The fist collided with the man's face with a sickening crack, the sound echoing as he was launched several meters through the air before landing back on the stage.

Elric advanced toward him with the unhurried pace of a man on a morning stroll.

Another participant, seeing Elric's calm demeanor amidst the chaos, gripped their saber and lunged forward, slashing downward.

But Elric had never stopped paying attention to his surroundings. With a swift motion, he turned and struck the student's ribs with the flat of his blade. Bone gave way with a sharp snap, and the man let out a shriek that sounded more animal than human—high-pitched and panicked, like a pig being slaughtered.

Elric shook his head, unimpressed, and turned back to the other man—he suspected it was William. He was already trying to stand, wobbling unsteadily on his feet.

A durable punching bag, Elric mused as he stopped just in front of him.

"Are you William Green?" he asked coolly.

Still dazed from the blow, the man took several seconds to lift his head and meet Elric's eyes.

"And who are you?" William asked, voice wary and laced with pain.

"Elric," he said with a faint smile, pleased he'd managed to recognize someone from the list despite the sparse details it offered.

William muttered the name a few times under his breath before finally saying, "I don't know any Elric from Quarath Academy."

"That's probably for the best," Elric replied casually—just before launching a sudden kick toward William.

Caught off guard by the abrupt attack, William instinctively raised his spear, angling the blade between himself and Elric's leg.

A sharp snort broke through the tension. "Won't work," Elric said coolly.

In the same breath, he pivoted on his right foot, gracefully avoiding the spear's tip, then twisted and drove his left leg into William's chest with brutal precision.

The impact was deafening—bones cracked as William was hurled backward again, crashing to the ground in a heap for the second time in less than a minute.

Elric approached slowly, his expression unreadable. "Is that all?" he muttered, standing over him.

Struggling to rise, William leaned heavily on his spear, using it as a crutch to pull himself to his feet. He wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, his voice shaky as he asked, "Y-You… were you hiding your strength earlier?"

Elric didn't respond. Without a word, he swept William's legs out from under him. The sudden motion sent William tumbling, and before he could even hit the ground properly, Elric's fist connected with his face.

The blow was devastating. William slammed into the arena floor with such force that several tiles cracked beneath him.

Elric stood over him in silence. Seconds passed. William didn't move. He just lay there, completely still.

Was that too much? Elric wondered, kneeling beside the unconscious man to check his pulse.

"At least he's alive," he murmured after checking his condition. Then he stood, turned away, and walked off, leaving only a final remark in his wake "He lasted less than I expected."

In the crowd, a man pointed and asked, "Who's that?"

Heads turned to follow Elric's retreating figure. Confusion spread until someone shouted from the back, "That's Elric!"

A few nearby turned to the voice. "Which Elric?" one asked confusedly.

"Are there any other Elrics that strong? Obviously Elric from Univara," scoffed the man, his tone heavy with disdain as he looked around at the confused faces. "What, you people don't know anything?"

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Gasps rippled through the crowd. Elric was clearly wearing Quarath Academy's uniform—yet he had once been one of the strongest in Univara.

"Why did he switch academies?" someone asked, baffled.

A nearby man shrugged. "How should I know? Maybe Quarath made him a better offer."

"He'll regret it," muttered another, sneering. "Joining a trash academy like that? It'll ruin his future."

That last comment drew a sharp reaction. A man clad in red turned toward the speaker, cracking his knuckles with menace. "Come here," he growled, "and I'll show you what a better future looks like."

What started as a heated exchange between two spectators quickly escalated as insults and threats were thrown out. In moments, the stands erupted into a miniature war between supporters of Univara and Quarath, the chaos spreading like wildfire.

The noise grew loud enough to reach the grandstand—drawing the attention of those in power who now leaned forward, eyes narrowing at the stage.

Fenric—a middle-aged man with neatly trimmed black hair, a meticulously groomed beard, and eyes the color of aged oak, sharp with wisdom—turned his head toward Ysara, seated a few chairs away. His tone was measured, but laced with disapproval.

"Was it necessary?"

