“Candidates, begin!” the old man announces the start of the duel with feigned enthusiasm. He could at least pretend to care! With how expensive the tuition fees are, I expected better treatment.

The incensed Brian rockets forward as soon as the sentence leaves the announcer’s mouth. His fireballs turn into a blur as they fly toward my head.

A classic but effective strategy in magical combat. Usually, the first one to sling a deadly spell win. Furthermore, my normal-ass eyes can’t keep up with the deadly magical constructs. I’m far from the fastest guy in the world, and I lack the training to reinforce myself with Mana without exploding. From most people’s perspective, this battle is a done deal.

I spot a smirk forming on Brian’s mouth, it looks like my insult rattled him. He must be proud of himself right now, thinking he has it in the bag. But let me ask a simple question first. What’s the point of firing a fast projectile if its target doesn’t need to dodge?

Bags of sand, gravel, and cement appear in the endless workshop of Industrial Revolution as they mix with water to form concrete walls that dry in an instant. I’m so used to the process that it’s muscle memory by this point. It took a while, but sudden concrete walls saved my ass more times than I can count. Three protective slabs appear between me and Brian in less than a breath’s time. The surprised flame Mage crashes through the first gray construct and stumbles into the second as it breaks apart. His pained groan mixes with the miniature stars slamming into the last concrete layer.

Ominous cracks spread across the wall’s surface, and the heat licks my face as I gulp. Despite how frivolous Brian looks, another one of his fireballs would have broken my last line of defense.

“Fucking Mages,” I mutter as I adjust my stance while the ethereal concrete vanishes. I was lucky, but I understand that nobody would fall for the same tricks twice. I also know that Brian slamming his head at full speed into a concrete wall is bound to leave him dazed, and his unsteady footing shows that he must suffer from a mild concussion.

All in all, I’m glad that Mana doesn’t melt. I would have been dead if he started the fight with a beam of superheated plasma. It’s a staple of those who have a high affinity for fire, so he must not be as good as I thought he was.

At least, he follows the same tactics as most Mages. They tend to attack in bursts rather than wasting Mana by maintaining a lasting spell. The embers of Brian’s magic vanish in the next instant, confirming my suspicions. Employing lingering spells is hard, only people with a great affinity or massive Mana pools can use these in any effective manner. I recall that I tried it once when I was younger, and it felt as if something vacuumed my Mana. The costs kept increasing and I fainted in a few seconds. It earned me a scolding from my sister about the dangers of Mana exertion.

I rack the pump on my Mossberg 500 as I pull the weapon out of my pocket dimension. The beat-up shotgun slams into my shoulder as I blast the dazed Brian. I wince at the throbbing in my shoulder, my new powder recipe needs some more tuning. My adversary clicks his tongue as the twelve gauge slug is about to make a brand-new hole in his head.

But I don’t wait around to see if a singular slug is enough. Ammo is cheap compared to the price of failing this exam, so I fire another shot. Brian doesn’t react, like a deer caught by surprise by a massive SUV. Why was I worried? This almost seems too—a square of plasma erupts in front of Brian’s head and vaporizes the projectiles.

I shouldn’t have jinxed it. The silver lining is that Brian looks exhausted. His sweat turns into steam as his breathing gets ragged while the smell of ash permeates the air. That plasma attack must have taken a lot of Mana to pull off, so I can assume he won’t use it again.

“DIE!” Brian, now enraged, roars as his sparks become white. That can’t be good, it means that his flames are now as hot as a star.

I gulp as the heat engulfs me from the opposite side of the arena. I can’t let my opponent get near me, or else I will melt! I erect another concrete front in a hurry, and Brian goes through the thick wall like a hot knife through butter. He hisses as he raises a hand.

I’m lucky that this idiot is using such telegraphed movements. That would never fly in a Dungeon! I jump to the flank to avoid the fireball and the incantation slams against a barrier around the arena. The shockwaves rattle my brain and make me unsteady. Holy shit, that guy’s pissed!

“Not so tough now, are you!” A loud explosion erupts under Brian’s feet as a column of flame propels the fiery young man into the air. I tilt my head to the side, why would he make himself an easier target? My eyes widen, he must think I’m using earth-type spells!

