The stands were still steadily filling up with spectators, not yet a fully packed arena. The first matches were regular elimination matches, designed to get rid of those who could not win their first bout. A blend of nobles and commoners were settled into their seats as the first match was set to begin. Among them, Lord Harland Ferris adjusted the cuff of his coat, casting a brief glance down at the waiting arena. His wife, Lady Ferris, sat beside him, her hands neatly folded over her lap as she observed the participants below.

  “On stage one, we have Hans Petemie, versus Elias Ferris!” came the voice of the announcer.

  As they focused ahead, a familiar voice interrupted their observations.

  “Lord Ferris,” came a smooth greeting. Another noble, Lord Edwin Hestrel, approached, nodding in acknowledgment before taking the open seat beside them. “Good turnout this year.”

  Harland nodded. “As expected. The academy always draws a crowd.” His gaze returned to the arena. “Looks like Elias is up first.”

  “Ah.” Hestrel followed his gaze. “Against the one with the hammer?”

  Lady Ferris let out a soft breath through her nose, almost amused. “I suppose they’re letting just about anyone enter these days.”

  Hestrel chuckled. “It does seem that way.” He studied the boy in question—a broad-shouldered participant, standing calmly as he waited for the match to begin. “Big weapon.”

  “Big, yes. It does not necessarily mean skilled though,” Harland said, shaking his head. “Crude fighting, no technique. What school of art does one even need to have to fight with such a large weapon? Someone like that will swing until they burn out. Our son won’t even need to break a sweat.”

  Lady Ferris smiled faintly. “He’s trained for this since he could walk. One match against an unpolished brute won’t change anything. At least, this’ll be an easy match. I was worried he’d be against another noble family.”

  Hestrel leaned back slightly, looking amused. “Well, let’s hope the poor boy doesn’t embarrass himself too badly. Might ruin our image if Elias beats him too badly. If the commoners are discouraged from applying, then the matches will just be of all the houses of nobility. ”

  A few commoners seated nearby overheard the conversation, their expressions hard with irritation. One man, his hands calloused from years of labor, shot a glare in their direction but said nothing. His wife placed a hand on his arm, shaking her head subtly.

  “Ignore them, dear,” she whispered. “You know how they are.”

  The man clenched his jaw but nodded, turning his attention back to the arena.

  On the stage, Elias adjusted his stance, his movements precise and deliberate. The announcer’s voice boomed through the stadium, signaling the start of the match.

  “LET THE MATCHES BEGIN!”

  On the stage, Hans, the hammer-wielding commoner, rushed forward. Although the hammer he carried, made of solid steel, was bulkier than his own body, he still moved with effortless ease. It was instantly clear that unless there was some magical mechanism or trick being played, that the boy had incredible strength to wield such a weapon.

  As he ran, he slowly wound the hammer back behind his head, preparing to strike the instant he was within range of his opponent.

  Elias stayed calm, but his posture shifted into one ready to take the attack head-on. As Hans approached, Elias weaved a spell circle—and then another, straight on top of it.

  Some audible gasps came from the stands. Although the other two fights had also started, the technique that Elias showed drew the attention of the crowds.

  “Your son has learned layered-casting?” Hestral spoke aloud, gaze turned to Harland.

  Lord Harland smiled, clearly proud of the attention his son was getting. “Of course. It’s just natural. He has been studying under a capital tutor for the past year and a half, and this is one of his biggest accomplishments so far. Although he has only just recently learned the technique, this clearly shows his potential.”

  Hans closed the distance quickly, his hammer swinging in a wide, powerful arc. The sheer force of the weapon created a visible gust of wind, and the crowd collectively held their breath to see what would happen.

  Elias didn’t flinch. His layered spell circles glowed brightly, one rotating clockwise, the other counterclockwise, their intricate patterns interlocking seamlessly. Just as the hammer was about to connect, Elias raised his hand, and a shimmering barrier of light erupted in front of him.

  The hammer struck the barrier with a deafening clang, the impact sending a shockwave through the arena. The barrier held firm, though small cracks spider-webbed across its surface. Elias took a single step back and released his spell, causing the barrier to explode, sending Hans flying back in the air, until he landed on his feet where he had first started.

