Everyone had expected August to win, but no one had anticipated such an effortless victory. After all, Amadi was ranked among the top ten strongest warriors of the first-years. For August to dismantle him in under ten seconds was nothing short of astonishing.
It was unclear who started it, but within moments, the entire crowd erupted into a standing ovation, their cheers echoing through the arena. The young Owusu warrior had claimed victory in the most decisive and dominant fashion possible.
Once the results were officially declared, August calmly returned his axe to the stands and took his place among the other candidates, his expression unreadable, seemingly indifferent to the awestruck gazes and murmurs surrounding him.
"Thank you," Jabari said sincerely as he stepped in front of the towering teen, convinced that August had done it for his sake.
"I don't like bullies," August replied simply, then shut his eyes, shutting out the world along with them.
Jabari opened his mouth to respond, but a sudden chill crawled down his spine. Instinctively turning around, he locked eyes with Amadi, whose face was twisted with rage and humiliation. His glare burned with murderous intent.
Had they not been in a crowded arena, Jabari had no doubt that Amadi would have attempted to kill him on the spot. The defeated warrior seethed, blaming Jabari for every ounce of disgrace he had suffered – losing their verbal spar, struggling far more than he should have in their duel – even suffering a mortifying slap – and now being utterly crushed by August in front of everyone.
Jabari's spirit ability didn't allow him to read minds, but he could still read what was running through Amadi's mind with perfect clarity. But instead of fear, he felt only a desperate hunger to grow stronger.
Whilst Jabari was lost in his thoughts, the final name was called.
"Jamal Marley from the Shura Tribe."
The young warrior strode toward the stage with an air of unwavering confidence, his sharp gaze locking onto August. The message in his eyes was clear: Whatever you can do, I can do better!
August, however, barely spared him a glance – just the briefest flicker of acknowledgement before he closed his eyes again, wholly uninterested.
Jamal scoffed before turning his focus to the weapon rack, selecting a wooden sabre. Without waiting for formalities, he coldly declared, "I choose number six as my opponent!"
Kwame, the overseer, barely had a chance to speak before Jamal made his choice. The teen's impatience was evident.
Kwame studied Jamal for a moment, then shifted his gaze toward August. A knowing glint flashed in his eyes.
With a nod, he turned to the sixth-ranked first-year.
The intent behind Jamal's choice was obvious to everyone present. He was making a statement. By selecting the warrior ranked just one place above Amadi – the opponent August had obliterated – he intended to prove his superiority. And more than that, he likely aimed to do it in under seven seconds.
His opponent was a lanky boy, nearly as tall as August but significantly leaner. Without hesitation, he selected a scimitar from the rack, gripping it firmly. Though young, his expression was unreadable, his focus razor-sharp. He knew better than to underestimate Jamal.
The tension in the air thickened.
The match was about to begin.
The moment the match began, Jabari's breath caught in his throat. Jamal exploded forward like an arrow loosed from a bow, his speed blinding. But that wasn't the most shocking part – no, it was what happened the instant he reached striking range.
Jamal's sabre blurred, slicing through the air toward the lanky youth's neck with lethal precision.
Yet, in a testament to his ranking, the lanky youth reacted just in time. His scimitar clashed against Jamal's sabre in a desperate parry before launching a counterattack of his own. But before his blade had even travelled half the intended distance, his pupils shrank to pinholes.
As fast as Jamal's running speed was, the speed of his attacks were something else entirely. It was monstrous – far beyond what even a first-year student should possess. Though his first strike had been deflected, his second was already upon his opponent, forcing the lanky youth into a purely defensive stance.
Wood clashed furiously as the boys exchanged rapid blows – multiple strikes per second, each one precise, each one deadly. But it was clear who held the upper hand. Jamal pressed forward relentlessly, suffocating his opponent with his overwhelming pace. The lanky youth barely had a moment to breathe, let alone counterattack.
The audience watched in breathless anticipation. The outcome was already decided – Jamal would win. The only question on everyone's mind was, how fast? Would he be able to achieve victory in under seven seconds?
And then it happened.
The lanky youth faltered, his body half a beat too slow. Before he could react, Jamal's sabre rested coldly against his neck.
Yet, Jamal wasn't even looking at him. His eyes were already on the invigilator, his expression impatient.
"Jamal Marley of the Shura Tribe—eleven seconds, five st-"
"FOR FUCK'S SAKE!" Jamal roared in frustration. His face twisted with barely contained fury. Despite his best efforts, he had fallen short by four seconds.
