The sun shifted lower across the horizon as the announcer's voice boomed again, ringing through the training fields with enough force to make the bleachers tremble.
"Group Twelve—contestants prepare for Round Two!"
Alya nudged Mavis in the side. "That's you again. Try not to commit a felony this time."
"I didn't commit a felony," Mavis muttered.
"Almost."
"Almost doesn't count."
Alya opened her mouth, closed it, then nodded. "You're right. 'Almost maiming someone' isn't a felony. Probably."
Mavis groaned and pushed herself to her feet. Jerry stirred from around her neck, uncoiling slightly as if stretching. "Do not embarrass me again," he muttered.
"Me embarrass you?" Mavis whispered back. "You're the one who hissed at a referee during the last match."
"That referee had questionable fashion taste."
"You don't even know what fashion—"
But Jerry had already tucked himself back into position.
Mavis stepped down from the bleachers and approached the arena. The sand had been raked smooth between rounds, though scattered footprints from earlier matches still created a subtle map of where desperate students had scrambled, fallen, or fled.
The announcer read the names of her new opponents—another group of ten. This one included more trained fighters: a Fides squire with a shield strapped across his back, a nimble Invidia girl with a short sword, a stocky beastman boy wielding two daggers, and three nobles who looked like they practiced swordsmanship the way other nobles practiced breathing.
Mavis flexed her fingers around her sword hilt.
Alya had been right—she couldn't approach this fight the same way she fought fog beasts. These weren't things trying to kill her. She needed control.
Discipline.
Restraint.
Which was… hard. Fighting monsters called for instinct; fighting humans demanded intention.
"Contestants," the instructor called out, "take your positions!"
Mavis stepped into her assigned circle on the sand, placing her sword in a low ready position. Across from her, the Fides squire planted his feet, shield raised, sword gleaming under the late afternoon light. The crowd murmured.
"Begin!"
The squire moved first.
He closed the distance quickly, shield raised to batter, sword angled to follow. Mavis blocked the shield with her forearm—an impact that numbed her elbow—then ducked under his blade. She sidestepped, using his weight to pull him off balance.
He stumbled—not much, but enough.
She could've struck his exposed side. A fog beast would've had its throat cut by now.
But she forced herself to step back.
The squire recovered with a slight grin. "You're fast."
"Thanks," she replied, circling him.
He lunged again.
This time she countered with a low kick—less forceful than instinct urged—and swept his leg just enough to topple him. He hit the ground, grunted, and dropped his sword instinctively.
The instructor called, "Eliminated!"
Mavis stepped back, barely catching her breath before a shadow darted behind her. The Invidia girl attacked with quick, controlled cuts, her blade dancing like flickering candlelight. Mavis blocked the first slash, then the second. The third cut was too fast—Mavis ducked and rolled, sand scraping her palms.
"Stop running!" the girl snapped.
"I'm not running!" Mavis protested, spinning back to her feet.
"You're absolutely running!"
Mavis sighed. "Fine!"
She moved forward again, keeping her blade half-raised. The girl attacked with graceful precision, but Mavis used small parries and taps to redirect instead of clash. She guided the girl's sword upward, stepped inside her guard, and gently tapped her shoulder with her pommel.
The girl froze. "Was that—did you just—did you boop me with your sword?"
"It counts," Mavis said.
"No it does not!"
The instructor called, "Eliminated!"
"It counts," he added flatly.
The Invidia girl stomped away as if personally insulted.
Mavis turned—just in time to see the beastman boy lunging at her with both daggers spinning. He moved like a whirlwind, blades flashing silver in the sun.
Mavis blocked the first dagger, ducked the second, and used her elbow to nudge him off center. He recovered quickly and slashed again.
She parried, stepped in, and pressed her blade gently against his ribs.
"Yield?" she offered.
He considered it… then grinned sharply and vanished in a burst of speed.
Mavis blinked.
"Behind—!" Jerry hissed.
