Grinding time!

Silas took a quick shower and got dressed in his usual uniform. Even though it was a Saturday and students were allowed to wear whatever they wanted, Silas still chose his uniform. The reason for this was simple: he had no other clothes except the ones given to him by the academy.

After making sure everything was in order, he exited the room with Kara, shutting the door behind them.

The students passing by looked confused as they watched Silas walk out of the room with a staff member as striking as Kara. Being teenagers, their minds immediately filled with assumptions about what might have transpired between Silas and Kara inside the room.

However, Kara quickly shot a glare in their direction, her eyes sharp and menacing, and the onlookers scattered, running off to mind their own business.

"Come on," Kara said as she led the way down the hallway toward the exit.

The Ranking Arena was located far from the dormitories and a good distance away from the main academy building, so they had quite a walk ahead of them. After several minutes, Silas began hearing the loud cheers of a crowd echoing in the distance. As they drew closer, the arena came into view.

The massive arena, known as the "Ranking Arena," stretched out before them like an endless ocean, its vastness awe-inspiring. It was capable of seating tens of thousands of spectators, and the electric energy of excitement filled the air.

Tiered rows of seating rose high, seemingly disappearing into the horizon, packed with students from various nations. The air was thick with the sound of conversations, laughter, and the rustling of backpacks as students moved about.

On the left, a group of international students waved flags proudly, their banners bearing the colors of the Arc of mutant academy they were in. On the right, a cluster of tech-savvy students huddled around laptops, their faces glowing from the light of the screens.

In the center of the arena, a vast expanse of polished hardwood stretched out, dotted with students sitting cross-legged, reclining against backpacks, or standing in groups as they engaged in animated conversations.

"This way," Kara muttered, leading Silas toward a section of the arena where costumes for fighters were sold. "Pick any costume you like and go register your name. I'll take care of the bill," she said.

Silas nodded and turned his attention toward the rows of costumes displayed in front of him, each with its own price tag. Many of the costumes were crafted from parts of mutant creatures, providing strength and speed boosts to the wearer.

However, these specialized costumes came with a high price tag. Silas wasn't interested in gaining an advantage through equipment; all he needed was something that would conceal his identity.

His main goal in coming to the arena was to grind—to gain as many attribute points and level-ups as possible. To achieve this, he needed to fight and defeat students who were at least of Grade 3 or 4.

The academy believed that Silas had no mutant abilities. If he was seen defeating high-ranked opponents, too many questions would be raised, and people might eventually connect the dots and realize that he was the one who had obtained the artifact in the mutant realm.

This was why Silas needed a costume to hide his identity while he focused on his mission.

After scanning the various options, Silas finally spotted a costume that caught his eye. It was a ghostly mask, similar to the kind used in horror movies. Silas grabbed the ghost mask, placed it on his face, and checked his reflection in the nearby mirror to ensure his face was completely covered. Satisfied with the result, he donned the rest of the costume, a black, tattered cloak, and adjusted it to complete his look.

"All done!" Silas announced, his voice now deep and menacing due to the mask.

"Good. Now, head down that hallway on your right and register your name. I'll be watching from the stands," Kara instructed.

Silas gave a nod and walked toward the hallway. As he advanced, he called up his arsenal panel, examining the items listed.

He hadn't used any of the items in his arsenal since acquiring them, and the thought of equipping the scythe and chest piece briefly crossed his mind.

"No, that would make me too overpowered. My current stats are more than enough to deal with Grade 4s," Silas decided, dismissing the panel.

After walking a few more steps, he arrived at the registration area. Standing before a computer, Silas placed his hands on the keyboard, his eyes fixed on the screen as instructions for entering a nickname appeared.

"Nickname... What should I go with?" Silas mused, staring at the blinking cursor.

He needed a name that had no connection to his real identity. Something obscure. Something that wouldn't draw too much attention.

"Ghost Ranger," he finally decided.

It wasn't the most exciting name, but that's what Silas needed—something simple and unremarkable.

After typing in the name and completing the registration process, he was quickly matched with an opponent named Chris Davidson.

"A Grade 2?" Silas frowned in mild disappointment when he saw his opponent's grade. "The rewards for defeating lower grades won't be much. I need tougher opponents. But I guess they're starting me off easy for my first match. As I win more fights, the difficulty will increase."

As he mulled this over, the voice of the announcer rang out across the arena.

"The next fight: Chris Davidson versus..." The announcer paused, likely confused by the name on his list. "Err… Ghost Ranger?"

Hearing the announcer's words, Silas cracked his knuckles, then began walking toward the center of the arena, ignoring the crowd's snickers and jeers at his chosen nickname.

He ascended the raised platform, taking his position opposite Chris, who wielded two katana blades. A glowing Grade 2 skill slot hovered around Chris's waist, indicating his strength.

[Optional Quest: Defeat the opponent to earn rewards.]

[Rewards will be revealed upon quest completion.]

A large screen materialized before Silas, displaying the quest details. "It's grinding time," he muttered under his breath, eyes locked onto his opponent, waiting for the referee to give the signal.