Another two days passed. In that short span, Corvin had done what most considered impossible.
He now sat at the pinnacle of the Lightning leaderboard.
His mastery over the element had evolved. No longer did he need to fold his arcs mid flight, calculating layer after layer to amplify their potency. Instead, he generated them as thunderbolts directly from his hands. These weren't simple flashes of heat and force, they were condensed storms, ripping through shielding and defense alike. The raw destructive power of each strike had more than doubled.
But Corvin wasn't satisfied with brute strength.
He spent those days not only refining his own power, but ensuring his domain expanded in equal measure. He moved through the other Space Magic classrooms like a shadow, attending as an observer when he wasn't expected. And with each presence, his spores slipped silently into students and faculty alike.
By the end of the second day, he had siphoned every viable signature within the Space classes.
Their strengths. Their styles. Their habits.
All his.
His pets, the ten avian undead he raised sometime ago, had grown more than scouts. Now, they were an extension of his awareness. They mapped the entire structure of Umbraxis Arcanum for him. Every hallway. Every restricted gate. Even the hidden tunnels used by maintenance mages.
He could navigate the Arcanum blindfolded.
And then came his final breakthrough.
His teleportation had surpassed its early constraints. No longer was he testing five or ten kilometers, or cautious skips. With focus and refined control, Corvin had reached his target.
Fifty kilometers.
One jump.
His mobility now functioned on another plane altogether. There would be no more need for carriages. No need for Synod's seafaring vessels. No more delays.
When the next assignment came, he wouldn't bother boarding a Synod approved ship. He would teleport.
High into the sky.
Align with his direction.
And blink across the continent.
He had become a ghost that crossed the world.
And now, as the first week of his two week study period came to an end, Corvin sat in quiet contemplation. The leaderboard rewards were his to claim. Rare spell scrolls. Access to sealed archives. Artifacts of unique affinity and most importantly lessons with faculty.
He began to plan what to ask for.
Something that would allow him access to other arcane and rare magic classes.
--
Magus Velkhar, the senior instructor of Lightning Magic, had not been a happy elf lately.
The cursed merc had reduced the Lightning Hall's leaderboard to rubble in just three days, sitting smugly at the very top as if he belonged there. He perched on the top position as a bird of prey. Corvin's rise wasn't just fast, it was humiliating to the entire noble tradition that Velkhar clung to with iron nails. His hatred for commoners was no secret among the faculty. That he had to acknowledge a mercenary leading his hall's sacred leaderboard burned like acid in his pride.
"A sword for hire," he had spat to one of his colleagues, "and we reward him with prestige?"
But it was that very colleague who gave him an idea.
"If you can't beat him by the rules," the instructor had said slyly, "change the rules."
So Velkhar proposed it: a special one time trial setting for the leaderboard. The current leader would be challenged not by one opponent, but by a coordinated trio. Ranked second, third, and fourth. A test of strategy, power, and endurance.
The rewards, too, would be adjusted. Tripled for any who succeeded.
The other instructors, each of them still bitter over Corvin's dismissal of faculty protocol, approved the change with unspoken eagerness.
Velkhar submitted the setting with a smile.
Corvin, for his part, received the official challenge summons late that evening. The document was sealed and formal, bearing the standard duel emblem. He was surprised. Few had the courage to issue challenges to a leaderboard leader, especially after his displays.
He hadn't yet read the updated conditions.
Meanwhile, the second, third, and fourth ranked students were ecstatic.
At last, a chance to bring down the outsider.
"We'll break him before he can even charge a full arc," one said.
"I want to see if he can dodge three folded bolts from different angles," another added with a grin.
They didn't understand what they had agreed to.
But Velkhar didn't care.
Let them serve as the storm that finally shook the Raven from his perch.
--
Corvin entered the Lightning Hall's arena with his usual quiet, unhurried steps. His gaze swept the field and paused. Instead of one opponent, there were three students already standing on the far end of the dueling platform.
His brow arched.
