William Vangeance—or rather, Patolli—retreated to the observation deck, his presence a cold weight in Lencar's mind. A different Magic Knight, one with a hawk-like face, stepped forward to officiate the combat.
"The rules are simple!" he barked. "You will be paired for one-on-one sparring. Victory is achieved when your opponent surrenders or is rendered unconscious. We are here to gauge your combat ability, so show us everything you have! Now... let the first pair step forward!"
The crowd of candidates tensed. This was the test that mattered most.
"Yuno of Hage vs. Lord Salim of House Hapshass!"
A preening, purple-haired noble strutted into the arena, a sneer on his face. "Hage? The forsaken realm? I suppose I should feel honored. I'll be the one to personally crush this year's 'prodigy.' Try not to cry, peasant."
Yuno just walked calmly to his position, his expression one of pure, bored indifference.
Lencar watched, his mind cataloging. "Salim... mana level is above average, but his control is sloppy. He's arrogant. Yuno won't even need a strategy."
"Begin!" the hawk-man yelled.
"Behold my family's ultimate spell!" Salim roared, his grimoire flipping open. "[Vain Lightning Magic: Thunderous Judgment]!" A large, crackling, but slow-moving ball of lightning formed and shot toward Yuno.
Yuno didn't move. He didn't even open his grimoire.
He simply raised his hand, and a small, razor-sharp whirlwind formed in his palm. He flicked it.
The whirlwind, tiny and precise, shot forward. It didn't block the lightning; it enveloped it, tore it to shreds, and continued on.
Salim's eyes went wide. Before he could even cast a defensive spell, the wind-blade struck him. It wasn't a devastating blow, just a solid, high-speed impact.
WHUMP.
Salim's eyes rolled back, and he collapsed, unconscious.
The fight had lasted three seconds.
The arena was dead silent.
"...Winner, Yuno!" the examiner finally declared.
On the observation deck, every single captain (except a sleeping Dorothy) was staring.
"Incredible," Fuegoleon said, his arms crossed. "He dispersed a high-level spell with a low-level one. His talent is immense."
"Every hand will go up for him," Nozel Silva noted, his voice flat.
Lencar's analysis: "The cannon. Overwhelming, effortless victory. He's this year's prize, just as the data predicted. He didn't even use his four-leaf clover."
"Next!" the examiner shouted, trying to regain the crowd's momentum. "Asta of Hage vs. Sekke Bronzazza!"
Sekke, the same cocky, bronze-magic user from the earlier tests, swaggered forward. He put a "friendly" arm around Asta. "Bah-ha! Looks like we're up, buddy! Let's give 'em a show, eh?"
Lencar's eyes narrowed. "This Sekke... his mana is average, but he's a peacock. He's planning to use Asta as a prop. He sees a magicless boy. He doesn't see the 15 years of relentless, superhuman physical training. His analysis is fatally flawed."
"Begin!"
"Bah-ha! Sorry, Asta, my man, but this is where your dream ends!" Sekke declared, his grimoire opening. "[Bronze Creation Magic: Sekke Magnum Shield]!"
A swirling, blue-bronze shield formed in front of him, protecting him completely.
"Now, hit me with all you've got!" Sekke taunted. "I'll defend you from your own weakness! You just can't win, bah-ha!"
Asta was quiet for a second. Then, a low, animalistic growl rumbled from his chest.
"I'm not here," Asta said, his voice terrifyingly calm, "to give up."
SHIIIING.
He pulled the sword.
The entire arena—candidates and captains alike—froze. The blade was a massive, rusted, dirty slab of iron.
"What... what is that?!" a noble shrieked. "A sword? How pathetic!"
"He's not just using a sword," Lencar whispered to himself, his eyes wide. "He's... moving."
Before Sekke could even process the weapon, Asta exploded from a standstill. His Mana-Forged 2.0 body was fast, but Asta's body was a different beast entirely—a bundle of pure, anti-magic-fueled muscle.
He was a black blur.
CLAAAAANG-CRASH!
The Anti-Magic sword didn't just hit the bronze shield; it obliterated it, shattering Sekke's spell into a thousand pieces.
Sekke's "Bah-ha" died in his throat.
Asta, moving with the momentum, spun and slammed the flat of the giant blade into Sekke's stomach.
THWACK.
Sekke went flying, tumbling end-over-end before crashing into the arena wall, out cold.
Again, the fight had lasted seconds.
"...Winner... Asta."
The silence this time wasn't awe. It was profound, disturbed confusion.
"He... he beat magic... with nothing?"
"What was that sword?"
On the observation deck, the captains were baffled.
"How vulgar," Nozel sniffed.
"A fluke," Fuegoleon noted, though his eyes were sharp.
But Lencar watched the two most important captains.
William Vangeance was rigid. He wasn't looking at Asta; he was staring, horrified, at the sword. "He sees it," Lencar thought, his blood running cold. "He recognizes Licht's sword. Asta just painted a bullseye on his back for the leader of the Midnight Sun."
And then, there was Yami Sukehiro.
The Captain of the Black Bulls was leaning forward, his cigarette dangling. He was, for the first time, not bored. His eyes were wide.
Then, he threw his head back and roared with laughter.
"HAHAHAHA! NOW THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT! A KID WITH NO MAGIC JUST CRUSHED A MAGE! I LOVE IT!"
The examiner, flustered by the day's events, looked back at his list.
"Next! Lencar of Sosie vs. ..."