By the time Mavis's name was called again, the sun had begun its slow drop behind the academy's tall spires, turning the training fields gold. The light cast long shadows across the arena—shadows Mavis couldn't help but think made the entire place feel like a battleground rather than a school exam.
"Contestant 217, report to Arena Three!" an instructor shouted.
Alya poked her shoulder with a claw-tip. "Alright, round three. This is where people start fighting seriously. Not that you weren't fighting seriously before, but, uh—maybe don't almost drown yourself this time?"
"That was an accident," Mavis muttered, adjusting the sword at her hip.
"Most near-death incidents are."
Jerry lifted his head from her collar and hissed, "She had everything under control."
Alya raised an eyebrow. "She was drowning in a bubble."
"A tactical bubble."
"A tactical bubble that almost suffocated her."
"Tactical."
"Jerry," Mavis sighed, "please don't start arguing before my match."
The serpent huffed and coiled tighter around her neck. Alya leaned forward conspiratorially.
"You know he's just acting tough, right? When you were in the bubble, he panicked."
"I did not panic," Jerry snarled.
"You puffed up like a pufferfish."
"I was assessing the situation."
"You squeaked."
"It was a battle cry."
"It was a squeak."
Jerry hissed threateningly, but Mavis stepped away before the argument could devolve.
"I'll be back," she promised. "Don't fight anyone in the stands."
"No guarantees," Jerry muttered.
Alya waved her off with a grin. "Good luck! Avoid death! And maybe try smiling at your opponent before you attack—so you look less like a murderer!"
Mavis rolled her eyes and jogged down the steps.
Arena Three was different. Larger. The sand was rougher, disturbed by dozens of earlier battles, and the air carried the excited tension of a crowd hungry for drama.
There were only six contestants left in this bracket now.
Six who had survived the last two rounds.
Six who were no longer ordinary opponents.
She scanned the field.
A tall Dolus boy with a thin smirk and two short blades.
A lean Castimonia student with a spear longer than Mavis was tall.
A Fides trainee with heavy armor and a tower shield that looked impossible to move.
A beastwoman with a whip-sword that crackled faintly with mana.
A commoner boy she recognized—the timid one, number 211. He held his sword like it was a poisonous snake, legs trembling.
And Mavis.
The instructor stepped forward. "Listen carefully. Round Three operates under the threefold elimination rule. Strike a killing blow, you're removed. Attempt a killing blow, you're removed. Use magic? Allowed, but reckless spells that risk lives will disqualify you."
He paused, staring at Mavis a beat too long.
She pretended not to notice.
"Your goal is simple: Outlast the other five. You may fight defensively, offensively, or in temporary alliances. Once the whistle blows, anything short of lethal force is permitted."
The contestants spread out.
The timid boy immediately gravitated behind the tower-shield trainee, as if hiding behind a living wall. The Dolus boy pointed his dual blades at Mavis and winked.
She stared.
"…No."
"Aww," he said, offended. "Not even a little fear?"
"Not even a little interest."
He sighed. "You'll warm up to me."
"I won't."
The instructor raised a whistle.
"Ready—!"
Mavis tightened her grip.
"—BEGIN!"
The whistle cut through the air.
The arena erupted.
The Castimonia spear-user moved first, sweeping the spear in a wide arc that forced the others apart like scattering birds. Mavis ducked the wind of it and rolled across the sand, using the momentum to rise smoothly.
The Dolus boy lunged in immediately, blades flashing silver.
She parried the first blade. Side-stepped the second. He was fast, faster than she expected, and he fought with the precise unpredictability that Dolus nobles were known for—strikes that looked messy but were designed to mislead.
"You learn quickly," he grinned, bringing his blade down.
She blocked overhead, the impact rattling her arms. "I learn how to block idiots."
He cackled. "Flirting already?"
"That wasn't—never mind."
A loud clash echoed across the arena—the Fides trainee smashing his shield into the beastwoman's whip-sword. Sparks erupted, her blade hissing with thin threads of mana as it retracted and snapped forward again.
The timid boy ran in circles.
Mavis blocked another strike and countered with a sharp elbow to the Dolus boy's ribs. He wheezed and stumbled back.
"Oof—violent," he gasped.
"You stabbed at my face."
"Fair."
She didn't get a chance to finish him—because the beastwoman's whip-sword blurred across her vision. Mavis ducked just in time. The blade extended and wrapped around the Dolus boy's ankle, yanking him off his feet.
"Hey—HEY! Not the face!"
The beastwoman rolled her eyes. "You talk too much."
The Dolus boy was dragged through the sand like a ragdoll.
Mavis didn't have time to laugh.
The spear-user thrust at her next.
She dodged left, parried right, sidestepped another sweeping arc. The spear was long enough to demand space—and he used that space well. His form was disciplined. Perfectly balanced. Annoyingly consistent.
"You lack lower body stability," the spear-user observed.
"I lack patience with long sticks."
"This is a spear."
