Thomas shot through the air like a meteor. One moment he was standing on the stage, the next—a deafening boom echoed through the stadium, shaking the very air like an explosion. A gaping hole now marred the base of the stands where he had landed.

Fortunately for the spectators, the first row was elevated several meters above the ground; had it been any lower, the aftermath could've turned ugly fast. Even so, the shock of the blast rippled through the crowd. Cries erupted, gasps cut through the noise, and a few angry voices hurled curses at the stunned staff.

Those seated in the grandstand were the first to leap to their feet, craning their necks to see if Thomas was alright. The rest of the stadium followed, a rising wave of restless movement. Only the side into which Thomas had crashed remained seated—frozen, blind to what was happening, their eyes fixed anxiously on the sections that could see.

"I might've overdone it a bit," Nova muttered under his breath, flexing his fingers. His hand tingled with numbness—an aftershock of channeling so many lightning Mana particles into such a small space.

As the smoke lingered too long, Nova summoned a gust of wind using Mana, willing it to clear the haze with a sharp burst. His steps were already moving toward where Thomas had landed.

The moment he reached the site, the last wisps of smoke peeled away, revealing the aftermath.

Thomas was embedded into the base of the stand, his body slumped and motionless, eyes glazed over. Blood trickled down all over his body, soaking into his clothes. His hand still clenching his sword, now red as small drops of blood fell from its tip to the ground. On his chest was a black patch, the size of a fist where no blood came from as if evaporated.

'Only use this attack against enemies. Noted' Nova's thoughts echoed solemnly. He had only meant to test his attack power—but the results had gone catastrophically beyond expectation. Thomas was still breathing, but that did little to calm the sinking weight in Nova's chest. He had nearly killed his friend.

Carefully, Nova dislodged Thomas from the debris and lifted him into his arms. The medical team was already sprinting toward them. Under the stunned gaze of the entire stadium, Thomas was laid onto a stretcher and whisked away.

From the silence, a voice finally broke through:

"What did I just witness?"

"Pinch me. This has to be a dream."

"There's no way someone that strong actually exists. Are we sure this isn't staged?"

The crowd's murmur swelled—starting as a whisper before building into a rising wave of disbelief and awe that reached even the grandstand, where Jonathan stood frozen in shock alongside the four academy deans.

"President…" Caelan's voice was soft, uncertain. "Is this staged?" He had to ask. The question was gnawing at him.

Fenric and Ysara turned to Jonathan, eyes searching for an answer. But no one noticed the subtle shift in Mazin's expression. He wasn't questioning—it was admiration. Reverence. To him, this was strength. Undeniable. Absolute.

Without a word, he lifted a hand, signaling to an instructor from Altura Academy. A few hushed words were exchanged before he dismissed him with a flick of his fingers.

His eyes returned to "Elric," now lit with unmistakable excitement and expectation.

Jonathan narrowed his eyes. "I expected the public to fall for that kind of talk—but you? I'm disappointed. Do you really think I need to stage a performance at this point? For what? Votes? Recognition? None of that matters anymore."

"So this is real…" Fenric muttered, raising his eyebrows in disbelief.

Ysara, however, couldn't suppress a grin. Still convinced that the one on stage was the same Elric who had just joined her academy, she leaned back with smug satisfaction.

Stolen novel; please report. "I wonder," she said, voice light and teasing, "if any of you still dare to challenge my academy for first place."

Silence followed. No one replied.

Her grin only grew, stretching until it nearly touched her ears.

Amid the ongoing conversation, Victor's eyes never left "Elric," who stood silently at the center of the stage, seemingly lost in thought.

You have that boy Elric's face… but my instincts are screaming something else. Hmph… I only know one person who could've pulled that off. Is that really you?

Conflicting thoughts raced through Victor's mind. His eye twitched with restrained tension, but the faint smile on his lips betrayed something gentler—hope. If it's really you… then I'm glad.

After his final talk with Jack—just before leaving for Altura—he had come to terms with the situation. It wasn't anyone's fault. His daughter, Cassidy, had chosen to sneak off and enter that portal, driven by her own emotions. Blaming others had only been a way to mask his turmoil.

