Now Shadow stood firmly on his feet, his eyes covered by his headband.

  “What’s this now? Can’t bear to watch your own defeat?” Willhelm mocked.

  But Shadow remained completely still. Confused by his behavior, Willhelm launched into the attack.

  He gathered his power and hurled a massive fireball at Shadow.

  “Burn! Fireball!”

  The blazing sphere shot toward him with searing heat—but Shadow didn’t move a muscle. The fireball hit its mark and exploded, unleashing a shockwave and a cloud of smoke and ash.

  Willhelm grinned confidently. “I’ve won.”

  But then a silhouette appeared in the smoke. As it cleared, Shadow stood tall—completely unscathed.

  “Impossible! I hit you dead-on!” Willhelm shouted, stunned.

  Shadow brushed the dust from his clothes and readied himself for battle.

  “Shield!” Willhelm yelled, preparing to defend.

  He was certain his Blessing would let him block the next strike and launch a counterattack.

  “Fireball!” Shadow cast the spell—but it missed.

  “You idiot, with your eyes closed, you’ll never hit me!” Willhelm laughed mockingly.

  Shadow kept firing more fireballs. None hit. The smoke around Willhelm grew thicker and thicker—until suddenly, one connected. It hit directly, but caused no visible damage.

  Surprised, Willhelm took a few steps back. The smoke had completely surrounded him.

  “Reinforce!” he yelled furiously. “Enough of these games!”

  “You’re right. The game is over.”

  A voice echoed nearby, but Willhelm couldn’t see anyone.

  “I can’t show my secret weapon in public—it’s against the rules.”

  Then Willhelm turned—and Shadow stood before him.

  “Secret weapon?” Willhelm smirked.

  “What good will that do? You’re just a commoner. You can’t beat my Blessing. You can’t win.”

  He charged and swung his fist with full force—but Shadow caught it effortlessly with one hand.

  “What?!” Willhelm stumbled back. “First the fireball… now this… I didn’t even see you cast a spell!”

  “It wasn’t magic,” Shadow replied with a grin, pointing to his headband.

  “This is an artifact. It takes away your sight—but in return, it grants superior physical abilities.”

  “I’ve never heard of such an artifact!” Willhelm shouted.

  “And how could you see me if you’re blind?”

  “I have the Blessing of the Bat. It heightens my hearing and lets me perceive without sight.”

  “That’s cheating! That’s why you didn’t want anyone to see—because of your artifact!” Willhelm panicked. “You’ll be disqualified! Once the smoke clears, I’ll tell the judges. You’re a commoner—they’ll kick you out without hesitation!” A smug grin spread across his face.

  “What’s so funny?” Shadow said—and suddenly, he was right in front of him.

  “When did you—?!” Willhelm froze.

  Shadow punched him hard in the gut. Willhelm dropped to his knees, vomiting a mix of food and blood.

  “Don’t worry. You won’t be in any condition to tell anyone,” Shadow said with a cold smile.

  “Thunder Strike!”

  A massive shockwave crackled through the smoke, clearing it with bursts of lightning.

  At the center of the arena stood one figure—head held high, arms crossed.

  The victor of the match: Shadow.

  “He won!” shouted Jin with a beaming face.

  “Looks like it,” replied Julius, smiling—happy a noble had lost, but wary not to underestimate Shadow.

  The mayor was practically tearing his hair out.

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  “Damn commoners… how dare they,” he muttered under his breath.

  “This can’t be! We couldn’t see anything through the smoke—he could’ve cheated! We should disqualify him!” he tried to convince the professor.

  But the professor kept his eyes firmly on Shadow from his seat.

  “He must’ve used an artifact, I’m sure of it!” the mayor pressed further.

  “An artifact, you say?” the professor chuckled.

  “Then perhaps we should inspect everyone for artifacts, don’t you think?”

  The mayor froze. Cold sweat ran down his forehead.

  “Well, we don’t really have any way of detecting artifacts… and I don’t see one on him,” he stammered.

  The professor rose from his seat and stepped up to the podium.

  “With that, we have our second candidate for Lidoris!” he declared, announcing Shadow’s victory before the entire crowd.

  “This is the final match—if you win, you’re going to Lidoris!” Jin said excitedly.

  Julius clenched his fists. “Yes.”

  He was determined. No matter what, he would win this fight.

  He jumped over the barrier and walked toward the center of the arena as his name was called.

  On his way, he passed by Shadow.

  “Did you see my secret weapon? That’s the power of the organization,” Shadow boasted.

  “With all that dust, you could barely see anything,” Julius replied, raising an eyebrow as if he was being messed with.

  Shadow extended his fist.

  “You better win,” he said with a grin.

  Julius bumped his fist against Shadow’s.

  “Of course I will.” With renewed confidence, he moved forward.

  Jon was already standing in the center, watching as Willhelm was carried out of the arena.

  “Useless,” Julius barely heard him say.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll be joining your friend soon,” Julius taunted.

  Jon turned around and walked toward him.