  “A proper noble should never rely on brute force alone,” Lady Ferris mused, watching as her son fluidly transitioned into his next maneuver. “Strength without refinement is meaningless.”

  Another exchange came as Hans rushed forward once again. This time, Elias casted multiple wind-adjacent spells, darting his body to the sides as Hans’ hammer swings came.

  “He’s quick,” Hestrel remarked, his tone appreciative.

  Lord Ferris nodded, his expression one of quiet satisfaction. “Elias knows better than to stand still against an opponent like that.”

  On the stage, Elias completed his next spell, and a burst of light erupted from his fingertips. The spell shot forward, striking Hans square in the chest and sending him stumbling back. The crowd erupted into cheers, though a few commoners in the stands winced at the sight. Murmurs rippled through the audience. While many nobles cheered for Elias, others watched the match with intrigue.

  Hans gritted his teeth, his grip tightening on the hammer. He charged again, this time with a roar, but Elias was ready for it. Another spell circle formed, this one larger and more complex than the last.

  In the stands, the commoner who had glared at the Ferris family’s rude remarks about commoners earlier muttered under his breath, “Come on, lad. Don’t let him show you up.”

  And as if on cue, Elias flicked his wrist, his layered spell fully formed. A double surge of lightning crackled to life, arching toward Hans with dangerous speed.

  But at that moment, Hans moved differently. Instead of dodging, he stepped forward, raising his hammer and swinging it—not at Elias, but at the spell itself. The moment his weapon connected with the bolts, the spell shattered, dispersed in an instant.

  A stunned silence fell over the crowd. Even the announcer for that stage, that was giving play-by-play commentary, hesitated, momentarily at a loss for words.

  “What?” Hestrel muttered, leaning forward. “He disrupted the spell?”

  A man sitting a few rows above Lord Ferris and his group suddenly sat up straighter. His brow furrowed as he watched Hans absorb another of Elias’ spells, the magical energy dispersing the moment it touched him. Then, with a slow nod, he spoke, half to himself and half to those seated around him.

  “…A mana conductor,” he said.

  Several heads turned his way, eyes widening as recognition dawned.

  “That’s—” someone began, but the words caught in their throat.

  The noble spectators, once dismissive of the match, now paid far closer attention.

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  “A Mana-Conductor?” Hestrel repeated, his tone a mix of surprise and confusion. He turned toward the commoner section, raising his voice slightly. “You there! What’s a Mana-Conductor?”

  The man hesitated for a moment, surprised that a noble had addressed him directly. But then he straightened, his voice carrying a note of pride. “It’s a rare and obscure class. I’m not sure if he is one, or is a class adjacent to it, but Mana-Conductors can absorb mana from spells and attacks, then use it to disrupt or nullify other magics. That’s how he’s countering that boy’s spells.”

  Lord Ferris’s expression darkened, his brows furrowing. “A class that nullifies magic? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  On the field, Elias frowned, his stance tightening. He had noticed it now, too. His magic—no matter the type—was simply vanishing upon contact with Hans’ weapon. The hammer wasn’t just a slab of steel; it was an extension of the boy’s abilities.

  Hans moved again, surging forward with newfound confidence. This time, he didn’t just endure the attacks—he stepped into them. A blast of fire magic struck him, but instead of staggering, the flames dissipated on impact. He swung his hammer through the embers, redirecting the energy into a brutal downward strike. Elias barely dodged, rolling aside as the hammer slammed into the stage, splitting the stone and sending rupturing flames spiraling upward.

  Elias wasn’t one to panic, but it was clear his usual approach wasn’t going to work. Every spell he cast, Hans either absorbed, nullified, or countered with sheer force.

  A layered fire spell—snuffed out in an instant.

  A binding arcane tether—shattered before it could take hold.

  A bolt of lightning—redirected back at Elias, forcing him to evade.

  “Elias is losing ground,” Lady Ferris observed, her tone composed but watchful.

  Lord Ferris’ jaw tightened, but his faith in his son did not waver. “Elias is a strategist first and foremost. He won’t let himself be cornered.”

  And sure enough, Elias adapted.

  Rather than waste energy on direct attacks, he shifted tactics. He had learned that not all spells needed to overpower an opponent—some simply needed to shift the battlefield.

  He didn’t need to defeat Hans with magic.

  He needed to remove him from the arena.