The crowd still applauded, awed by his display of skill, but Jamal ignored them entirely. Without another word, he stormed off the stage, seething.
Kwame waited a beat before addressing the gathered trialists.
"That concludes the fourth round of the Trials. Congratulations on making it through another day. Tomorrow marks the final trial, so get as much rest as you can – it may well determine your futures."
Jabari said nothing as he left the grounds with Inayah and the others. The group of five walked in silence, none of them daring to disturb him. Even Inayah, usually the first to speak, kept her thoughts to herself.
They all knew Jabari had a lot on his mind.
As they neared the inn, he finally exhaled a helpless sigh.
"If the gap between me and those first-years is already this big, just how massive is the gap between me and Oluwa?"
Heba's voice was calm but firm. "I warned you – your goal is virtually impossible."
She let the words settle before softening slightly. "But don't dwell on that right now. Focus on tomorrow's trial. It's the only one that's a straight pass or fail, and it's also the most important to the institute. If you perform well enough, they'll invest more into your training and development."
Jabari caught onto her wording immediately. "What do you mean by 'well enough'?"
Heba didn't hesitate. "At least five stars."
Jabari stiffened.
Seeing his reaction, Heba continued, unflinching. "In past selections, there have been plenty of five-star performances in the first four trials. But when it comes to the fifth trial...
To this day, fewer than ten people have ever achieved five stars."
She didn't offer words of encouragement. She didn't sugarcoat the truth.
Because she knew – this was something Jabari had to face on his own.
That night, even without the torment of his recurring nightmare, Jabari barely slept. He tossed and turned, his mind consumed by the weight of tomorrow's trial. This was it – the final test. He needed to do well, not just for himself but for Inayah too.
By the time morning arrived, exhaustion clung to him like a second skin. As he descended the stairs, the dark circles under his eyes made it clear that he hadn't rested, but there was something else in his gaze – something even Inayah had never seen before.
A quiet, unshakable resolve.
Once again, the journey to the trial grounds was made in silence. But Heba, watching Jabari closely, allowed herself a faint smile. 'Will he surprise me again today?'
When they arrived, Jabari stood alone among the gathered trialists and first-years, his mind still.
He didn't care about the sporadic looks he received from several of his fellow trialists. He didn't care that the first-years appeared to be taking part in this trial alongside him and the other trialists. Nor did he care that Amadi's deathly glare was trained solely on him.
In that moment, the only thing Jabari cared about was the trial itself. Today was the most important day of his life to date, and he refused to accept any result shy of perfection!
Around him, the air buzzed with anticipation. The audience murmured excitedly, speculating on the outcome of the final trial.
Then, the invigilator arrived.
Kwame's voice carried effortlessly over the noise. "Welcome to the fifth and final assessment of this year's Beast-Warrior trials. This last test consists of two parts. The first is a warm-up – you will run to the academy, which is ten miles away. Along the route, several deacons, dressed identically to me, will be stationed to guide you in the right direction.
"Keep in mind that this test is pass or fail. No matter what happens, do not stop moving. Stay ahead of me at all costs."
Without another word, Kwame took a slow step forward.
Jabari frowned, confused. The other slum residents exchanged uncertain glances, struggling to understand what was happening.
Then, movement.
The trialists and first-years suddenly bolted in the opposite direction.
Realisation struck like a lightning bolt – the test had already begun.
Jabari and the other slum youths reacted a beat later, scrambling to follow. None of them dared to be last. None of them dared to risk failing after coming this far.
Glancing over his shoulder, Jabari saw Kwame had also begun running. His pace wasn't particularly fast – just a leisurely jog – but instinct told Jabari that underestimating him would be a grave mistake.
He gritted his teeth and pushed forward, quickening his strides. The farther he could get from Kwame, the safer he would be.
A mile passed, and the difference between himself, the other slum youths, and the children from the main settlements became painfully clear.
Jabari led the slum residents, but only by about twenty metres. Meanwhile, the slowest of the main settlement children was already so far ahead that he couldn't even see their back.
Frustration gnawed at him, but he didn't have time to dwell on it. Looking back, his eyes widened.
Kwame was still casually jogging, ahead of him, a young girl gasped for air, her legs trembling. She came to a stop, hands on her knees, desperate for a moment's reprieve.
Kwame didn't even slow as he passed her.
"Kiara – fail. Turn around and head back the way you came."
His tone was indifferent, absolute.
The girl's face paled in horror, but there was nothing she could do. The trial did not make exceptions.