The silence following Asta's victory was eventually broken by the Proctor clearing his throat nervously. "Winner: Asta!"
As Asta was escorted off the field, still buzzing with adrenaline, the mood in the arena shifted from dismissal to wary curiosity. The peasants were energized; the nobles were offended.
"Next match!" the Proctor announced. "Candidate 164, Yuno! Versus Candidate 44, Salim de Hapshass!"
Yuno walked calmly onto the field. His expression remained unchanged, a cool mask of indifference. Opposite him strode a young noble dressed in excessive finery, his face twisted into a sneer of profound distaste. Salim de Hapshass was from a prominent noble family, and having witnessed a commoner like Asta humiliate one of his social peers, he was eager to restore the natural order.
"You're the other one from Hage, aren't you?" Salim spat, his grimoire—a respectable three-leaf—glowing with crackling yellow mana. "It's disgusting. You rats shouldn't even be allowed in the capital, let alone holding grimoires. I'll vaporize you and wash the stain of your existence off this arena."
Yuno didn't respond. He didn't even open his grimoire. He just raised one hand, palm open.
Salim, enraged by the dismissal, poured his mana into a massive attack. "Don't ignore me, peasant! Lightning Magic: Thunder God's Judgment Spear!"
A massive javelin of concentrated lightning formed above Salim's head. It crackled violently, smelling of ozone, causing the hair on the arms of the spectators to stand on end. It was a high-level spell, easily Stage Five in power, capable of punching a hole through a small building.
Salim hurled it. The spear streaked toward Yuno in a blinding flash.
Yuno's fingers twitched.
Wind Magic: Towering Tornado.
He didn't shout the spell name. He barely whispered it. A massive pillar of green wind erupted from the ground around Salim. It wasn't just air; it was a localized hurricane.
The lightning spear struck the outer wall of the tornado and was instantly dispersed, torn apart by the superior rotational force of Yuno's wind. The tornado then collapsed inward, engulfing Salim completely.
The noble screamed as he was lifted off his feet, spun around violently, and then deposited gently but firmly on the ground, unconscious, his fine clothes tattered.
Yuno lowered his hand. The wind vanished instantly. He hadn't moved a single step from his starting position.
The arena erupted, but this time, it was pure awe. Even the nobles couldn't deny what they had just seen.
"Magnificent," William Vangeance whispered from behind his mask, his eyes fixed on Yuno. "The beloved of mana. A true four-leaf clover."
"Hmph," Nozel crossed his arms, though his eyes were sharp. "That level of control without a grimoire active... he is undeniably powerful. A shame about his lineage."
The matches continued, the sun finally setting and magical lights illuminating the arena. Lencar watched as candidates won and lost, building a mental database of their abilities. Finally, his number was called.
"Final match of the day! Candidate 166, Lencar! Versus Candidate 92, Ignis Vermillion!"
Lencar walked onto the field, pulling his hood slightly lower. He recognized the name. Ignis was a distant cousin of the main Vermillion line—Fuegoleon's family. He possessed immense raw magical power but was infamous for his short temper and lack of tactical awareness.
Ignis stepped out, already wreathed in flames. He was a large young man with fiery red hair and an arrogant scowl.
"Another cloaked rat," Ignis sneered, spitting on the ground. "My cousin Fuegoleon might be too honorable to say it, but I'm not. Peasants like you belong in the fields, not playing knight. Surrender now and save me the mana."
Lencar said nothing. He assumed a loose, defensive stance, his knees slightly bent. His blank grimoire floated beside him, glowing with a faint, indistinct light.
Tactical Analysis: Ignis is a Stage Five Fire Mage. High destructive output, low efficiency. If I use my full strength—combining Wind, Earth, and Fire—I could end this in ten seconds. Result: Unacceptable attention.
Revised Strategy: Use basic Wind Magic only. Focus solely on evasion. Frustrate him. Let him burn his own reserves.
"Ignored again?!" Ignis roared. His grimoire flared open. "Fire Magic: Spiral Flame Burst!"
A torrent of spinning fire erupted toward Lencar. It was wide and hot enough to slag stone.
Lencar didn't try to block it. He channeled wind mana into his legs—Wind Creation: Zephyr Step—and burst sideways. He moved just fast enough to clear the area of effect, the heat singing the edge of his cloak.
"Coward! Stand still!" Ignis yelled, pivoting and launching another volley. "Fireball Barrage!"
Dozens of fireballs rained down. Lencar weaved through them, a phantom in the flickering light. He used minimal movements, slipping between the attacks with an infuriating calmness. To the audience, it looked like he was barely surviving, scrambling desperately to avoid being incinerated.
Up on the balcony, Jack the Ripper yawned. "Boring. The hooded kid is just running away. No killer instinct."
"He's agile," Charlotte admitted. "But he has no offense. He can't dodge forever."
That was exactly what Ignis thought. After five minutes of continuous casting, Ignis was breathing heavily, sweat pouring down his face. His mana reserves were dipping below 40%.
"STOP MOVING YOU FILTHY INSECT!" Ignis screamed, losing all composure. He poured everything he had left into one massive, sloppy spell. "Grand Flame Emperor's Annihilation Wave!"
A tsunami of fire rolled across the arena. It was impressive in scale, but slow and poorly aimed.
Lencar watched it come. Mana expenditure: 85%. Target is now exhausted.
Lencar didn't dodge sideways this time. He ran forward, straight at the wave, then dove low, sliding under the crest of the flames where the heat was least intense, propelled by a burst of wind at his back.
He popped up directly in front of the panting, wide-eyed Ignis.
Ignis tried to raise a defensive shield, but his mana sputtered and died. He was running on fumes.
Lencar didn't use a flashy spell. He didn't conjure a massive wind blade. He formed a small, highly compressed sphere of air in his palm—Wind Magic: Air Bullet.
He slammed it directly into Ignis's solar plexus.
"Guh—!" Ignition's eyes rolled back in his head as the wind knocked the air from his lungs and shocked his diaphragm. He crumpled to the ground, out cold.
The Proctor blinked. It was such an anti-climactic finish after the massive fire show. "Winner... Lencar!"
There were scattered polite applause, mostly confused murmurs.
Up on the balcony, the captains exchanged glances.
"Well, that was underwhelming," Rill Boismortier muttered, poking his snot bubble. "The fire guy blew himself up and the wind guy just... poked him."
"A win is a win," Gueldre Poizot shrugged. "Though he showed no real power. Just decent evasion. He might make a passable scout, I suppose. Cheap labor."
Yami Sukehiro snorted, finally waking up fully. "Kid fights like a cockroach. Hard to squash, but not exactly terrifying."
Lencar walked off the field, ignoring the stares. He hadn't impressed anyone. He hadn't shown any unique magic. He was just a lucky, evasive commoner who outlasted a stupid noble.
Mission accomplished, Lencar thought, feeling the weight of the captains' dismissal settle over him like a comfortable blanket. Now, we wait for the draft.