Daemar walked a few paces closer, stopping in front of a thick steel target mounted at the far end of the hall. His tone was calm, but firm.
"Show me your strongest spell."
Noel blinked. "You serious?"
Daemar nodded once. "Don't hold back. This place can handle it. It's reinforced to withstand attacks from Ascendant-ranked mages and above. And judging by your mana density, you've midway Adept."
Noel looked around the chamber—pillars of stone reinforced with alloy, dozens of glowing sigils etched into the floor and walls. 'He's not lying. This place could probably survive a dragon.'
"Alright," he said. He stepped forward and exhaled slowly. "Let's see how it holds up."
He extended his right arm. Mana flowed into his palm, bright at first—orange, red, like liquid fire. But as Noel concentrated, the color deepened, turning crimson, then blood-red, then darker still. The flames compressed into a tight sphere, dense and vibrating. The light dimmed under its weight.
