"I'll teach you three spells by morning. One of them is a storage spell. Normally, I wouldn't start with that, but you'll be carrying the crystal fragment.
Since I don't want it stolen, you need to learn the dimensional storage spell first. The other two are simple attack and defense spells.
With your Crest of Knowledge still at the first stage, that's all you'll be able to learn for now."
---
The barbarian had black hair, black eyes, and stood about 192 centimeters tall.
His build was powerful, but there was nothing unusual about him—no scars, no wild grin, no dramatic aura. Just another fighter doing his job.
As soon as the referee called, "Start!", he moved.
His Crest of War pulsed red, and steam hissed off his body. Without hesitation, he stepped in and swung a heavy two-handed sword straight at Caelen's neck.
Caelen flinched in shock. He hadn't expected the man to go for a killing blow—not that quickly. He'd watched earlier matches. None of them had seemed this brutal.
He jumped back on instinct, narrowly avoiding the blade. The barbarian frowned.
"Why'd you dodge? Use your crest," he said, voice flat with irritation.
And just like that, Caelen realized his mistake.
He acted like his barbarian self and dodged.
Magi didn't dodge like that. They couldn't. They didn't train their bodies that way.
Well, one look at Caelen showed that he was exceptional among magi. He was taller than average, his frame strong, his body well-built, his posture balanced.
Of course, they thought so since they didn't know he was raised as a barbarian. So, when he jumped back like a barbarian, it was surprising and not magus-like.
Obviously, there were no rules saying magi couldn't have muscles or fight physically.
But, it meant taking time from their mind training and giving it to body training, which was a waste.
And Caelen was seen exactly like that. To them, he was just an underperforming magus.
Eighteen, still afraid of injury, all brawn, no refined magic, and only at the first stage of his crest.
So, in short, he seemed like a waste of potential.
Caelen, on the other hand, was reluctant to use magic since he only "learned" it and hadn't used it in a real situation yet.
Still, this was a situation he couldn't run away from.
Since there was a distance between him and the barbarian, he immediately cast a spell. It was something that took him once second to cast.
After one second passed, water shot between his two palms, heading directly toward the barbarian's chest and hitting it.
Well, it really happened that way. The only problem was, the water ejected wasn't strong.
No, it was so weak that it had the effect of emptying a cup of water on the barbarian. It just soaked his tunic and made him angry. That was it.
The barbarian didn't even grunt. He just blinked at the wet spot, slowly turning his gaze back to Caelen.
He looked... offended.
Even though this was a job, he didn't like to be hit. And worse, this wasn't even a hit. It just made him wet.
Caelen's fear started to spike again under the angry gaze of the barbarian.
He hadn't thought that the spell would be this weak.
That was it? That's what that old man taught me? Thanks a lot, Idel, he thought bitterly.
Then he noticed the barbarian had already closed the distance. Caelen's mind lagged behind.
The sword was coming again.
Neck.
This time, there was no room to dodge.
He had one option: use his defensive spell. It was instant. He just needed to cast it.
But he hesitated.
What if it fails? What if it's another dud? His body locked up. The fear wasn't just emotional—it was carved into his instincts.
If the spell didn't work like the attack spell he used, the sword would take his head. Simple as that.
This was the worst thing that could happen to a magus in a fight, and it was the reason two magi were way stronger than one.
When Caelen didn't cast his spell, there were only two options left.
One was doing nothing and dying at the spot.
And the second was sacrificing one hand by raising it to block the sword. He would lose a hand, but he would live.
Unfortunately, even Favia wasn't rid of her fears, or instincts in this case, enough to sacrifice an arm for her life, let alone Caelen.
So, he froze like a stone statue.
His body wouldn't move.
The sword approached, slicing through the air with terrifying speed.
With that speed, it would easily cut Caelen's head off without any resistance, but Caelen still didn't move.
The sword cut his head off.
No, it stopped.
The blade touched his neck and cut just deep enough to draw blood, then halted.
The barbarian had pulled the strike.
It was intentional. The barbarian wasn't here to kill.
A shallow wound. A scar. Just enough to activate pain, not death.
This was the first step. The beginning of overcoming fear. A real injury.