The crowd was larger than usual. He noticed faces from other halls, and more than a few instructors scattered among the stands. One figure, however, stood out clearly.
Velkhar.
The senior Magus of the Lightning Hall was seated in the observation row, practically glowing with excitement. He made no effort to mask it. His eyes gleamed as they met Corvin's across the arena.
Corvin sighed.
Was it some universal law that forced all institutions of learning to churn out idiotic schemes involving multiple on one duels just to prove a point? He thought he'd left that nonsense behind.
Suppressing the irritation, he approached the officiator's desk.
"I'm here," he said simply.
The official nodded and began to explain.
"This duel," the man said in a neutral tone, "has been approved as a one time variation to test the strategy of our top ten of leaderboard. The current rank one will face ranks two, three, and four simultaneously."
Corvin said nothing.
"To encourage the match," the official continued, "the prize for the winner will be tripled. Furthermore, the outcome of the match will adjust the challenger rankings depending on the number of successful attacks landed. The student with the highest number of direct, successful hits will claim the top rank should the leader fall."
Corvin offered a slow smile. Triple the reward was a nice bonus.
The trio across from him were already exchanging confident looks. One of them was bouncing slightly on his heels, another was twisting their fingers in preparation. The third simply nodded, already convinced of victory.
"Three targets. Three styles. Three arcs from different directions," one muttered.
"It'll be over before he can breathe," another chuckled.
Corvin turned his gaze to the crowd.
More students were arriving. Some from the Space Hall, others from the Rare Elements branch. Curious minds drawn by the promise of spectacle.
They'd get more than they bargained for.
--
"Begin!" The official shouted.
The arena fell into complete silence. Students leaned forward, faculty held their breath, and the official raised his arm before dropping it sharply.
The match began.
The arena fell into a silence thick with expectation. Students leaned forward, faculty stiffened, and the official raised his hand before cutting it downward.
The match began.
Three bursts of lightning tore through the air, each cast from a different direction. The trio launched their attack simultaneously, folded arcs coiling like vipers, weaving across the platform in an attempt to trap Corvin in a net of raw voltage.
Corvin stood his ground.
Without a word, he raised both arms. Thunderbolts exploded from his palms, cutting directly through the nearest arcs and detonating midair with a deafening crack. The shockwave blew back dust and energy, drawing gasps from the crowd.
He took a single step forward.
His return fire was brutal. Twin bolts, dense and charged, struck the short girl on the left before she could reposition. One connected with her shoulder, the other grazed her side, more than enough to send her sprawling across the dueling stage with a yelp.
The second opponent responded with a sharp volley, his arcs triple folded and fast. But Corvin's retaliation came in a brutal cross counter. A wide, sweeping thunderbolt met the spell midair and shattered it, the residual energy striking the caster's shield and cracking it visibly.
Corvin advanced.
He launched a cascading wave of bolts, each laced with tight folded compression. The electricity didn't scatter it struck in wide, whipping arcs, dancing across the platform like whips of blue white fury.
One challenger tried to flank him. The other attempted a pincer move.
Corvin didn't let them.
A burst of power from his core unleashed a radial blast of lightning. Not elegant, nor controlled. Just raw power. The bolt struck the first student's hip and threw him sideways. His robes smoked.
The last duelist, now alone and pale faced, raised both hands in desperation. His arc was well formed, layered and precise. It never landed.
Corvin's counterattack was a low angled strike that coiled across the ground before leaping up in a sharp snap. It struck the boy's thigh and sent him tumbling, twitching.
When the crackling subsided, all three students were down. Not dead, but wounded.
One had a burned shoulder. Another had a scorched leg and bloodied lips. The third lay groaning, still twitching.
Corvin exhaled.
He had not moved more than five steps the entire match.
The official looked stunned. Then he lifted his hand. "Victory: Corvin Blackmoor."
The crowd didn't cheer.
They whispered.
Velkhar's expression had turned from glee to stone. He sat frozen, lips tight.
Corvin walked past the trio without a glance, his expression unchanged. The arena would remember this.
And so would every trembling student in the audience.