The midday sun scorched the earth, and the air smelled of hot, dry dust.
The normally bustling training ground had been cleared. Even the tireless cicadas seemed to sense the oppressive atmosphere and had stopped chirping.
Veylin stood in the shadow of the raised platform, clutching the confidential letter from Tristan's father. Sweat from his palm had slightly wrinkled the edges of the parchment. Its account of "breaking through to level five" consisted of only a few lines-insights that only the rare few who had entered that realm could offer.
"Has everyone not involved withdrawn at least five hundred meters, as the letter instructed?" Veylin asked quietly, his gaze fixed on the petite figure in the center of the grounds.
"They're gone. Not even a rat left."
Ola stood beside Veylin. The burly man, usually so carefree, looked unusually agitated. He unconsciously rubbed the haft of his battleaxe, his throat bobbing. "My lord, what exactly is that 'world-stripping sensation' the letter mentioned? We've never seen anyone break through to level five before. Can this girl... really do it?"
"I don't know." Veylin shook his head and raised his spyglass. "But we're witnessing history, Ola. This is a fundamental transformation from 'wrought iron' to 'mithril.'"
The air held the tension of a bowstring drawn taut: awe of the unknown, mingled with anticipation at the powerful fighter about to join their ranks.
Tristan adjusted his glasses, holding an Alchemical Pocket Watch used to record ether fluctuations. Its needle trembled faintly. Kale, her teacher, stood at the nearest edge of the grounds like an obsidian statue, his right hand resting on his sword hilt. His face was expressionless, but his eyes, locked on Xiao Lan, held a gravity they had never shown before.
They were all waiting.
Waiting for the moment the letter