“Pull!” I aim as my Power goes into overdrive. The heat my opponent is emitting can evaporate the lead slugs, but Mana doesn’t melt. Furthermore, Brian isn’t radiating enough magical power to disrupt low-level Mana constructs. I brace myself for the incoming headache and create as many thumb-sized steel rods as possible. They then float into dozens of lathes. It feels as if someone is rubbing sandpaper all over my brain as blood flows out of my nose. Large-scale parallel processing always takes a heavy toll on my body. The lathes cut a frightening point on the rods while another assembly line dedicated to making black powder churn the propellant as fast as my overworked brain can handle. I’m already dizzy from the stress, but Brian should fall with this attack.

I call it the Porcupine Burst. Very effective on an unaware assailant, but it requires so much Mana that I can only use it once.

Hundreds of steel rods line up in front of black powder charges as I detonate the explosives and make the projectiles come out of Industrial Revolution. A jolt of electricity goes through my body as Brian’s despair becomes clear. He realizes that I’m not erecting another barrier, but a veritable wall of projectiles that looks like a solid block of metal from a distance.

The rumbling of my Power muffles his desperate screams. It’s a good thing that it’s so loud, or else people might have heard my maniacal laughter as I fall on one knee. The hundreds of impacts on Brian’s body raise a dust storm as the sand on the floor blinds us. I struggle for breath as my vision blurs, I’m spent and there’s sand in my eyes. But I’m not done! I put my shotgun back into my pocket dimension before switching for a DesertTech MDRX chambered in .308. I also have a Glock 17 pistol in reserve, but there’s no point in wielding it now.

There’s something I’ve learned early during my career as a Dungeon Runner. No matter what I’m fighting, I have to remember that most living things don’t like having a fist-sized hole where their brain stem used to be. Brian should be out of it by now, but I make sure that my opponent will stay down with a few volleys.

I giggle as I fire burst after burst. Who’s laughing now? Who’s looking down on who? The limp Brian is flung backward and slams against the barrier surrounding the arena. How do you like that, you piece of shit! I’m not even —

“—The round is over!” the old man’s loud voice takes me out of my frenzy as I collapse and drop my rifle. I touch my face and recognize that I’m covered in blood, and the throbbing in my head makes me tear up. “Ian Rivers qualifies for the second round!” I shake my head, realizing that Brian is unconscious and one of his arms bends the wrong way. The gem on his barrier blinks red as field nurses wearing standard armored white hazmat-like suits rush to the downed man’s side and carry him elsewhere. I hold my breath for a moment as I get up on my wobbly knees and put away my gun.

That wasn’t good, I almost lost myself there. It usually doesn’t matter when I’m in a Dungeon, but here… It could have dire consequences.

The other candidates aren’t making a single noise as they all stare at me with horrified eyes. It was the laughter, wasn’t it? It’s always the crazy laughter that creeps people out. Or the frightening puddles of blood.

I shrug as I take out my vape, relieved that nothing broke the tank during the fight. These tiny pieces of glass are expensive! I inhale cherry-scented smoke before coughing another handful of sand. Who thought that putting sand everywhere was a good idea? I head to my chair while ignoring the curious gazes of the spectators. If my little, let’s say ‘enjoyment’ scared them, then it confirms that they never stepped into the depths of a Dungeon.

Down there, somebody laughing like a lunatic as he’s shooting something is a quaint evening.

This time, no one even looks in my direction as the cloud of cherry candy passes over them. I can’t stifle my grin, that battle was hard but it was worth it if only for putting an end to the constant angry glances.

My focus shifts toward the impassible old man who has already announced the start of the next round. It’s obvious that he’s important, so he must have answers. I have to be realistic; now there’s nothing I can do to him with my current strength. Instead, I crack my neck as I do my best to recover since I used a lot of Mana. Way too much for my own good, but I went first so I should have ample time to recuperate. From the emptiness in my chest, I must be at around twenty percent capacity. It’s not great, but not terrible. If it comes to it, I should be able to squeeze out one last Porcupine Burst before failing into a coma.

