Sarina's brows lifted in surprise by the sight of the fireball.
But Ace? He didn't move.
He didn't even blink.
The spell was loosed with a high-pitched boom, flying at him like a blazing comet.
The students gasped — the air shimmered, the mana howled—
And Ace simply stepped forward.
He didn't draw his sword.
Instead — with a precise breath, he infused mana into the edge of his palm.
He chopped.
A single strike.
Mana burst from his hand like a sharp crescent of invisible force. The fireball met it—
—and collapsed.
A thunderclap echoed.
The enhanced fireball didn't explode. It shattered into countless tiny red floating embers, leaving only a faint scorch mark where it met his chop.
The arena fell silent.
Ace's palm blurred again.
He vanished and reappeared in front of Emilia in a blink, his hand posed at her neck like the flat of a sword.
She froze.
'How… did he…?'
It wasn't just speed.
It was clarity. Control. Domination.
Her spirits scattered, retreating behind her shoulders.
For the first time in her life, Emilia Vel'Faera was completely outmatched by someone her age.
Before she could speak—Thud.
Ace's fist drove gently but firmly into her gut.
Not enough to harm — just enough to knock her out of breath.
She let out a soft gasp as her knees buckled, and she tumbled backward — sliding off the platform, fell on the floor.
Catherine remained silent, but her gaze lingered on Ace.
Ace didn't gloat.
Didn't speak.
He just turned and walked away, sliding his hand back into his pocket.
Sarina raised her hand. "Match won — Ace Thornevale."
In the crowd, the murmurs were now stunned silence.
"He didn't even draw his sword…"
"Against that spell and with one move…"
"She's a prodigy! How did he—"
"What… is he…?"
Emilia laying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, stunned and breathless. Her spirits huddled around her, confused and anxious.
'He can see spirits. '
'He countered my best spell... With a single move… '
She touched her stomach gently and sat up, still stunned.
'How are you this strong, Ace Thornevale…? '
As Emilia sat at the edge of the sparring ground, still stunned from her defeat, the next names were called.
"Next match — Pete versus Byron Drelthor."
The crowd stirred.
Byron was a mage from the Marqen duchy — a quiet, reserved boy with solid fundamentals and an affinity for wind magic.
Pete, on the other hand, was already famous: the hero blessed by the goddess, wielder of the sacred sword, chosen by the light.
Yet only murmurs followed him now. His earlier righteous declarations had earned him attention… but not admiration. Not yet.
The match began.
Byron immediately gained the upper hand — hurling sharp wind blades and barriers with fluid precision. Pete swung and dashed, but his movements were raw — unrefined compared to his opponent's precise casting.
"He's struggling…"
"His movement are clumsy…"
"Isn't he supposed to be the hero?"
Pete grit his teeth, narrowly dodging another slicing gust that cut a tear in his shoulder fabric. He was getting pushed back.
Then it happened.
A sudden flash. Not of light — but of power.
A pulse surged from Pete's body — like a ripple of divine heat. His sword gleamed faintly, glowing with something more than just mana. For a split second, his eyes flickered — gold dancing across his pupils.
Everyone felt it.
"W-What is that?"
"He isn't using his full strength?"
"No… something changed."
Pete vanished and reappeared directly in front of Byron — his swing a single, clean arc of radiant force.
Byron was knocked off his feet and lost conscious mid-air.
The crowd roared.
Sarina Kallen raised her hand. "Winner — Pete."
Even she looked slightly surprised.
Pete stood there, breathing hard. For a moment, his expression seemed dazed — like even he didn't know what had just happened.
From the sideline, Catherine's brows furrowed.
' That was the divine power… '
A few matches passed.
One of them belonged to Lucy.
She stood on the stage nervously, facing a girl from the eastern border territories. The match was hard-fought — Lucy relying on agile movements and fast strikes to avoid the spells.
She took a few hits — but in the end, she outlasted her opponent and won.
Her smile was small, proud. The crowd applauded lightly.
Ace didn't cheer. But when Lucy looked toward him, his subtle nod was enough.
Meanwhile, Emilia's focus was on something else.
Her gaze wasn't on the matches anymore.
Her eyes remained fixed on Ace.
He wasn't looking at her.
And as her eyes drifted, Emilia's gaze caught something unexpected.
His hands.
There were bruises, faint marks of scar tissue lined his knuckles. Not the scars of injury…
…but of relentless training.
' He's a monster… but not the way people say. '
' He's strong. But it wasn't just a gift. he refined his talent. '
And for the first time, Emilia's contempt was laced with something more complex.
