CHAPTER 31 — Entrance exam (3)
The arena seemed to hold its breath.
Rowan stood still at one end, his fingers tightening around the wooden grip of his axe. The familiar handle pressed into his palm— grounding him. His shoulders were relaxed, but his stance carried a quiet readiness, like a woodsman waiting for the exact moment to bring the blade down.
Across from him—
Cyan of Westvale Academy.
Tall. Straight-backed. Staff held loosely in one hand.
But his eyes…
Rather then being sharp with intent.
They were dull with confusion.
'The hell's with this guy?'
Cyan's gaze drifted over Rowan again—starting from his boots, climbing up to the smoky violet jacket along with the white threaded emblem,
Everything looked natural for a mage student.
But there was one thing that looked unnatural.
And that was...
The axe resting around Rowan's hand .
Cyan's brows knit slightly, as if trying to make sense of something that simply refused to fit into logic
'They said he's from a dojo… right?'
His fingers shifted on the smooth shaft of his staff.
'What kind of dojo uses an axe instead of a wand… or a staff?'
His brows furrowed slightly as he tried to make sense of it. There was something… off about the entire picture standing in front of him. Something that didn't fit into the system he had been taught.
And that unfamiliarity—it unsettled him more than any visible threat.
There was a faint murmur in the crowd, like wind brushing across tall grass. Even the spectators leaned forward, curiosity flickering across their faces.
The commentator's voice rang across the stadium.
"Alright. Participants, get ready!"
Then—
A sharp chime echoed across the stadium.
3...
Rowan adjusted his footing, shifting his weight slightly forward.
2...
Cyan adjusted his footing, his grip tightening just a fraction.
1...
The world seemed to narrow—
"Battle Begains!"
Rowan moved first.
No hesitation.
His axe rose high—
—and came down in a clean, decisive arc.
"Fire Chop."
A blazing crescent tore through the air, its edges shimmering with heat. The flame wasn't wild—it was controlled, compressed, sharp like a blade rather than a blaze.
Cyan's reaction was almost lazy.
He barely shifted his stance as he pointed his staff forward.
He lifted his staff lazily, almost casually, as though this was just another routine duel. The air around the tip of his staff stirred… then twisted… then compressed into a tight spiral.
"Wind Burst."
A concentrated blast of wind formed at the tip of his staff—a tight, spiraling current—
and shot forward.
The two spells collided.
For a brief moment—
they resisted each other.
Fire crackled. Wind howled.
Then—
Cyan's eyes widened.
The fire didn't vanish.
It fed on the wind.
The crescent flared brighter, slicing through the weakened gust and continuing forward—faster, stronger.
'What—?!'
He barely had time to react.
The flaming arc struck his arm.
"—!"
His grip faltered.
The impact wasn't explosive—but sharply Precise.
His staff slipped from his fingers—
spinning through the air.
A collective gasp rippled through the audience.
Even the commentator's voice faltered for a heartbeat.
Cyan's pupils shrank
But then—
His body moved before his thoughts caught up.
His hand snapped upward—
Fingers catching the staff by it's edge in
mid-air.
The moment his fingers closed around it, he slammed the base of the staff against the ground.
Water wall.
A surge of water rose from the ground in front of him.
It wasn't chaotic—it flowed with purpose, folding over itself, layering into a thick barrier that shimmered under the sunlight. The surface rippled continuously, like a living shield breathing in slow motion.
Another flaming crescent that Rowan had just launched slammed into it—
The water hissed violently—
Steam burst outward—
And the fire dissolved into nothing.
Huff... Huff... Huff...
Cyan staggered back a step, his chest rising and falling. His injured arm trembled slightly, heat still biting into his skin.
His fingers tightening around the staff as if reassuring himself it was still there.
He bit his lips and grabbed the staff on the other hand.
Across the arena—
Rowan had already raised his axe again.
Ready for another swing.
Cyan swallowed.
A memory surfaced—his master's voice, calm but firm.
'When you go to Grand Aetherion… you will see many talented individuals.'
His jaw clenched.
'Some may look ordinary… but remember this—'
Cyan's grip tightened.
'Anyone who reaches that place… is far from ordinary.'
He exhaled slowly.
His stance lowered.
This time—
His eyes sharpened, breath steadied.
'Yeah, no one who has made it this far is ordinary.'
---
"Oh ho! What an opening exchange!" the commentator's voice burst back to life.
"Rowan has already forced Cyan on the defensive—but look at those reflexes! Recovering mid-air and casting a defensive spell instantly… impressive!"
Up in the viewing stands, several prominent mages leaned forward.
"That spell…" one muttered, eyes narrowing. "Did it really come from that axe?"
"that looked quite different from other spells," another added quietly.
"A cresent shaped spell?" One muttered.
"Has there been any of that spell noted in spell books?"
A third observer, older and silent until now, rested his chin on his hand.
"Either that weapon is special…"
His gaze sharpened slightly.
"…or the boy is."
Back in the arena—
The spells were raging forward.
Colliding with each other.