I close my eyes as I wipe the blood and sand mixture off my face. I exhale, I knew I should have brought paper towels! There’s blood in my hair now, it’ll dry and it’ll be a nightmare to remove. Seeing someone caked in dried blood doesn’t unnerve most people in a Dungeon. But I have to remind myself each time that people on the surface are rather sensitive to these things. How weird of them.

I can infer from the frightened glances that some candidates sneak in my direction that they aren’t used to these kinds of scenes. It makes me wonder, why would they apply to the Academy? It’s still an institution centered around Dungeons and combat. So why do people that act like they never fought in Dungeons pay the ridiculous tuition? Is the prestige of the Academy useful in their social circles? It boggles my mind. People who choose this career path either have a death wish or something to prove. Something tells me that the casualties of our first Dungeon Run will be horrifying.

I don’t care much, but I never want to bother with the legal processes when someone dies near me in a Dungeon. The forms, so many forms! That greasy lawyer showed me the procedure before, and I tuned out once I saw the booklet of required forms. I would need to fill the files manually! All because the government agency that handles Dungeons still hasn’t heard about these neat new inventions called computers.

I shudder, I would prefer challenging a horde of frenzied Nagas rather than filling out so many documents. And that’s for one person! I can almost feel the Amazonian Forest crying out in pain as I visualize the stacks of forms needed for each deceased individual. But back to the other candidates. I should pay attention to the battles as much as possible since I’m bound to fight one of them later down the road.

The next fight ends in the blink of an eye. It was a bad matchup for the loser. He specialized in earth-type attacks, while his opponent stepped into the air before delivering a deadly air blade above his adversary. I can’t help but feel a hint of panic welling up inside me. If all the battles go as fast as this one, then the second round will start earlier than I expected.

Going into battle with less than half of my Mana capacity is a recipe for disaster. Luckily for me, my fears vanish once the next round start. A burly man wearing an even bigger exoskeleton covered in armor plates is squaring off against a meek-looking woman with her hair tied into a bun.

While the previous round lasted a few seconds, this one drags on and on. The man can’t move fast enough to catch up to the woman, but the woman’s spells aren’t strong enough to pierce the armor of her opponent. I yawn as I check my phone. It’s been twenty minutes now, and they’re far from finished. The two opponents are circling each other, probing for weaknesses. The spell slinger then slips on the sand. The armored warrior bursts forward before punching her so hard that it creates an indent shaped like the woman on the arena’s floor.

“Fucking finally!” a complaint erupts from the crowd. I’m with you on that one. I hardly react as the floor bounces back to what it was previously like its rubber. As expected of the Academy, even the floor is an expensive magical material.

The next battles meld together as I don’t pay much attention. I’m still doing my best to take mental notes on who uses what attacks, but I’m positive that these people are holding back their trump cards as much as possible. It makes sense in this context, but something tells me that they will keep acting like that in Dungeons. A Goblin doesn’t care about a super-secret and powerful technique, it only wants to rip out throats. Stories of promising Runners dying to a simple trap are all too common in this field of work. Arrogance and hubris are always the reason for these senseless deaths.

People usually think that creatures on the upper floors of any Dungeon are harmless. But a blade through the carotid will kill anyone, no matter who wields the weapon. I found that the way people treat Dungeon creatures is another way to differentiate between experienced Runners and rookies.

I raise my head as I recall one of the fighters for this round, it’s the woman with a Manifestation. She sneers at her opponent, a man equipped with a long silver staff in one hand and a curved dagger in the other. I tilt my head to the side, that’s not a combination of weapons I often see.

“Maria Thimbles against Nathaniel Spikes! Begin!” the old man shouts.

The announcer didn’t mention the Potential Level of the contestants. Huh, I bet it’s because they paid the Academy. No matter the reason, it’s obvious they don’t want that information to get out.

Nathaniel jumps back as he raises his dagger toward Maria. She harrumphs as she points a dainty finger at her opponent. She has purple-painted fingernails. She seems like she loves purple. A burst of Mana erupts from the tip of Nathaniel’s staff before covering the dagger’s blade. The weapon hums as a blue projectile erupts and slams into the ethereal paw of the Manifestation. Interesting, this guy also has a Power.

I noticed that there are a lot of Mages here, but some might be hiding their Power. Maybe I’m right, but I focus on the battle unfolding in front of me. Something tells me that it might come in handy in the future.