Isaac was swiftly summoned by Jonathan and returned to the railing moments later, a new set of instructions fresh in his mind.

Clearing his throat, he projected his voice across the stadium.

"The winner is Elric from Quarath!"

Below, staff members scrambled to update the rankings, chalk dust rising as names were hastily revised on the boards.

Elric (Quarath) [00.08]

Thomas (Altura)

Nova sat back down beside Neve and closed his eyes, the battle replaying in his mind like a silent echo. Beside him, Neve watched quietly, studying his expression. She wasn't the only one. Though Isaac continued announcing the ongoing matches, most eyes in the stadium remained fixed on "Elric." His presence being the center of everyone's attention.

The longer Jasmine stared at his face, the more she found it... captivating. Her expression gave everything away—she could hardly wait for the conversation she was meant to have with him.

Meanwhile, the tournament pressed on, but no one dared to challenge Nova. He was being avoided like the plague.

The next time he opened his eyes was when Neve's name echoed across the arena. Curious. He wanted to see how this commander of his fought.

"Neve, do you wish to issue a challenge?" Isaac asked solemnly.

Rising to her feet, she gave a firm nod. "I challenge Troy," she declared, her voice steady, now containing a hint of pride.

Isaac didn't even have time to respond before Troy stood abruptly and said curtly, "I accept."

With a slightly nervous smile, Isaac gestured to the arena. "Very well. Please proceed."

Once on the stage, Neve unsheathed her rapier with a smooth, practiced motion. Her eyes narrowed, her focus sharpening. The pride from moments ago melted away, replaced by her usual expression of cool indifference.

It was a mask she couldn't fully maintain around Nova or the generals. Nova had become a source of pride—someone she now stood beside as part of his group. As for the generals, she held a deep, quiet respect for them, built over months of shared experience.

Troy stood before her, mace in hand, silent. He wasn't one for words—this tournament was about prize and fame, not idle chatter. In that way, him and Neve were very much alike.

"You may begin!"

Without hesitation, Neve and Troy lunged toward each other. Once they stood at arm's length they simultaneously stopped as if they had reharsed many times before. Though, that soon changed.

Neve's rapier flickered like a needle, its blade almost invisible as it sliced through the air at lightning speed. Before Troy could react, a sharp sting bit into his left arm. She then spun gracefully to the side just as his mace crashed down in a thunderous arc.

Using her spin, Neve delivered a swift kick. The strike landed squarely on Troy's ribs—but despite the precise hit, the blow lacked power. Their Stats seemed evenly matched, her Strength nearly equal to his Vigor.

In terms of speed, though—there was simply no contest.

Neve's rapier pierced Troy relentlessly, striking whenever an opening appeared. Every time Troy nearly caught her off guard, she slipped away with fluid grace. As long as Neve had even a fraction of a second to react, she was untouchable.

From the participants' stand, Nova watched calmly, his gaze sharp and analytical. 'A style built on speed. If she added some power behind those strikes, this match would've ended ages ago.'

Then a spark lit his eyes when a thought struck him. 'Another promising candidate... I can't wait to teach Mana manipulation to my generals. For now, commanders will have to do.'

Amidst the spectators' gasps and cries of shock, the fight raged on for several grueling minutes. Troy's endurance was monstrous—few could match it. At one point, he nearly clinched victory as Neve began to run out of steam, but the wounds she had inflected finally caught up with him. Due to the blood loss it didn't take long before Troy felt the consequences. With a sudden falter he collapsed, unconscious.

Breathing heavily, Neve remained standing—barely—at the center of the arena.

"The winner is Neve from Quarath!" Isaac's voice rang out, clear and proud.

Though this battle was very lacking compared to the previous one, it was still a testament to the elite skill of the two students.

Below, the rankings on the blackboards were swiftly updated.

Neve (Quarath) [Penalized]

Troy (Univara) [Forfeit]

"The cycle will begin anew. Remember this well—you have only two chances to challenge left!"

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