"It's a long stick."
"It is not—"
Their blades met again with a sharp clang.
Behind them, the beastwoman's whip cracked like lightning against the Fides trainee's shield. He dug his boots into the sand, unmoving—like a living boulder.
The timid boy screamed and then accidentally tripped into the Castimonia spear-user, throwing the rhythm off.
The spear-user stumbled.
Mavis seized the opening.
She ducked under his blade, pivoted, and swept his legs—not with full force, but enough to drop him.
He hit the ground with a grunt.
The instructor yelled, "Eliminated!"
The spear-user sighed and pushed his glasses up. "Good form."
"Sorry," she said.
"I should apologize. I underestimated you."
He left the arena gracefully.
Mavis exhaled.
Three left.
The beastwoman, the Fides trainee, and—unfortunately—
"Miss me?" the Dolus boy called from behind her.
She froze.
He flashed a grin while brushing sand out of his hair. "They didn't eliminate me! Apparently being dragged is not the same as being struck down."
"…Damn."
He pointed two blades at her. "Ready for round two?"
"No."
"Too bad!"
The battle devolved into chaos again.
Mavis blocked a whip-strike, dodged the Fides trainee's shield bash, and barely parried a Dolus blade aimed at her wrists. She felt her breath growing shorter. Her arm ached. Her fingers were numb.
She needed to end this quickly.
The beastwoman struck again. Mavis ducked and grabbed the whip-sword with both hands—
The crowd gasped.
"Mavis, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Alya screamed.
Jerry hissed. "She's being a barbarian again!"
Mavis yanked the whip-sword forward, pulling the beastwoman off-balance. She twisted, spun, and tapped the beastwoman's stomach with her pommel.
The beastwoman fell with a soft, surprised grunt.
"Eliminated!"
Two left.
The Dolus boy and the Fides trainee.
The Dolus noble attacked her from the right. She parried and kicked him backward.
The Fides trainee slammed his shield toward her. She planted her feet and slid under the impact—but was forced back several steps.
Strength. Too much strength.
She needed an opening.
"Hey!" the Dolus boy said, waving a blade. "You two wanna team up? Take her down together?"
Mavis stared. "We're in a free-for-all."
"Yeah but she's scary!"
"I am not—"
"She is terrifying," the Fides trainee said calmly. "But we are not teaming up."
The Dolus boy groaned. "Fine. Let's all fight everyone, I guess."
The Fides trainee charged.
Mavis met his shield again—but this time, instead of resisting, she stepped aside. His momentum carried him past her—straight into the Dolus boy.
They crashed together.
The Dolus boy yelled, "YOU COULD'VE WARNED ME—"
The Fides trainee replied, "I had no obligation."
Mavis tapped the Dolus boy's back.
"Eliminated!"
He dropped to his knees, screaming at the sky, "CURSE YOU, LOVELY MURDER GIRL!"
Mavis ignored him.
Only the Fides trainee remained.
And he was recovering quickly.
He raised his shield.
"Impressive," he said. "But strength beats agility."
"Not if agility outsmarts strength," Mavis countered, raising her sword.
Their blades clashed.
He pushed forward—but she kept moving sideways, refusing to give him a stable angle. She pressed in quickly, slipping under his guard and aiming for his arm—
He blocked smoothly and shoved her back.
His shield crashed into her side. She gasped, stumbling.
He tried again.
She rolled.
He stomped.
She pivoted.
Then—she saw it.
An opening.
His shield was slightly lowered—just enough.
She rushed forward and tapped the center of his armor with her blade.
"Eliminated!" the instructor shouted.
The Fides trainee lowered his shield and bowed. "Well fought."
"You too," she said, breathless.
"Winner: Contestant 217!" the announcer called.
The crowd roared.
Alya screamed. Jerry hissed with pride. Nobles whispered. Commoners stared. Somewhere in the stands, Seraphina watched her with an unreadable expression.
Mavis felt her heartbeat pounding—not from the fight, but from the strange, growing tension.
She was making a name for herself.
Whether she wanted to or not.
She stepped out of the arena, sweat-soaked and exhausted—but something tugged at her attention.
The timid boy—number 211—stood waiting with a small, quiet smile.
"You fought well," he said softly.
"You too," Mavis replied.
He shook his head. "No. Not like you."
His eyes flickered toward the field.
"You fight like someone who's survived worse than anything here."
Mavis froze.
He bowed and walked off before she could respond.
Alya ran up next, tackling her in a hug.
"YOU DID AMAZING! YOU BEAT THREE NOBLES AND A BEASTWOMAN AND YOU DIDN'T EVEN ALMOST KILL ANYONE THIS TIME—"
Mavis laughed weakly.
Jerry curled contentedly around her neck.
As the sun dipped lower, the announcer's voice echoed again.
"Round Four contestants will gather in one hour!"
Mavis exhaled slowly.
She was still standing.
She was still fighting.
And the matches were only going to get harder.