The long-anticipated hour finally arrived.
The arena, which had been buzzing with noise just moments ago, gradually shifted into a dense atmosphere of expectation. Conversations lowered into murmurs. Eyes fixed toward the grand entrance.
The massive mana barriers surrounding the battlefield hummed faintly as they warmed up in preparation. The tension was thick enough to feel in the air.
Even the S-rankers had come.
They occupied the front seats, figures of overwhelming presence sitting casually as though this were nothing more than mild entertainment. Yet their presence alone caused the entire arena to feel heavier.
Rowan leaned back lazily in his seat, one leg crossed over the other, fingers tapping against the armrest.
"Why aren't they here yet?" he muttered, irritation lining his tone. "I postponed actual work for this. First official personal duel of the season… I expect something decent."
His sharp eyes slid sideways toward Magnar.
Magnar remained silent as always, his massive frame still as a statue, arms folded across his chest. His gaze rested on the arena floor without any visible emotion.
"Hmm."
That was all he gave.
Luphar chuckled softly, a curved smirk forming on his lips.
"Hoho… does it really matter whether they fight well or not?" he said lightly. "The duel itself is what makes it interesting. Pride. Reputation. Hidden grudges. Those are far more entertaining than technique."
Rowan scoffed.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever."
Then his eyes narrowed slightly as he looked Luphar up and down.
"Wait a second. Why are you even here? Weren't you torturing yourself with that insane training routine these past few days? Didn't even rest once. What made you abandon that hellish training and show up here?"
Luphar's gaze shifted toward the empty arena floor.
"I came because someone I know is fighting today."
Rowan raised a brow.
"Someone you know?"
"A new friend."
Rowan blinked.
"Ehh? A new friend? Who? One of the A-rankers in the second round?"
Luphar shook his head slowly.
"No. The third round."
A small pause.
"Ashan."
Rowan's expression changed slightly as recognition dawned.
"Him? Ahh… right. I saw you speaking to him once. What kind of person is he?"
Luphar didn't answer immediately. Instead, he leaned back, fingers laced together, thinking carefully.
"Ashan is… a good person," he said at last. "Friendly. Positive. Calm. His tone is sharp, but never unnecessarily aggressive. That's what made me approach him."
Morevan, who had been silently observing everything until now, shifted slightly in his seat. Roswayn's attention also sharpened. Luphar was not someone who spoke lightly.
"But…" Luphar continued.
Rowan smirked. "But?"
"There's something strange about him."
Now both Morevan and Roswayn were fully attentive.
"Strange?" Morevan asked calmly. "Did you sense something suspicious?"
Luphar shook his head.
"No. Not suspicious. It's hard to explain."
He narrowed his eyes slightly as if searching for the right words.
"His presence doesn't match his rank. Whenever I meet him, I get contradictory sensations. Sometimes he feels… comforting. Calm. Almost pleasant to stand near."
A small pause.
"And sometimes… it flips completely."
Rowan scoffed.
"Flips?"
Luphar's voice lowered just slightly.
"Like standing near a starving beast that has chosen not to attack yet."
The words caused Roswayn's brow to lift subtly.
"When lower-ranked students stand near us, they instinctively feel pressure. It's natural. Our presence alone forces discomfort." Luphar continued, eyes focused on the arena. "But Ashan? He doesn't show even a flicker of unease. No hesitation. No subconscious tension. Nothing."
He exhaled lightly.
"To be honest… I can't see him as a B-ranker."
Rowan burst into laughter.
"Haha! You're joking. You're telling me you felt intimidated by a B-ranker?"
Luphar smiled at him; slow, confident.
"Rowan. I possess senses you don't. And they've never misled me before."
Before Rowan could respond, the arena bell rang.
The deep metallic resonance echoed across the entire stadium.
Silence fell instantly.
"It's starting," Roswayn murmured.
The massive gate at the far end of the arena slowly opened.
Six figures stepped through.
First came Rax, Tyron, and Rianne.
They walked in formation, their armor gleaming under the stadium lights. The confidence on their faces was obvious, bordering on arrogance.