  Elias dodged another swing, his movements fluid and calculated. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he cast a spell—not at Hans, but at the ground beneath him.

  The arena tiles shifted, rising and falling in waves. Hans stumbled, his footing thrown off by the sudden terrain change. Elias seized the opportunity, his hands moving in rapid, intricate patterns.

  “What’s this?” the announcer exclaimed, his voice rising with excitement. “Elias Ferris is changing tactics!”

  The crowd leaned forward, watching intently. Elias completed his spell, and the air around him shimmered. A powerful blast of wind erupted, barreling toward Hans.

  Even this, Hans could dispel—Elias knew that. So instead of striking him directly, Elias let the magic surge forward before cutting it off at the last moment, converting its force into raw momentum. A powerful, uncontrolled gale followed, slamming into Hans like a cannon blast.

  Hans braced, swinging his hammer in a desperate attempt to anchor himself, but it was useless. His mana-disrupting ability meant nothing against the natural wind that now carried him off his feet.

  The force sent Hans tumbling backward. He struggled against it, but in the next instant, his body crossed the edge of the stage, crashing onto the ground outside.

  The announcer’s voice boomed through the stadium. “RING-OUT! ELIAS FERRIS WINS! THE FIRST ELIMINATION MATCH WAS CONCLUDED!”

  The arena fell silent for a brief moment—then erupted into cheers. The crowd roared, voices overlapping in excitement. Some shouted Elias’ name, while others marveled at the clever strategy he had used to bypass Hans’ magic-nullifying hammer.

  In the noble section, Lady Ferris allowed herself a small, satisfied nod. Lord Ferris remained composed, though his sharp gaze lingered on his son as Elias straightened, exhaling slowly.

  Hans groaned from the ground outside the stage, pushing himself up on one elbow. His hammer lay beside him, partially embedded in the dirt where it had landed. He blinked, momentarily stunned, before realization dawned on him. His loss hadn’t come from being overpowered—it had come from being outplayed.

  A second later, he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head.

  “That was… annoying,” Hans admitted, pulling himself to his feet. He dusted off his clothes, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the match entirely. Then, to the crowd’s surprise, he grinned. “But damn, that was clever.”

  Elias stepped toward the edge of the stage, looking down at him. He was composed as ever, but there was no smugness in his expression—only a quiet confidence.

  “You rely too much on your ability,” Elias said simply. “It makes you predictable.”

  Hans raised a brow before huffing a laugh. “Yeah, yeah. Guess I’ll work on that.” He slung his hammer over his shoulder with ease, despite its size. “Next time, I’m throwing you off instead.”

  A faint smile crept onto Elias’ face. He gave a slight nod, acknowledging the challenge.

  Hans and Elias’s match was the first to conclude in this round, but the tournament was far from over. Two more stages were still active, each hosting their own battles. The crowd’s attention shifted, their cheers and murmurs now divided between the ongoing fights.

  “Woahhh! Did you see that?” Risha’s voice erupted next to Enya, her excitement palpable. She pointed at the screen, her eyes wide with awe. “That was so cool! That hammer boy had that noble on the ropes!” She pumped her fist in the air. “Almost showed that stupid noble who was boss!”

  Enya glanced over at Risha, who had been audibly cheering throughout the fight. “Um… I’m a noble too, you know,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact.

  Risha froze mid-celebration, her arm still raised. She turned to Enya, her eyes narrowing as she looked her up and down, finally taking in the fine craftsmanship of Enya’s garments. “Oh,” she said, scratching the back of her head awkwardly. “Uhh… I mean, only stupid nobles, right? You’re a good one, right?”

  Enya tilted her head, her expression one of genuine curiosity. “Is being good… good?”

  This time, it was Risha’s turn to tilt her head, confusion flickering across her face. “Well… yeah? Why would you want to be bad? Bad people are dumb.”

  Enya placed her hands on her hips, puffing out her chest with pride. “Then I’m the best at being good that there ever was!”

  Risha blinked, then burst out laughing, complete with a snort, “That’s not how that works.”

  Enya huffed but couldn’t suppress a small smile. She turned her attention back to the screen, her mind still replaying the fight she had just witnessed. Those two boys—Elias and Hans—were probably around her age, yet they had demonstrated incredible skill and adaptability. Elias, in particular, had shown off a technique that left her intrigued.