Ysara, a woman with flowing brown hair and piercing green eyes, responded curtly, "What are you talking about?"

Fenric scoffed, clearly irritated. "Poaching students from other academies is forbidden. We all agreed on that."

"I didn't poach anyone," Ysara snapped, not even sparing him a glance. "Stop throwing around baseless accusations, old man."

"You—"

"Let's calm down," came a gentle voice.

The speaker was Caelan—an elderly man dressed in elegant black robes, his expression warm and composed.

Fenric turned to him, frowning. "Caelan, don't tell me you're taking her side."

"I'm not taking sides," Caelan said mildly. "I'm asking for calm. We don't even know if Ysara actually poached your student."

Then, he turned his gaze to Ysara and asked simply, "Did you?"

For the first time, Ysara turned her head and met Caelan's eyes. Her voice was calm "No."

Fenric's knuckles whitened as he clenched the armrest. "If you didn't poach him, then why would he transfer? He had no reason to leave."

Ysara let out a sharp scoff. "You didn't even notice he switched academies, and now you're throwing a fit. Is this really about him—or is it about me?"

"Enough of this nonsense. All this bickering is tiresome," said a bald man in white robes, seated between Caelan and Fenric. His voice was flat, but carried authority.

Caelan gave a calm nod. "Mazin is right," he said gently. Then, turning to Fenric, he added, "As I said before—if you really want to know why the boy transferred, ask him after the tournament. There's no need to turn this into a spectacle." He subtly gestured with his eyes for Fenric to look around.

Fenric glanced around the grandstand—and immediately saw it. Amusement flickered on the faces of many seated nearby, their eyes fixed on him like spectators at a drama.

He took a long breath, forcing the tension from his shoulders. "Fine," he said quietly. "We'll see."

Having overheard the entire exchange, Jonathan leaned toward Victor and whispered, "Do you know anything about this?"

"Same as that girl from earlier," Victor replied, his gaze fixed on the stage where Elric strolled casually, as if out for a walk in the park.

Jonathan turned his attention back to the arena, lips twitching. "This tournament is starting to feel like a fundraiser for private interests," he murmured.

Victor caught the comment and couldn't help the slight twitch at the corner of his own mouth—especially knowing that Thomas, too, was among the participants. But the amusement faded quickly as his expression went back to normal.

Roughly a dozen minutes later, the round finally concluded. Only five students remained standing in the arena.

A staff member stepped forward and announced, "Please follow me to report your names."

Elric left the arena with the others and entered a small booth off to the side. Inside, he gave his name without fanfare.

Just as he stepped out, a voice echoed across the grounds: "Participants with number seven, please proceed to the stage."

As Elric made his way back to his seat he noticed Neve was watching him with a curious, almost accusatory expression.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked, genuinely puzzled.

"You told me not to kill anyone," Neve said, tilting her head toward the stage, "but you almost crippled that guy."

Elric sat down beside her, his voice calm and even. "I knew what I was doing."

"So did I," Neve replied instantly, not missing a beat.

Elric sighed, conceding with a light shake of his head. "Fine, fine." Then his tone shifted back to normal. "We're done for today. Do you want to head out?"

Neve raised an eyebrow. "I thought you wanted to study the competition."

"I did," Elric said, glancing briefly toward the arena. "But I doubt anyone in the upcoming rounds is stronger than the man from the first. And we've already seen the top-tier students from the other academies. I've seen enough."

"Alright, let's head back," Neve said as she stood, and the two began making their way toward the exit.

"Hey!"

A voice called out from behind them, stopping them in their tracks when they had just entered the corridor that led to the exit.

They turned to see someone approaching quickly—Thomas, a cheerful grin spread across his face as he strode toward them.

"Why's he coming over here?" Elric asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

Neve shrugged. "How should I know?"

Moments later, Thomas reached them, clearly about to speak—but before he could get a word out, something clicked in Elric's mind. He stared at Thomas more closely, eyes narrowing in recognition.

Without thinking, he blurted, "Teacher Thomas?"

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