Tyron carried a long spear, its blade polished to a razor sheen, faint enchantment lines running along its shaft. He twirled it casually as he walked, displaying comfort and familiarity with the weapon.
Rax wore reinforced armor over his torso and forearms. A long sword rested in his grip, while a compact shield device was secured to his other arm; its core glowing faintly, indicating high-grade defensive enchantments.
Rianne wore no wand, but instead specialized mage gloves embedded with mana-conducting arrays. The air around her hands shimmered faintly, proof that she was prepared to channel spells directly through physical strikes.
They looked like they had already won.
Whispers erupted in the crowd.
"They're serious…"
"Tyron looks terrifying…"
"Rax upgraded his shield device…"
"And Rianne doesn't even need a wand?"
Moments later, the opposite entrance opened.
Nevil. Ashan. Zevi.
The difference in atmosphere was noticeable.
Zevi wore standard guards along his arms and legs, nothing excessive. He rolled his shoulders as he walked, visibly excited, almost thrilled.
Ashan walked calmly behind him.
No armor.
No visible weapon.
His light grey haori-style cloak was gone, leaving him in a tight-fitting black short-sleeved shirt that accentuated his lean frame. His loose light-grey training pants were secured with a black belt at the waist. Under the arena lights, his figure looked strikingly composed. If not for his distinct face and demeanor, one might have mistaken his silhouette for someone eerily similar to Satoru Gojo without his coat.
Yet his expression remained steady.
Unbothered.
Nevil walked beside them, heavily equipped for defense. A well-crafted shield rested on his back. Two swords hung at his waist. One was the black hound blade Ashan had gifted him. The other, the mythical Kusanagi, rested silently at his side.
Despite the armor, a flicker of tension lingered in his eyes.
From the sidelines, Lunara watched closely.
"These two…" she sighed.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the railing.
"What do they think they're doing? It's barely been weeks since teams were formed."
She shook her head.
"Zevi being battle-crazed, I can understand. But Ashan too? Has Zevi influenced him that much?"
Ashan, Zevi, and Nevil gathered briefly in a corner.
Zevi placed both hands on Nevil's shoulders.
"Don't panic. We trained like maniacs this week. You're more than ready. Trust your instincts. Let your body move the way it learned."
Ashan stepped forward and patted Nevil's shoulder firmly.
"He will try to provoke you. He'll insult Elara. He'll try to break your focus. Don't listen. Use everything we practiced."
Nevil nodded slowly.
Ashan's gaze sharpened slightly.
"And remember what I told you. If you get the opening..do THAT."
A grin spread across Nevil's face.
"Of course. I'll do it."
Zevi let out a dramatic, villainous laugh.
"Mwahahaha! Make him regret ever speaking."
Nevil chuckled, tension easing.
"Alright."
He walked toward the center of the arena.
Ashan and Zevi moved toward the designated safe zone behind the barrier.
The security system activated.
A transparent mana wall rose between the audience and the battlefield. High-definition arcane cameras floated into position, projecting a detailed view onto the massive screen above.
Tyron stepped forward to meet Nevil.
He spun his spear in a smooth circular motion before slamming its butt against the ground.
The sound echoed sharply.
He pointed the blade at Nevil's chest.
"Before we begin," Tyron sneered, "let me make something clear. I won't show mercy. I'm going to crush you… and take revenge for that cheating bitch."
The insult drew gasps from the crowd.
Elara flinched visibly.
Nevil slowly drew both swords.
The metallic hiss of steel sliding free cut through the silence.
His eyes locked onto Tyron's stance, analyzing grip tension, foot positioning, spear rotation speed.
He exhaled once.
"I was planning to say something similar," Nevil replied coldly. "Don't speak about her. It's disgusting."
The air between them tightened.
Tyron's smirk widened.
"Let's start."
Nevil lowered his stance.
Across the arena, Ashan's gaze sharpened, not a trace of amusement left.
From the front seats, Luphar leaned forward slightly.
His eyes gleamed.
"Show me," he murmured quietly.
The duel was about to begin.