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The fights continued, but they were becoming more and more drawn out. The weakest combatants had all been culled in the first three rounds, and now the remaining warriors were going at it with everything they had. Eventually, Noah’s first target entered the arena. He was a young man, spirited and garbed in plate mail, having won his fights with hard-won determination and effort. His name was Falco. Noah followed him outside, the warrior unaware of his presence. On the other end of the ring, his opponent arrived, another man, a few inches taller and years older, wearing dark clothes and an amused smirk upon seeing Falco. Both were brawlers, entering the ring without weapons.

A moment of silence passed before Tarnas cleared his throat and began to speak. “That truly is an unforgivable crime. You are right to feel guilty, to hate yourself for the things you’ve done. That is what you are supposed to feel, and to admit it now means you are on the correct path. It means you are learning from your mistakes and want to do right. Whether or not you can ever truly make up for what you have done, you can still become a better man than you were before. You can become a man who helps instead of hurts, who strives to make the world a better place.”

He pushed against the seal, using his mana to separate from his clone, but it was like he was buried in concrete. He couldn’t project his mana even a centimeter beyond his skin. It was even more difficult than performing his workout, but this was precisely what he wanted. Saimallah said that he and his fellow monks used these headbands to train their projection abilities, and there was no better way than this. As he struggled and strained, the seal began to give, ever so slightly, feeling less like concrete and more like rubber.