The clang of iron echoed across the frostbitten training field, setting a harsh tone for the next round of the trials. Snow crunched underfoot as Sid stepped into the circle, his breath misting in the morning air.
Opposite him stood a young man named Rian, a long-limbed commoner who had already stirred the audience by defeating a noble in his first match. He surprised everyone earlier as he showcased intermediate-level aura mastery when he easily dispatched his enemy. His iron staff spun slowly in one hand, humming in a low tone as it disturbed the crisp northern wind.
Whispers rippled across the watching crowd.
"A wizard with a sword? What a joke."
"Why not use a walking stick if you're not casting spells?"
"Maybe he thinks it's still class time at the Academy."
Sid ignored the jeers. His gaze locked on Rian's steady footwork and the calculated sway of his staff. The iron rod didn't move like a stiff blunt weapon. It moved like a living serpent, coiling through the air with deceptive grace, striking when least expected.
Rian grinned. "Didn't expect to see another face like mine here. Commoners like us ought to stick together. Although, I'm not about to let you win, if that's what you're hoping."
Sid said nothing. Words had little weight when his head was still pounding from yesterday's climb and his muscles ached with every breath. He stepped forward without flourish, sword held at a downward angle.
High above the ring, the four garrison commanders watched from a raised platform, their expressions varying widely.
Marshal Elira Thorne stood with arms clasped behind her back, her eyes scanning the movement below with the intensity of a scholar dissecting rare battle footage. She murmured to herself, seemingly cataloging every twitch and adjustment on the field.
"The commoner's motions emulate serpentine momentum. His staff work builds deceptive arcs that lure reactions before snapping into precision strikes. His lower body rotation suggests a focus on lateral control, meaning he prioritizes dominance of space, not raw speed," she said aloud.
Commander Haldren, meanwhile, had already leaned halfway over the railing, voice loud enough to drown out any subtlety. "Pfft! What about the other one? Looks like someone put a sword in the hands of a scarecrow! Too stiff, too cautious! Probably thinks he's still in an Academy classroom! You call that a guard stance? Looks like he's waiting to get smashed!"
Kelra stood apart, leaning casually against the support post, his fingers brushing the hilt of his sidearm. "Mm. Playing a longer game," he said with a lazy smirk. "Could be dangerous, but still needs more time."
General Varick Stormeater gave no comment. His arms were crossed. His gaze lingered.
Metals clashed sharply.
Rian slithered into range, sweeping the staff low. Sid jumped back, his toes barely lifting as the iron rod whooshed past his legs. Another flick, and the staff whirled overhead. Sid twisted his neck, letting the strike whistle past his ear by a thread.
"Just barely," Elira murmured. "He's gauging the patterns, not just dodging. He's collecting the movements in his mind."
"You mean staring and praying," Haldren said. "Watch. One misstep and his teeth'll be knocked halfway to Hollowshade."
Rian's staff danced like a serpent coiling midair, hissing in steel. Each motion layered on the last as it showcased a hypnotic rhythm of arcs and whips. Sid's foot pivoted along a half-melted patch of ice. The water glistened like a trap. He used it. Slipping slightly, his angle shifted unnaturally. Rian struck again, only to hit air as Sid stepped into the blind spot.
Their weapons clashed, metals clanging reverberates in the air. But Sid didn't try to overpower him. Instead, he guided the force away, rotating his hips to preserve momentum.
"Redirection," Elira muttered. "He's learned everything it seems."
Kelra smirked. "Looks like what we saw yesterday was just a preview."
In one swift motion, Sid locked Rian's wrist with his off-hand, turning the staff's power into a lever against its own wielder. The iron rod slammed into the ground.
Sid's shoulder struck Rian's torso as his left leg swept Rian's legs from under him. The taller youth stumbled and fell. Sid's sword quickly raised towards Rian's exposed neck.
The field went quiet.
Then, a few laughs. "Didn't even use magic."
"Is he pretending to be a knight now?"
The proctor raised a hand. "Match concluded. Victory to Sid."
Rian blinked, then let out a bark of laughter. "Alright. I walked into that one. Good fight, sword-mage."
Sid nodded once and walked away, expression unreadable.
His second match came an hour later. A lower-level aura user stepped up with his broad shoulders, steady breathing, typical of a one-handed dueling style. The terrain was churned mud with a snow patch near the edge.
Sid used the snow to trap the opponent's footing. When the aura user lunged, his heel was caught. A half-beat of imbalance is all it took as Sid struck diagonally. The sword met ribs. Another clean win as he saved his mana for his final fight.
As the proctor announced his victory, Sid lowered his sword and took a moment to breathe before moving away from the arena and slumping on one of the benches.
"Another win for the wizard," someone said with derision.
"Still no spells. What's he saving it for?"
