Apocalypse: becoming the hidden Ruler[English]

“These aristocratic kids have been arrogant and impossible to manage for years,” Imran muttered, rubbing his temples. “Maybe this will finally knock some sense into them. If they’d had the brains to spread out earlier, they wouldn’t have eaten such heavy losses.”

Tristan nodded slowly, replaying the image of Axel’s attack in his mind. “That boy isn’t the kind of talent you measure by normal standards.”

He knew exactly what Axel had been holding: a pseudo–B-grade Original Instrument, a portable energy cannon. Extremely rare, owned only by the military or the Science and Technology Committee, and carefully rationed.

For a student to have one meant Axel had either made massive military contributions—and he was strong enough to earn it. “That kid’s probably already Level Four,” Tristan thought, a spark of genuine excitement flickering in his chest. He hadn’t expected much from this tournament—but now everything had changed.

.....

“We… we won?” Yakov’s glasses slid halfway down his nose. Even though the announcement had been made, he still looked stunned.

“Axel, what the hell was that? That blast was insane!” Richard was pale, the roar of the cannon still echoing in his mind.

“It’s just a rechargeable Original Instrument,” Axel said calmly, already channeling his Origin to replenish the Force he’d dumped into the cannon.

The truth was, he hadn’t expected it to eat up so much of his reserves in a single shot. If he’d known, he might’ve kept it hidden instead of revealing his trump card.

“Brother… you’re not secretly from some old hidden family, are you?” Umar finally spoke up, his expression a mix of suspicion and awe.

Axel shook his head. “Nope. Dirt poor.”

That only made the others buzz louder, every bit of glory now pinned squarely on him.

“Yara, what’s on your mind?” Yakov asked, noticing her silence.

She jolted back, then fixed Axel with an intense look. “Axel… you’re not a Level Three, are you?”

He met her gaze and nodded. “Yeah. Level Four.”

The words hit like a thunderclap.

Yakov and the others gasped in unison. “Level Four? But—you’re a freshman! How the hell—”

The shock rippled through the group, leaving them all rattled. But Yara’s expression shifted into something fierce. She exhaled, her wide eyes burning with renewed fighting spirit.

“As I thought,” she said. “That means we actually stand a chance.”

“Freshman. Level Four!” Richard blurted, still in disbelief.

......

“Cavalier’s Honor lost?”

“How the hell did they win? Is Yara really that strong?”

“No, it wasn’t her. Some guy named Axel—he whipped out an Original Instrument, looked like a damn blaster, and blew two of them off the field in one shot.”

“...You’re kidding.”

The chatter spread like wildfire across the sixteen isolated peaks. The eliminated teams remained stuck on their own peaks, waiting until the entire round ended before being sent away.

On Cavalier’s Honor’s peak, the atmosphere was suffocating. Everyone wore sour expressions—except Raymond, who had already recovered his composure.

“If he didn’t have that busted Original Instrument…”

“If we’d spread out, the worst we’d have gotten was a few bruises…”

Raymond’s brow creased as he cut them off coldly. “Enough with the what-ifs. A loss is a loss. We go back, we train, we fix it.”

Patricia, halfway to another complaint, bit her tongue. She muttered instead, “Bloodstone Warfare’s a bunch of schemers. Fine, they got us this round. But now their trump card’s exposed. Every team will be ready for it. Forget Stormwatch and Eagle’s Crest—even Hollow Fortress will shut them down.”

She wasn’t wrong. Word was already spreading. The teams who advanced were sketching out countermeasures—disperse quickly, avoid clustering, dodge at range. That cannon was terrifying against hordes of beasts, but against prepared Awakeners? A lot harder to land a decisive hit.

The three-hour break ticked by. Most used it to restore Force, while the organizers’ healers patched up injuries.

Then Bradley reappeared in the center of the peaks, voice echoing. “Rest is over. The second-round matchups will now be announced.”

Eight teams left. One by one, names appeared on the massive white screen.

Bloodstone Warfare exhaled in relief: their opponent was Langford Warfare School, ranked near the bottom of the sixteen.

“The battlefield isn’t chosen yet—we’ll set tactics once we’re inside. Axel, come with me,” Yara said, beckoning him over with only minutes to spare before teleportation.

Axel followed, expecting a strategy session. “What’s up? You’ve got some plan?”

Instead, Yara’s voice dropped, steady but charged with something else. “You’ve got more cards you haven’t played yet, don’t you?”

Her eyes glinted with a strange anticipation. Axel didn’t bother hiding it; he gave a simple nod.

She let out a long breath and turned her gaze not toward Langford, but toward Hollow Fortress’s peak in the distance.

“Then don’t use them here. Save it. For Hollow Fortress.” Her words were clipped, almost sharp, before she walked away.

Axel stood blinking. Her tone hadn’t been about strategy alone—there was something personal simmering under those words.

“Hey, what’d Yara say to you?” Yakov slid up next to him, glasses slipping down his nose, grin full of mischief.

“Uh… she wants me to keep some strength hidden,” Axel said vaguely.

Yakov followed his gaze toward Hollow Fortress, eyes gleaming.

“You mean…? She’s got beef with them.”

“Yeah,” Yakov pushed his glasses up and smirked. “Their ace—ranked third on the expert list.”

Axel’s brow furrowed. He’d seen the name in the Intelligence Bureau’s pamphlet but hadn’t thought much about it. The man didn’t come from one of the four top schools, but he still landed that high.

“Quincy, right?”

“Bingo. And he and Yara? They were a thing. Both prodigies in high school, both showered with resources by Bloodstone in advance. They promised to apply together. But on test day—bam—Hollow Fortress swooped in and poached Quincy. Didn’t even give her a heads-up.”

Axel’s eyes widened. “Wasn’t there a contract? Special recruits usually sign something once they take the resources.”

“Normally, yeah. But Shiverstone’s practically Bloodstone’s backyard, so the school got sloppy. Quincy gave them his word, and they didn’t bother with paperwork. Then Hollow Fortress dangled their deal, and—poof—gone. Admissions raised hell, even marched down to Hollow Fortress to demand answers, but they got stonewalled.”

Yakov’s tone dropped lower, tinged with pity. “Yara and Quincy had a huge fight. Haven’t spoken since.”

Axel studied him, half-amused despite himself. The way Yakov told it, he reminded him of his old classmate Drayke—always prying, always gossiping, like he was narrating the whole damn school drama.

“You’re not around campus much, huh? Otherwise you’d have heard all this a long time ago,” Yakov said knowingly, giving Axel a friendly pat on the shoulder. His grin softened into something more reassuring. “Anyway, don’t sweat it. We’ve still got a few rounds before Hollow Fortress. Just save your strength. The showdown will come soon enough.”

The countdown hit zero, and the contestants vanished from the eight isolated peaks.

A flash of white light threw Axel into a massive arena. An energy barrier sealed off the outer edges, humming faintly, while across the two-hundred-meter expanse, the five-man Langford War Academy team gawked in disbelief.

This kind of arena scenario was a straightforward brawl. No terrain, no tricks. For Langford, that was a nightmare.

Axel expected Yara to bark out some last-minute tactics, but instead she and Umar bolted ahead, crossing the distance in seconds.

Holy shit. Axel had been grinding his combat techniques at Level 2 and had just managed to reach minor proficiency in the basics. Most Awakeners, aside from melee fighters, didn’t bother pushing their technique training that far. He hadn’t either—until now. Watching Yara move made it clear: real mastery in combat techniques could make or break a fight.

She closed on the two front-liners like a storm. Her fist slammed into one, the blow exploding with a sharp crack. His armor buckled, ribs snapping beneath it, and he went flying.