"Exactly!" she said, brightening up again. "You can learn spells that aren't even available to the public. Some of the professors are said to be archmages — real legends. If you get noticed by one of them, and they take you as a personal disciple, you're basically guaranteed success."
I smiled, watching her enthusiasm. Her eyes lit up when she talked about magic, like she could already see the path ahead of her. "You've thought this through," I said.
"Of course I have. You can't just wander into a place like the academy and hope for the best. You need goals, ambition, drive."
I nodded slowly. "You'll fit right in."
She leaned toward me, smiling playfully. "And what about you, what's your goal?"
I grinned. "Survive the first semester?"
She groaned. "You're impossible."
"I prefer 'low-maintenance.'"
"You mean lazy."
"Semantics."
She gave me a long-suffering look, then laughed anyway. Her laughter was light and unguarded, and for a moment, I found myself smiling just watching her.
"You two sound like an old married couple," Ray muttered suddenly.
We both froze, looking at him, then at each other.
"I—what?" Maya stammered, her face turning a little pink.
I rubbed the back of my neck. "Ignore him. He's just jealous we have actual personalities."
Ray smirked. "Sure. Keep telling yourself that."
Maya threw a pebble at him, which he dodged lazily without opening his eyes.
I snorted. "I swear, if you two ever start actually fighting, I'm pretending I don't know either of you."
"Noted," Maya said with mock seriousness.
We all laughed again. It felt easy — like we'd been a team for months, not just a single day.
Time slipped by quietly after that. I could feel the fatigue settling in, the weight of the day pressing down, but it wasn't unpleasant. Just the calm before another storm.
When the count's voice finally echoed through the arena again, it was like a bell ringing through my chest.
"All participants!" he called, his voice deep and commanding. "The fifth and final round will begin shortly! Proctors, prepare your platforms! Contestants, to your stations!"
The murmurs around us erupted into chatter again. Some people cheered, others cursed under their breath. You could tell who had done well and who hadn't by their faces alone.
I pushed myself to my feet, rolling my shoulders. "Well, that's our cue."
Maya stood too, stretching her arms. "Final round. Let's make it count."
Ray rose last, cracking his neck. "Let's finish strong."
We climbed the stairs to our assigned platform, the arena lights glinting off the stone floor. The cheers and murmurs faded to a dull hum as I glanced across to see our opponents.
The moment I saw them, my pulse kicked up.
It was him.
The tank — the level 38 beast of a man who had smashed through his opponents earlier like they were made of paper. His massive shield caught the sunlight, gleaming like a wall of steel. Beside him stood his two teammates: the spear-wielding girl and a robed man who looked like their strategist.
My grip tightened around my sword hilt instinctively.
Maya's voice came out low beside me. "That's him."
"Yeah," I said quietly. "That's him."
Ray's expression hardened, his usual calm replaced by focus. "Finally," he muttered. "A real challenge."
I could feel my heartbeat quicken — not out of fear, exactly, but anticipation.
I smiled faintly. "Guess we saved the best for last."
...
The air in the arena was thick — thick with tension, dust, and the heavy weight of anticipation. Everyone knew this was the final round. The deciding match.
Ash stood shoulder to shoulder with Ray and Maya, their shadows stretching long across the stone platform under the afternoon sun. Across from them stood their opponents — the same trio that had cut through every previous round like a hot blade through butter.
The leader, the tank, was a mountain of muscle wrapped in light armour. His shield gleamed like polished steel, large enough to hide half his body. His sword rested easily in his other hand, his stance relaxed but sharp — the calm of a predator that knew its own power.
To his right stood the spear-wielding girl: slim, quick on her feet, eyes burning with focus. And behind them, the archer, already nocking an arrow, the tip glinting faintly with a hint of mana.
Ash could feel it. The pressure. The crowd's collective breath held tight. Even the wind seemed to slow down.
Then—
"Begin!"
The proctor's voice boomed like thunder.
Clang!
Ray moved first, his heavy blade cutting through the air with a sharp whistle. His boots pounded against the stone as he rushed forward, Ash following right behind, sword drawn low, his steps light and precise.
The spear girl met them halfway, her weapon flashing in a wide arc. Clash! Sparks flew as steel met steel. Ray's raw power pushed her back instantly, his blade grinding down her shafted weapon with a deafening screech.
The impact sent a shockwave across the platform, kicking up dust.
But before Ray could press the advantage—
Fwip! Fwip!
Two arrows sliced through the air like streaks of silver light. Ray barely twisted his torso in time, his sword flashing twice — clang, clang! — deflecting both with narrow precision.
Ash saw movement from the corner of his eye. The tank was already charging — fast, impossibly fast for his size — shield raised, sword poised for a devastating strike.
"Ray!" Ash called.
Ray reacted instantly, activating his movement skill. His body blurred — whoosh! — leaving a faint trail of mana as he dashed sideways, the tank's sword crashing into the ground where he had been an instant before.
The force of the blow cracked the stone.
Maya started chanting, her hands glowing faintly with mana.
But the archer had her in his sights. FWIP! FWIP! FWIP!
Three glowing arrows cut through the air in a deadly arc.
"Maya!" Ash shouted.
She dropped her spell and dove aside—thud!—rolling behind a boulder just as the arrows struck. BANG! The explosion of force sent her skidding across the ground, her robes tearing, her shoulder scraping the rough stone. She hissed, clutching the spot.
"Agh!"
"Maya!" Ash's stomach clenched. He dashed toward her, deflecting a spear strike mid-run—clang!—and slashing back to keep the enemy off her.
"I'm fine!" she shouted through gritted teeth, though her left arm hung stiffly, bruises already forming along her collarbone. "Just keep them busy!"
Ray and the tank were locked again—metal screeching, muscles straining.
Ash gritted his teeth. "Ray! Swap!"
They moved instinctively—Ash intercepting the tank's next swing with a parry—CLANG!—the impact sending a painful vibration up his arm. He ducked under a follow-up strike and countered with a fast upward slash, sparks bursting from the contact.
The spear girl came in from the flank—her weapon darting like lightning—shff! Ash barely turned in time to block.
Clang! Clang!
He was forced backward, his boots sliding against the stone.
"Dammit!"
"Keep up!" Ray barked, deflecting another arrow aimed at Maya.
"Damn," Ash muttered under his breath.
Before the tank could recover, a sharp whistle cut through the air — whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!
Three blades of condensed wind shot across the field, tearing up the ground in their wake. Maya stood at the back of their formation, her hair fluttering wildly as she cast, both hands glowing faintly blue-green.
The wind blades slammed into the tank's shield — bang! bang! bang! — rebounding off with explosive bursts of air. The man barely flinched, planting his feet like an unmovable wall.
Ash was already in motion, his sword flashing as he closed in on the spear girl, who was still reeling from Ray's earlier hit.
Clang! Their blades met.