  “Don’t think I’m on the same level as Willhelm. He was just my father’s bastard—I’m a real noble. And a true mage,” he said coldly, pointing his wand at Julius.

  “You still have time to beg for mercy,” he sneered.

  Julius knocked the wand aside. Now, the two stood face to face, ready to destroy each other.

  “Take your positions! The final match of the day is about to begin!”

  A loud gong rang out, signaling the start of the battle.

  “Fireball!” Both shouted the same spell, unleashing massive fireballs toward each other. But one was stronger, larger—it devoured the weaker one and continued flying straight at Julius. He barely dodged it.

  “What’s wrong? Where are your big words now?” Jon sneered with a provocative smile.

  Though both cast the same spell, Jon’s was clearly more powerful. The reason: his wand—an expensive, enchanted one made of oak and a secret blend of materials.

  “You can do it!” Jin shouted from the stands, giving Julius a moment of calm.

  But things looked grim. Julius had only half his mana left from the previous match and was at a clear disadvantage. On top of that, he noticed another artifact on Jon’s wrist—the same mana-enhancing kind as before.

  “Reinforce!” Julius stood up, ready to counter.

  “That a commoner can use such magic is an insult,” Jon growled.

  “And your face is an insult to humanity,” Julius snapped, charging forward.

  “Burn to ash!” A massive fireball was hurled at him. Julius dodged, but the explosion knocked him to the ground. Just as he tried to stand—

  “Earth Prison!” The ground wrapped around Julius’ limbs, pinning him in place. He was immobilized.

  Jon stood over him with a vile grin.

  “That’s the difference between a noble and scum like you.” He placed his foot on Julius’ head, taunting him.

  “Beg for your life. Maybe I’ll make it quick.”

  “You nobles are all the same. You buy your power. Without your wand, you’re nothing!”

  Jon stomped on his head again.

  “Always whining. With or without it, the result would’ve been the same. Commoners have no right to wield wands. Magic has always belonged to nobility. And now you think you can enter the most prestigious academy on the continent—Lidoris? All because some blessing landed in the hands of a commoner? Ridiculous!”

  “You nobles sure talk a lot of crap, huh?” In a sudden move, Julius knocked the wand from Jon’s hand.

  “What?! When did you—” Jon froze, eyes wide. Julius’ hand was already extended.

  A massive fireball burst forth and struck Jon directly, sending him flying like a blazing comet.

  Julius dropped to his knees.

  “That… was all my mana…” he gasped.

  Silence.

  “What was that?” the mayor whispered, stunned.

  Even the professor was speechless.

  “He cast without incantation…” He stepped forward to see better.

  “Without an incantation?” the mayor repeated, still in shock.

  “Normally, only high-tier mages can do that. He canceled an earth spell and cast a tier-2 fireball,” the professor said, stroking his beard.

  “Interesting. What a shame he was born a commoner.”

  The mayor nearly collapsed—until a guard shouted:

  “Look! Sir Silver is getting up!”

  Relief swept over the mayor.

  “I thought the artifact had failed…”

  All eyes turned to Jon, who rose again, heavily injured, his face scorched.

  “How dare you!” Jon yelled, casting Healing. His wounds started to fade.

  Julius could barely stand.

  “Damn… how did he survive that?”

  “You’ll pay for this!” Jon gathered all his remaining mana.

  “You’ll die for this!”

  Jin watched, terrified.

  “That’s a huge amount of mana… if it hits, he won’t survive,” said Shadow, appearing beside him.

  “He should give up,” Shadow added.

  Jin had tears in his eyes. Julius would never surrender—but he had no mana left. If he died, Jin would lose another friend.

  He hesitated—should he beg Julius to quit? But Julius had trained three long years for this. If he lost now, he might never get the chance to find his sister… or a cure for Jina.

  “Burn until nothing remains—FIREBALL!”

  A colossal sphere of flame formed above Jon, growing ever larger. The heat was felt even in the crowd.

  “Why doesn’t he give up? Does he still have a secret move?” Shadow asked.

  Jin just shook his head.

  “DIE!” Jon hurled the fireball at Julius.

  He had no strength left to dodge or defend.

  “JULIUS!” Jin cried out.

  The professor stepped to the edge of the podium, his gaze locked onto the arena. His fingers were already wrapped tightly around the handle of his staff. he wanted to intervene.

  “The match is over… we don’t need unnecessary deaths.”

  but something stopped him in his track.

  “Wait… is he smiling?”

  The fireball hit—but Julius braced it with both hands. He was pushed back, but held firm. With all his might, he tore the fireball apart—until it faded away.

  “Impossible…” Jon went pale.

  “Burn to ash—FIREBALL!” Julius returned the spell.

  Jon raised his hands for a shield—

  “I don’t have enough mana—!”

  The fireball struck him full force. He collapsed—unconscious, unmoving.

  Julius raised his hand, pointing one finger to the sky.

  A clear signal: he was the winner of the match.

  “Fuck…” he muttered—before collapsing from exhaustion.