"Maybe he can't cast!"
His eyes, half-lidded with exhaustion, were drawn once more to the edge of the field, where the priest from the Eastern continent stood, hands glowing with warm divine radiance.
The golden light, though faint in the sunlight, seemed to pulse in rhythm with life itself. Wounded participants lay in an orderly row before the priest, who moved down the line slowly, carefully, weaving incantations that glowed with quiet might.
Even without consciously reaching out, Sid could feel the nature of the divine power. Each syllable uttered by the priest, each motion of the glowing hand, translated into optimal effect. No wasted energy. No flourish for show. Just clean, efficient manipulation of aether.
No complex formulas. No redundant gestures. Just precise, efficient… chanting.
He furrowed his brows. He had seen fifth-level healing spells before as textbook examples, layered with glyph work and flares of magical resonance. But this… this was something else. Refined. As if all the inefficiencies had been burned away, leaving only the core. Truly, something closer to miracle than magic.
Is this divine magic's nature? Or something more?
His battered mind stirred, martial instinct brushing against his spellcraft. Living Armor was still far off but what if he could extract from this what the priest had? Clarity. Directness. Less about replication, more about necessity. If divine magic could sustain a dozen wounded with a flicker of power, then surely—
The roar of the crowd snapped him from his thoughts.
"Next match!"
The arena thundered once more, and Sid's moment of clarity slipped from his grasp like melting snow through open fingers.
All attention shifted back to the arena when Rian's name was called again. This time, he's up against Tarn Greyreign.
Rian tapped his staff twice. "Guess I'm back."
Tarn walked into the ring with sparks dancing between his knuckles. His Stormwatcher aura crackled with impatience. The Greyreign family for their lightning-aura usage and at higher masteries, they're known to fuse with lightning itself. Tarn seems to be at the intermediate-aura mastery level, as his lightning-aura freely crackle around his body.
"Back so soon? Don't you need more rest?" he sneered. "Don't go making any excuses for you losing, I'm going to make a definitive statement with this fight."
Rian spun his rod into a ready position. "Don't worry I won't whine like one of your noble dogs over there."
This prompted loud jeering from Tarn's corner. Tarn just smiles menacingly before closing the distance once the fight has started.
From the very first strike, lightning surged. The moment Rian parried a blow, the voltage jolted through the metal. He gritted his teeth as each contact burned across his forearms.
Tarn's strikes were not clean nor was it systematic. They were oppressive, erratic, and filled with raw force. Each slam sent tremors up the rod and into the ground. The air itself felt charged, crackling around every motion. The arena began to churn with static, each blow like thunder punching through still skies.
Rian's rod writhed like a serpent in agony, reacting to the lightning that coiled around it. With trembling hands and unsure grip, he tried to adapt quickly, pivoting back, using angled spins to disperse the charge. His staff began to dip, twirl, and coil like a snake in death throes.
Kelra leaned forward. "He's improvising. Turning it into a dance. But it's still… a losing battle."
Elira leaned forward slightly, beginning a rapid but detailed assessment. "His musculature is seizing. Voltage overload is triggering involuntary spasms. His elbows are locking, reducing his swing arc efficiency. His oxygen intake is compromised, likely disrupting aura circulation. A few more bursts, and he'll collapse from internal damage.".
"Bah!" Haldren shouted over the others. "He's trying to play eel against a lightning bolt! That's not improvisation, that's suicide! Drop the damn stick and roll off the field! No use trying to use metal around a thunderbolt!"
Rian let out a war cry, spinning for a wide arc strike meant to control the space and place some distance between them. Tarn didn't even flinch. He let the staff connect to his shoulder as he returned the gesture with a lightning-infused palm strike to Rian's sternum.
Rian staggered. Tarn advanced.
Another burst of aura surged. His foot stomped the ground, lightning webbing through the frost, forming cracks in the dirt as he approached like a storm given form.
Rian raised his staff in vain defense. Tarn's hand shot forward, gripping the rod and with a pulse of power, exploded it out of Rian's hands. Iron shattered like glass.
Then came the kicks. One to the ribs. Another to the thigh. Rian collapsed to the side, coughing blood.
The proctor began to step forward. "Match—"
Tarn raised a hand and loomed closer. "I'm not done."
Only Kelra interrupted, her voice booming over the arena. "That's enough."
The others did not speak, but their stern faces said more than words.
Tarn scoffs as he takes a step back and his cronies cheered amidst the quiet crowd. "That's how it's done!"
"Get up, rod-boy! Oh wait, you can't!"
As Rian was carried off the field, bruised and burned, Sid stood nearby, his eyes unmoving.
Tarn caught his gaze. "You next?" he smirked. "Try not to piss yourself, lowborn."
Sid didn't answer. But the air rumbled as if a break from the ensuing storm.