I Can Copy And Evolve Talents

Northern frowned as he took a seat beside Ellis. The instructors had gone to great lengths to secure this seat. They’d first approached the previous occupant with careful persuasion.

Though initially reluctant, the student changed his mind upon learning who would take his place. He yielded without further protest.

Northern had leveraged his growing reputation to make this demand. Yet now he sat grimacing as if someone had forced him there against his will.

An awkward silence hung in the air for several seconds as he settled into the seat.

Gazes from around the arena fixed on him—some filled with delight, others with fear, envy, or respect. The attention prickled at Northern’s skin until the teams of new participants began filing into the arena, drawing eyes away from him.

Northern shifted his focus to the incoming participants.

The white-haired student president strode in, a massive Warhammer strapped to her back. Something about the weapon tugged at Northern’s memory.

He squinted, studying it for several heartbeats before his eyes widened in recognition.

‘What?! Isn’t that the hammer I forged?’

Indeed it was. Eleina had given him that mineral intending for a sword, but Northern had crafted a Warhammer instead, sensing it would better channel the essence of the rift mineral—the Aetherium.

Northern stared, momentarily speechless. A boy with auburn hair followed, then a girl whose crimson hair flowed like liquid fire behind her. He recognized her from his first encounter with the council president.

“So… uhm. How have you been these past few months?”

Ellis ventured.

Northern shrugged.

“It’s only been three months. But I’ve been good. Busy.”

Ellis smiled and looked toward the stage.

“We can certainly see that…”

Northern glanced at Helena, who sat in unusual silence. The Helena he’d known would have jumped into the conversation by now.

‘People change in three months too, I suppose.’

He turned his attention back to the stage. Both teams now stood ready, and the first round of fighters climbed onto the platform.

Northern hadn’t paid much attention to other combats, but one particular story had reached his ears despite his disinterest.

He wasn’t the only rising star among the students. Another fighter had emerged from the shadows. This one shrouded in mystery.

All anyone knew was that he belonged to the combat school and wielded a dark, formidable ability. His fighting skills were remarkable too.

Northern’s meteoric rise had overshadowed this stranger’s, but the mysterious student possessed immense power. He and his team had defeated every team from the student council.

No one had expected an ordinary team to battle their way to the finals.

But it wasn’t that news that captured Northern’s interest in their battle.

It was one particular member of that team. Just one.

Nyssa’s lackey, the red-haired woman with a puffy ego, stood in the center of the arena. She wielded twin stilettos, her armor sleek and fitted—a crimson and silver blend that glittered blindingly in the soft morning sunlight.

As the examiner signaled the start of the battle, she crossed her arms over each other, leaned forward, and dove in for the kill.

Her opponent was a timid boy with freckles dusting his cheeks and large green eyes. But those eyes seemed dark and lifeless, like abandoned wells.

That detail unsettled Northern deeply.

But he continued to watch.

As the woman flowed toward him, the boy stood motionless. She closed the distance until her weapon curved a deadly arc aimed to slice into his neck from the side.

Suddenly, he dropped to a low crouch. A sword materialized in his hands, completing its formation just as his arm blurred forward. The girl, quick-witted, leapt backward immediately, her face draining of color, confusion flashing across her features.

The boy with the dull, lifeless expression stared at his sword—which had thrust through empty air and barely scraped her armor—with complete indifference.

Just as she landed, he vanished, surging forward with speed. Having barely found her footing, the girl threw her hands up to block his first strike.

The sound of their metals clashing rang out like a metal barrel exploding. Her eyes widened at the raw power behind his strikes.

Like a mechanical, emotionless warrior, he was already tracing another attack from above. The girl deflected it again, directing his momentum outside her defensive zone to create space for a counter.

But the boy’s fist dove forward, smashing into her armor with thunderous force. Air blasted from her lungs, her stomach seemed to collapse from within, and blood trickled down her lips.

She frowned and thrust her blade toward the boy’s exposed chest. But he vanished, leaping skyward and landing far from her reach.

A crimson aura blazed on her daggers. Her legs staggered but she refused to fall. The blood that had trickled onto the ground began to spread, and from each droplet, red vines emerged. The vines rose like thorny serpents, dancing around her in hypnotic patterns.

She lashed her hands backward and the thorny vines shot forward with blinding speed.

The ground shuddered, then suddenly began to rise, moving in quick succession—like someone flipping a bedsheet from one end to the other.

The entire arena floor tore apart, disrupting both the incoming vines and the girl who was barely keeping her footing. But the vines merely wiggled, curved higher into the sky, and hurtled toward the boy.

He dove forward to intercept them, swinging his sword at the nearest vine. The blade sliced through easily, but as it did, the vine liquefied only to solidify again once the sword passed. Their lunge continued unhindered. They lashed onto the boy’s hand and throat, snapping his arm against his shoulder. No matter how he struggled, breaking free proved impossible.

The remaining vines twisted viciously toward him, maneuvering through the distorted landscape. Spikes carved from the arena concrete shot up to intercept them, but the blood vines were too unpredictable, too fluid.

The girl was no longer where she’d stood moments before. She materialized behind the boy, one weapon carving a crude arc from the side while the other spun in a reverse hold, ready for a counter or follow-up strike.

Northern completed his analysis—without using Chaos Eyes, of course.

He shifted his gaze to the black-haired boy standing outside the arena, waiting for his turn.

Then he scratched his head with visible unease.

Ellis glanced his way, not wanting to fully miss the action.

“Are you alright…?”

Northern waved dismissively.

“Don’t worry about it. Just a very suspicious person bothering me.”

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