smile staining his lips. "But where is the fun in that?"
"You go for your gauntlet battle, and let the rest of us handle the detention center." Vass added.
"But..."
"—No buts!" Polystar cut him off. "Kick that arrogant son of a bitch’s ass."
Everyone froze. This was the first ti they had heard a noble curse out loud.
Even Bloodshine stared at him in a different light.
"What!?" Polystar raised a brow. Everyone looked away, minding their business.
Soren nodded. "I’ll go for the gauntlet battle. But you guys had better not ss this up." He added.
"Getting jailed up?" Polystar gave a aningful chuckle. "I live for this."
Bloodshine leaped on Soren’s shoulder. "I’ll nøt miss you, husband." She teased, her feminine scent drifting into his nose.
He nodded but backed away awkwardly.
She quickly closed the distance again.
But then Polystar grabbed her by her collar. "If we are going to pull this off, we are going to need you." But then he stopped in his tracks—a thought had popped in his mind.
He turned to Soren. "Be careful with Goldsworth. He is not a normal soulbound warrior—in fact, go with the big girl." He gestured towards Cynthia."
"Huh!? It’s fair!" Bloodshine lanted, "Døn’t let go this instant. I’m nøt a noble too, you know."
Then they turned and left, leaving Soren and Cynthia behind.
As Soren made his way to Arena C3, he noticed that there was quite a stir with people.
From the whispers, he learned that there had been another attack from the Shade Stealer again.
However, the instructors had co in ti to stop it.
Unfortunately, the Shade Stealer escaped.
Soren could tell. The instructors had figured out the connection between all the victims too.
Ivory.
—or to be precise, it was her thod of teaching. The sa one that went against the school standard.
The sa one that had helped the remaining students that did not understand instructor Marcus’s lesson achieve the First Form technique.
—to think that it would all boil down to the give-and-take relationship between Shades and their Soulbound warriors.
Soren was starting to understand how well tailored every lesson in this place was.
—all carefully curated to give the Soulbound warrior an upper hand against the outside world, and surprisingly, the world within.
There was another topic of discussion. Of course, this one was about the battle he was to have with Goldsworth.
Gauntlet battles happened a lot—enough for them to be treated like any normal day with the sun in the sky, but this one—even the senior year 3 students were interested.
Maybe it was because of the stakes involved.
But should all this commotion happen simply because of a room?
He thought to himself.
What Soren did not know was that the significance of this battle went beyond just the desire for a room.
This was his first official match since he ca to the Imperial Soulforge Academy.
A lot of buzz had surrounded him as of late.
Saving all the current first-year cadets.
Killing a Soul cha Pilot.
Surviving jail and even setting a new record within the first week.
A commoner that was quickly rising—the subject of conversations in all kinds of noble circles.
And most importantly, he was a possible Waterfell.
This battle was not rely between two cadets fighting for a more luxurious room.
It was of bloodline.
It was of family.
It was of status.
And it was of POWER.
Soren looked at the cadets rushing into the arena, unaware that this was the sa manner many nobles rushed to the devices to watch the match.
This was most especially true for people sitting on the fence on whether to beco his sponsors or not.
Soren stepped into Arena C3.
The first thing that hit him wasn’t the size—it was the sound.
A low, constant roar rolled through the massive structure, voices layered over voices until they blurred into sothing alive.
This arena was carved deep into the academy grounds, its walls rising in wide concentric rings of stone and alloy, etched with old academy sigils dulled by ti and repeated impact.
High above, layered balconies curved inward like the ribs of so colossal beast, every level packed shoulder to shoulder with cadets.
Too many cadets.
Far more than a normal gauntlet match should ever attract.
Cynthia walked behind him, her presence steady and quiet. Even she slowed when she saw the crowd. This wasn’t curiosity anymore.
This was anticipation.
As Soren descended the broad stone steps toward the arena floor, the whispers began to separate themselves from the noise.
"That’s him."
"The commoner..."
"The one from jail."
"They say he killed a Soul cha pilot."
"That’s not possible. Do you even know what a soul cha pilot is? He would have died at least a hundred tis before he could touch such strength."
Soren did not mind the whispers.
His na passed from mouth to mouth like contraband.
So girls leaned forward when he looked up—eyes bright, cheeks warm, curiosity outweighing caution.
Others stared at him openly with narrowed gazes, disgust clear on their faces, as if his very presence offended sothing sacred they believed the academy belonged to.
Then the cheers ca.
"GO, CLOWN!"
"SHOW THAT USELESS NOBLE TRASH!"
"DON’T LOSE—SHOW THEM WE’RE NOT WORTHLESS!"
The words slamd into him harder than he expected.
There was anger in those voices. Desperation. Hope twisted into sothing loud and sharp. Cadets from the lower tiers, the overlooked ones, the ones who never got personal tutors or family backing—they were screaming through him, not to him.
Soren didn’t smile. He didn’t wave.
He just kept walking.
The platform at the center of the arena lood ahead—vast, easily wide enough to fit four Soul chas the size of the bulb if needed.
The stone was layered in hexagonal plates, each one threaded with glowing aether lines that pulsed softly beneath the surface like veins.
These were neurallinks—dozens of them—embedded into the arena floor, walls, and even suspended in the air as translucent lattices.
So hovered in curved formations, bending space subtly around the platform, forming guided shields that shimred faintly when stray pressure brushed against them. Impact dampeners.
Force redirection matrices. Systems designed so that when power exploded, it folded inward instead of outward—so the audience wouldn’t be vaporized when two monsters decided to test their limits.
The closer Soren got to the center, the quieter the crowd beca.
They were not silent—but focused.
Every step echoed. His boots rang against the reinforced stone, the aether beneath responding with a faint hum, as if the arena itself was waking up to him.
This wasn’t just a stage.
It was a proving ground.
Soren stopped at the center of the platform and lifted his gaze to the stands once more.
Thousands of eyes stared back.
So judging.
So hoping.
So waiting for him to fail.
Behind him, Cynthia ca to a halt, calm and unmoving—like a wall at his back.
And sowhere beyond the noise, beyond the lights and shields and whispers, the academy watched.
Waiting to see whether a commoner would break.
Or rise.
And then Goldsworth arrived....
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