  She had seen him create two spell circles at once, layering them seamlessly. Normally, spell patterns formed in sequence—an outer circle first, followed by cascading inner patterns to complete the formula. But Elias had done something different.

  He had layered two spells at the same time, their circuits overlapping perfectly.

  Even from the visual panel, Enya could tell it was an advanced technique. She couldn’t sense the mana flow from this distance, but the execution had been seamless. He had done something difficult—something she wanted to understand.

  He had moved on, his battle finished. When Enya won hers—perhaps she could ask him about it.

  Risha, meanwhile, was leaning back in her seat, her arms crossed behind her head as she watched the ongoing matches. “Man, this is gonna be fun,” she said, her tone light and carefree. “I can’t wait to see what you’ve got, Enya.”

  Enya turned to her, a determined glint in her eyes. “You’ll see soon enough. I’m not just here to watch, you know.”

  “Me neither! I’m going to show everyone what I can do! I’ll become the top student at Lightway!”

  Enya nodded, her smile matching Risha’s. For the first time, she felt a flicker of camaraderie with someone her age. It was a strange but welcome feeling. She enjoyed spending time with Berry and Manny, but they were several years older than her. Risha, on the other hand, was closer to her age, and her energy was… refreshing.

  Risha’s grin turned mischievous as she nudged Enya with her elbow. “So, what did you think of the boys?”

  Enya hummed in response, still watching the screen. “Elias was interesting.”

  Risha smirked and shot her a teasing glance. “Ohhh, I see. Of course, you liked the noble boy.”

  Enya nodded. “Yes, he won. His magic was also really cool.”

  Risha rolled her eyes. “No, I mean—you liked him. You know, noble guy, all serious and broody, strong, kinda handsome? Not bad to look at?”

  Enya tilted her head. “Not bad to look at?”

  Risha scoffed. “Oh, come on. You really don’t think so?”

  Enya frowned, thinking it over. “No. He was… fine. Like a regular boy.”

  Risha gave her an incredulous look. “What, do you not know what cute is or something?”

  Enya lifted her chin. “No, I know what cute is. I’m extremely cute,” she declared with a confident hmph.

  Risha snorted. “Okay, but, like, besides yourself?”

  Enya paused, considering. “There’s an elf lady at the adventurer’s guild. She’s cute and very pretty.”

  “Oh, I know her. She’s kind of rude, though,” Risha said, shaking her head. “But no, someone around our age.”

  Humming, Enya considered another answer. “You. You’re a little cute.”

  Risha blinked. “Wait, what? M-m-m-me?” she stammered, her cheeks flushing at the sudden compliment. “I-I’m not cute. Everyone calls me a tomboy…”

  “You are. But not as cute as me,” Enya added matter-of-factly. “I’m pretty and adorable. I even got Pell to admit it once.”

  Risha, not knowing who this Pell was, threw up her hands. “Okay, I give up. No point in this conversation.”

  Enya gave a satisfied nod. “Good. You were clearly confused.”

  Risha rolled her eyes, though her smile didn’t fade. “You’re something else, Enya. But hey, at least you’re focused. That’s probably a good thing for this tournament.”

  Enya nodded, her expression serious. “Of course. I’m here to win, not to… whatever you were talking about.”

  Risha chuckled, leaning back in her seat again. “Alright, alright. Let’s just watch the matches. I can’t wait until my fight. I am not losing.”

  Enya studied her for a moment. Risha wasn’t just excited—she was determined. There was something fierce in her eyes, the kind of drive Enya recognized, even if she didn’t fully relate.

  “You must be confident in your skills,” Enya said.

  “Obviously. I’m gonna end my match way faster than Elias did,” Risha replied, her smirk widening.

  Enya gave a small nod. “I’d like to see that.”

  Risha nudged her. “Oh, you will. And when I win, I expect some cheering.” She grinned. “Or at least clapping.”

  Enya considered this. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Gee. Thanks,” Risha replied with a scoff. “That’s close enough for some moral support, I guess.”

  As another match played out on the screens, Enya kept an eye on Risha. She was loud, brash, and a little ridiculous—but there was something about her energy that Enya found… entertaining. Once Enya won her fight, she would definitely stay around and watch hers.