The feasting hall was packed with people in a way that wasn’t seen since the first feast at the academic year’s start. The lightstones shone much brighter than usual, foods and drinks were more plentiful, and bards played their instruments for all to hear.

“By The Flame, this wine is good,” Deon said after downing a full goblet. Aeron drank with greater moderation, though that didn’t mean much. Bella and Nevil talked about their daily lives, and Jon kept to himself and his worries about the coming tourney. In short, they all behaved like usual.

A sizable portion of the other students had apprehensive looks on their faces as they waited for the proceedings to officially start. Tonight, the participants of the Winter Tourney would be announced at last.

Jon felt a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry,” Nevil said. It was as effective as telling a fish not to swim. “I’m sure you’ve gained enough academy points to participate. So all you need is to win the first four fights and you’ll get what you want.”

Easier said than done, Jon thought. He was confident in his chances against a normal opponent, as most of them were either first or second-level Crusaders. His higher cultivation offered a small but important advantage. The Archmages were the real threat, and so Jon hoped to avoid them as much as possible.

The Winter Tourney worked by first picking the 128 students with the most point from each year. Then, they faced off in single combat. The 64 winners advanced while the losers were left to compete for the lower positions. The process repeated itself again and again until everyone’s placement was decided in something akin to a knockout stage.

In total, each student would be fighting exactly seven times, needing to win the first four duels to be among the top eight and ensure passage to the King’s Tourney. More importantly to Jon, it meant he could make a request to the duke himself.

Everyone from the teaching staff sat at the high table at the front of the feasting hall, the headmaster at their center. Besides foods and drinks, seven black bowls were arranged in a line atop their table, each one filled with folded pieces of paper numbered from 1 to 128.

After the main course was served and the servants removed the plates, the headmaster stood up from his seat, prompting everyone to be silent. “First of all, I wish to congratulate all of those present here for the conclusion of another successful academic year.” He waited for the customary round of applause to subside before continuing. “This year we were fortunate enough to have a combined total of not one, not two, but three students in the final duels, the most noteworthy of them of course being our lady Evelyn Olsandre.”

The clapping this time was much more effusive. A woman stood up from the third-years table, fine silk clothing under her robe and a laurel wreath wrapped around her fire-colored hair. She waved and smiled at everyone before sitting back down.

“Not only did our lady return as the grand champion in the single combat, but she also distinguished herself in the mock battle, successfully commanding her soldiers to the bronze medal. A truly remarkable display for which I’m sure lord Olsandre is proud. And tonight, we shall reveal the contestants for this year’s Winter Tourney. Servants,” the headmaster called and the organized army began moving, handing out large leaflets to each of the students at the tables.

Jon didn’t even wait to receive his own. As soon as Aeron, at the opposite side of the table, received his leaflet, Jon leaned forward and practically snatched it away. It’s not like his roommate would mind given he didn’t even care about the tourneys in the first place.

Inside the red leaflet was a list with 383 names, the number of first-year students. After the names, each line also contained the students’ cultivations, elemental affinities, and a breakdown of the academy points accumulated. The commoners’ names were written in plain black ink while the nobles’ were a striking blue. In addition, the first 128 lines were colored golden instead of the leaflet’s red.

Jon wasted no time and promptly scoured the paper in search of his own name. 1st, 6th, 17th, 29th. He stopped at the 37th position: Jon of Rochdale. “Yes!” he cried out almost as loudly as Deon when he found his own name at 128th place. Bella completed the trio, securing the fifteenth place. Nevil and Aeron didn’t qualify.

Around them, other students either cheered or lamented their own results.

“I can’t believe you actually passed,” Bella said to Deon who already had another full goblet in hand.

“Let this be a lesson then. I can achieve a lot when I put my mind into it,” Deon bragged despite just barely qualifying. He was only one single point ahead of the 129th student.

This drove Jon to check his own points, after which he was met with an unpleasant surprise. Each subject offered a total of 100 points. In seven subjects, Jon’s “lowest” performance was at Somerford’s History with 96. Plus the 10 bonus points for advancing his cultivation, it should’ve all added up to 692, 13 more than the current 1st place. And yet, he came out at 37th with a total of only 542. He found the explanation at the far end of the paper in a little side note: 150 points were deducted for three instances of violence against fellow students.

Jon gritted his teeth. The placement themselves had little importance other than deciding who would take part in the Winter Tourney, but he still found it annoying.

After everyone had the chance to verify their results, the headmaster resumed his speech. “With that out of the way, we shall now proceed to the drawing of pairs. Professor Breckon, if you’d please assist me.”

Professor Willow stood up from her seat, the seven leaflets spread out over the table in front of her.

The headmaster walked towards the black bowls. He pulled out a folded paper from the first one, opened it, and read it out loud. “1st-year student, number 89.”

Willow checked the leaflet before casting her spell. High above the teaching staff’s table, the air shimmered intensely with energy, condensing into specks of gold that coalesced to form a large plaque that read: “89 - Lord Tyron Farrest, 1st level Crusader, 9th level Mage.”

Jon understood that he was witnessing an illusion, but he still couldn’t help being amazed by how real it looked.

“Lord Tyron Farrest will face off against…” The headmaster pulled out another paper. “Number 22.”

A second golden plaque appeared immediately below the first one, displaying the student’s number, name, and cultivations.

Jon’s table was abuzz with comments about the pairings, each new drawing turning into the next topic of conversation.

After having it announced, Bella turned her attention to her opponent, an elegant man with his nose in the air who locked eyes with her. Jon remembered the man from the Practical Combat classes. He doubted Bella would have much difficulty to advance. That was unlike Deon, who ended up against an Archmage like himself. Worse, his opponent was a geomancer, probably the best element to withstand his lightning bolts.

Throughout all of this, Jon patiently waited for his number to be drawn and hoped for an easy opponent. Or at least as easy as it could be. With a total of 25 Archmages among the participants, he had a chance of more or less four in five to not meet an Archmage this round.

The waiting finally came to an end when almost all other names had already been called. His opponent’s name came immediately after, floating in the air just below his own.

101 - Lady Mysa Glovelyn, 1st level Crusader, 8th level Mage.