Makarov stood with his hands behind his back, his eyes fixed on Roger. "You can use any magic to attack me. Don't hold back."
Roger gave a slight nod, his gaze sharpening. A blinding white light erupted around him as a spinning crimson magic circle appeared beneath his feet.
[Requip: Black Feather Armor]
When the light faded, sleek, dark-glimmering black armor covered his body. With a grip of his hand, a jet-black longsword materialized, and a pair of massive bat-like metal wings snapped open behind him with a whoosh, stirring a faint breeze.
In an instant, he became a blur of black shadow, vanishing from sight.
The moment Roger disappeared, Makarov raised his right arm, his index finger enveloped in golden light. He pointed lightly into the seemingly empty air to his right.
Clang!
A piercing metallic clash rang out! As if choreographed, Roger's black sword struck precisely against Makarov's faintly glowing finger, the immense recoil making Roger's arm tingle with numbness.
Makarov casually waved his left hand forward. No elaborate magic circle formed, yet a terrifying gust of wind materialized out of nowhere, slamming into Roger's armor like an invisible sledgehammer!
"Ugh!" Roger grunted, his body hurled backward like a kite with a cut string. His feet skidded, carving two shallow trenches in the ground before he barely steadied himself.
Makarov leisurely raised the finger that had blocked the sword, inspecting it closely. "Oh? You even coated the sword with sleepweed? Nice try, but that stuff doesn't work much on S-rank mages."
As his words fell, Makarov's eyes sharpened. He snapped his head up, raising his right hand high. A complex, radiant golden magic circle instantly formed in front of his palm.
At the same moment—
Whoosh!
A shrill whistle tore through the air as a streak of dazzling silver light plummeted from the sky like a falling meteor, crashing dead-center into the golden magic circle!
Clang!
A deafening impact echoed, sparks flying everywhere! The silver longsword clashed against the golden magic circle, holding for just two or three seconds before letting out a mournful whine. Its momentum spent, it clattered to the ground with a thud.
"Oh!" Makarov's lips curved into an approving smile. "Using Requip Magic's weapon-storing ability to launch it like a magic missile? Clever!"
His gaze locked onto the direction of the attack. "Good idea, but your magic fluctuations are too obvious when you cast. An enemy can easily pinpoint your location."
He pressed his index and middle fingers together and flicked them upward.
Boom!
A raging tornado roared to life without warning, kicking up dust and debris as it barreled toward Roger's position!
The instant the wind column touched Roger—
Crack!
A crisp sound, like shattering glass, rang out! "Roger's" body fractured like a mirror, dissolving into countless tiny specks of light that vanished into the wind!
"What?!" Makarov's eyes flashed with surprise. "Illusion Magic?! That magic fluctuation wasn't just from Requip! This kid can use two magics at once?!" The thought struck him like lightning.
His battle-honed instincts reacted faster than his mind. On pure reflex, he whipped his head toward his right rear!
As he turned, a smaller but denser golden magic circle formed instantly in front of his face!
Buzz!
A black sword blade, slicing through the air with a shrill whistle, slammed into the golden magic circle! The immense force made the circle tremble, emitting a deep metallic hum!
Makarov's eyes narrowed, his left hand moving to summon another gust to push Roger back.
But Roger's body before him suddenly swelled like an inflating balloon! A wild surge of magic power erupted from within!
"Not good!" Makarov's pupils contracted. Amid the familiar scent of sleepweed, there was a cloying, pungent… floral fragrance? And something even more dangerous!
BOOM!
A deafening explosion tore through the air! Crimson flames, mixed with an overwhelming, sickly-sweet floral scent, engulfed the entire training ground!
Thick pink smoke billowed, instantly swallowing the two figures at the center and spreading wildly outward!
Cough, cough, cough!
"What's that awful smell?!"
"Why'd Roger just explode?!"
"My eyes! They're burning!"
"My head… so dizzy… why am I… so sleepy…"
The onlookers on the sidelines were thrown into chaos, their shouts and coughs drowned out by the explosion. One by one, they collapsed, hitting the ground with a series of thuds.
A sudden hurricane blasted from the center of the clearing, instantly dispersing the pink smoke and noxious odor.
As sunlight poured back in, the scene at the center became clear.
Wakaba, wreathed in white smoke, stood with his mouth agape, his pipe falling to the ground in shock. "No way! Are you kidding me?! Is that… blood on the Guild Master's face?!"
There stood Makarov in the center, a thin streak of blood slashed across his left cheek, just above his mustache.
Makarov raised a hand, awkwardly wiping the blood away, and cleared his throat. "Ahem… what's with the fuss? It's just a scratch from some iron shrapnel kicked up by the explosion!"
Macao, arms crossed, raised an eyebrow so high it nearly hit his hairline, his expression screaming yeah, right. "Is that so? 'Cause I could've sworn I saw a black sword flash by just now."
Makarov ignored Macao's jab, quickly plastering on a grin and turning to the edge of the field.
There, Roger knelt, his Black Feather Armor dispelled, revealing his regular clothes. He was panting heavily, his forehead slick with sweat, his face pale. The rapid series of high-intensity magic and tactical maneuvers had drained his magic power significantly.
"Good! Very good!" Makarov's voice boomed, brimming with unreserved praise.
"Your magic use is versatile, your combat instincts are top-notch, and your ability to learn on the fly is astounding!"
"In a split second, you used Requip Magic to draw attention, Illusion Magic to create a decoy, and then seized that fleeting moment to detonate a mix of concentrated sleepweed and a magic missile."
"And in the chaos of the explosion, when I was distracted, you relied purely on swordsmanship—without a trace of magic—to close in and land a hit…"
His eyes gleamed brighter with every word. "You absolutely deserve the title of B-rank mage! No, your battle smarts surpass many veteran B-ranks!"
"You're too kind, Guild Master," Roger said with a wry smile, shaking his head as he propped himself up on his knee, still catching his breath.
"If you hadn't gone easy on me from the start, that first gust would've blown me clean out of the arena. I wouldn't have had a chance to pull off those tricks."
"Haha, don't be so modest!" Makarov laughed heartily, stepping forward to clap Roger's shoulder with such force that the still-recovering Roger nearly stumbled.
"For an 8-year-old B-rank mage, you've already done far beyond what anyone could expect! This old man's looking forward to the day you surpass me! Hahaha!"