Rowan stepped forward
Rowan's axe cut through the air again.
"Wind Chop."
A sharp arc of compressed wind sliced
forward—
Cyan struck his staff against the ground.
"Stone Wall!"
The earth trembled—
Then surged upward into a jagged wall of stone. Its surface was rough, uneven, but solid—rooted deep into the arena floor.
The wind struck the stone—
Cracks spread instantly across it's surface—
Then—
Shattered.
Fragments burst outward, scattering across the ground.
Cyan clicked his tongue.
But Before he could fully react—
another attack followed.
Water chop.
A flowing arc curved behind the wind, slipping through the broken fragments and striking his side.
"Ugh—!"
He staggered.
His feet slid across the ground, boots scraping against stone.
'What's with his pattern."
Cyan's breathing grew heavier
'It's like he is throwing whatever he likes.'
Rowan lifted his axe prepared for another swing.
A memory flickered in his mind.
A chalkboard.
Riven was standing before it, tapping lightly against drawn symbols.
"See this?"
Elements sketched in rough shapes—fire, water, wind, frost.
"This is your pattern."
Rowan, sitting cross-legged, leaned forward slightly.
"You always start with fire… then shift to water… and when that fails—you panic and throw in wind."
"Hmm... " Rowan hummed softly scratching his cheek.
"Well... I mean, It works sometime."
His gaze was fixed on the black board.
"That's not the point."
Riven tapped at the black board again.
"You need variations. Controlled variations."
His finger moved across the symbols.
"What you need to do is. Shift between patterns. Right now your pattern is fire water frost. You can change it in everytime to confuse your opponent. Like use water wind fire. Or wind fire water. Or frost wind water.
Riven's gaze sharpened.
"The more diverse and unpredictable your patterns are the more it will be difficult for your opponent to read you."
He paused—then added quietly—
"But also remember not to reveal too much to your opponent."
Rowan blinked. "Huh?"
"There will be many other contestants who will be analysising you. And even your opponent. At first your spells would look absurd to them."
Riven turned and wiped the board.
"But when they realise their powers they will start analysising you. And If they finished analysing you then you would be in trouble."
"But if I fight, wouldn't they see my spells anyway." Rowan asked.
Riven looked at Rowan's eyes and then brought a suggestion.
"Yeah! but There is a way, just finish your fight quickly before others could analysis you."
Back to present.
Rowan swings his axe again.
Wind chop
Water chop
A sharp wind roared forward. Followed by a raging arc of water.
Cyan raised another stone wall.
Blocking the wind...
But the wind shattered the stone and then The following water surged through the debris— hitting Cyan on his already injured arm.
"Ugh—!"
Cyan stepped back after getting hit by the spell.
Huff... huff... huff...
'what's with this guy's spell?'
He clenches his teeth.
'I have never seen any spell like that.'
He looked at his wrist.
Remaining HP — 19
He clenches his teeth.
His jaw tightened.
Across from him—
Rowan raised his axe again.
No wasted motion.
No hesitation.
Just… intent.
Then—
Water chop
Fire chop.
The two arcs came one after the other—
The flame overlapped the water, steam bursting outward as both attacks rushed in tandem.
Cyan's reaction came a fraction too late.
He raised his staff—
—but the timing slipped.
The attacks hit.
Both arc of fire and water slammed into his body.
He was thrown back by the impact.
The arena floor glowed faintly.
Before he could crash—
his body dissolved into light and was ejected outside the battlefield.
---
For a moment—
there was silence.
A suspended breath.
Then—
BOOM.
The crowd erupted
"WOAH—!"
"Amazing."
"That was pretty good!"
The sounds of claps and cheers filled the stadium.
"The axe guy was not bad huh..."
"I never knew you can cast a spell with an axe."
"hah! Right."
Applause thundered across the arena, echoing against the towering walls.
Rowan stood where he was, chest rising slowly, axe still in hand.
The noise washed over him—
But didn't reach him.
Not fully.
High above—
"That was a clean finish," one mage remarked, arms crossed.
A mage spoke from the high place.
"Right?" he turned towards another mage beside him.
The guy rubbed his chin.
"Hmm... Yeah it was."
"Hey... Come on turn that frown upside down." his friend said.
The quiet guy tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly.
"The way that axe guy's spells moved. It reminds of the signature spell of a mage."
"Huh...?" The man beside him snorted.
A signature spell is a unique spell of a mage that he creates himself. That spell becomes his identity. It's like a reflection of a mages journey.
"There is no way a student would have a signature spell already. How long do you even think his magical journey even is."
"Hmm... Yeah it's true." The quiet man exhaled softly.
---
Rowan turned.
Without looking back—
He walked out of the arena.
Step by step.
The noise behind him faded with distance.
The sunlight outside felt calmer—quieter.
In the stands—
Eldric watched him leave.
A faint smile tugged at his lips, his eyes following Rowan's retreating figure.
"…Not bad," he muttered under his breath.
Then, leaning back slightly, he added—
"…you're finally starting to fight like a mage."
---
CHAPTER ENDS