She spun just as the beastman reappeared, but his momentum betrayed him—Mavis leaned aside and tapped the back of his knee, sending him tumbling forward with a yelp.
The crowd clapped appreciatively.
"Eliminated!"
Three more challengers came at her, one at a time. A noble with a flamboyant stance, whom Mavis predicted three moves ahead. A Castimonia student who used mostly defensive swings—easy to bypass. And a commoner boy who attacked with strength but no form.
Mavis dispatched each without serious harm, though her arm throbbed from constant parries.
Finally, the announcer called, "Only two remain!"
Mavis turned and saw the last opponent—a tall noble dressed in silver armor, blade sharp and posture immaculate. His stance screamed classical training, the kind knights used in kingdom duels.
He bowed, polite and steady. "May we have a good match."
Mavis bowed back with a respectful nod. "I'll try not to break anything."
He stared. "…Thank you?"
The battle began swiftly.
He moved with precision Mavis hadn't seen yet—clean, sharp, elegant. Their swords clashed repeatedly, metal shrieking as sparks flew. Mavis gritted her teeth. His blade slid along hers like water, redirecting her heavier swings with frightening ease.
She had never fought someone this refined. Fog beasts didn't refine anything. They roared and clawed. This noble fought like a dancer.
He stepped forward, strike aimed at her shoulder. Mavis deflected but stumbled slightly, sand loosening under her boots.
"You have the strength," he noted, breathing steady. "But you lack discipline."
"Working on it," she replied, swinging again.
He blocked, twisted, and retaliated. His blade slid between her guard, tapping her wrist.
She hissed. He could've disarmed her if he wanted.
She needed to stop reacting like she was on a fog cliff edge. She needed to think.
Mavis tightened her stance, grounding herself.
She breathed in. Out. Let her muscles move with intention rather than panic.
Their swords clashed again, but this time she used smaller movements—quicker, tighter. She stepped inside his guard, forcing him backward. Their rhythm changed. His eyes widened slightly.
"What—?"
Mavis spun, low and sweeping. He jumped back too slowly. She tapped his knee with the flat of her blade. He stumbled and dropped to one knee.
The instructor raised a hand. "Eliminated! Winner: Contestant 217!"
The crowd roared louder than before.
Alya's voice cut through the noise. "THAT'S MY PIRATE!"
"I am not a pirate!" Mavis shouted back, cheeks heating.
The noble she defeated looked stunned, then smiled with genuine respect. "You're unusual, but strong. You'll go far."
Mavis blinked in surprise. "Uh… thanks?"
He bowed again politely before leaving the arena.
Mavis exited the ring, panting heavily. Sweat soaked her shirt. Sand clung to her boots. She had survived by force of will and instinct—but she was improving.
Alya greeted her with a grin so wide it practically split her face. "That. Was. AMAZING. I thought you were going to die at least three times!"
"Thanks for the faith," Mavis replied dryly.
"I mean that with love. Also, your sword form is still weird, but less murdery."
"I was trying."
"I noticed! You only almost killed one person!"
Mavis groaned.
They sat together in the bleachers to watch the next matches. Nobles clashed in a symphony of steel; Fides knights dueled with sweeping strength; Dolus students fought dirty; Castimonia students fought clean; Invidia contestants watched each other jealously.
And throughout the chaos, Mavis noticed one figure in the distance watching quietly.
Princess Seraphina Valehart.
Her hazel eyes followed each match with sharp interest.
When Mavis's gaze met hers—just for a moment—Seraphina didn't look away.
She tilted her head slightly.
As if appraising her.
Then she turned and continued studying the arena floor.
Mavis's heartbeat quickened for reasons she refused to examine.
Alya nudged her. "You're staring."
"I'm… studying."
"Her face?"
"Shut up."
Alya laughed again.
Below them, the next announcer's call echoed across the sand.
"Prepare for Round Three!"
Mavis exhaled.
Three rounds down.
And every fight would only grow harder from here.