Respect.
Curiosity.
And a quiet, uneasy fear.
As the final spar concluded and murmurs of awe and speculation spread across the training field, Instructor Sarina Kallen clapped her hands, the crisp sound cutting through the crowd.
"Alright, that's enough for today!" she announced, her clear voice effortlessly rising above the din. "You've all done well."
Students began to gather around her, some still rubbing bruises or catching their breath.
Her gaze swept across the crowd — firm, yet not unkind.
"Let me give some quick pointers."
Her eyes landed on Pete, who was busy adjusting the strap of his holy sword with a proud glint in his eyes.
"Pete" she called.
He straightened. "Yes, ma'am?"
"You lost control of your strength."
Pete blinked, confused. "I—he was about to cast again. I had to finish it—"
"You knocked him out cold," she said flatly. "A spar is a test of control, not domination."
She paused, her tone sharpening just a touch. "If you weren't the chosen Hero, that level of damage in a controlled match would have resulted in punishment."
Pete opened his mouth, but the weight of her gaze made him shut it again.
The crowd fell quiet. Even the duke's sons behind him looked away.
Satisfied, Sarina moved on, giving brief but valuable feedback to several others — correcting stances, pointing out unnecessary movements, reminding mages about casting efficiency.
Finally, she turned back to the group.
"That's all for today. Dismissed. You'll be split into proper sub-classes starting tomorrow — warriors, mages, archers, and healers will meet in different divisions. Be prepared."
Students began to gather their things, chatter returning to the air.
"Thornevale," Sarina called out sharply.
Ace, who had already started walking toward the edge of the training ground, halted.
He turned his head slightly, white hair catching the sunlight. "What?"
"Stay behind. I need a word."
As the students heard Sarina call out Ace, many paused near the exits, pretending to tie shoelaces or adjust gear — anything to steal a glance at what would happen between Ace Thornevale and Instructor Sarina Kallen.
Whispers rippled.
"Why did she stop him?"
"Maybe she's going to scold him... No one dares, but she—"
"But she's just a lesser noble. What if he retaliates?"
Eyes flickered toward Ace, standing calm and unmoved.
Even Pete, standing off to the side with a few nobles, could hear the murmurs. At first, he ignored them, but as he heard Sarina's name mentioned with concern, his eyes narrowed. Something sparked within him.
Straightening his back and tightening the grip on his holy sword, Pete strode forward confidently and came to a stop between Sarina and Ace.
"I don't know what you called him for, Instructor," Pete said, his voice carrying loud and clear across the field, "but if he dares to hurt even a strand of your hair, I'll step in. A woman as beautiful and noble-hearted as you shouldn't face someone like him alone."
Gasps echoed. A few girls even rolled their eyes. But Sarina… paused.
This was the first time someone did something like this for her. Her cheeks flushed faintly — just for a second — caught off guard by the hero's words.
Pete caught the shift in her expression and smirked inwardly. Perfect.
But then—
Ace, who had remained quiet, slowly turned his full attention toward the hero. His cold, white eyes locked onto Pete's with something between amusement and disdain.
His voice, low and calm, cut through the tension like a knife:
"Why are you insulting her?"
The question made Pete blink. "What?"
Ace took a step forward, the metal of his sword clinking lightly at his hip.
"To claim you will protect a first-rate warrior — a woman who raised her family's status with her sword alone. But You have reduced her strength to her looks. That's not praise. That's pity."
The room was silent.
Even the wind stilled.
Sarina's blush vanished. Her jaw clenched. She turned her eyes toward Pete — and they weren't soft anymore.
"Ace is right," she said, voice sharp. "You embarrassed me."
Pete staggered. "I—what? I was just—"
She cut him off. "Everyone out. Now."
The command sent a wave through the remaining students, and they scattered in a hurry — some disappointed, others barely containing their shock.
Pete, burning with confusion and a bruised ego, glanced one last time at Sarina… but she had already turned away from him.
She gestured to Ace.
"You. Sit."
Ace leaned lazily on the bench, white hair falling softly over his eyes, his pale gaze locked onto Sarina. The silence stretched until his voice broke it—sharp and cold.
"How dare a lesser noble command a Thornevale?"
Sarina blinked, the words cutting through her like a blade. She stood stiff, hands clenched behind her back, but her jaw tightened.
"I may be a lesser noble, yes," she said slowly, "but in these halls, I'm a teacher. And in this arena, rank doesn't matter."
Ace tilted his head with the faintest smirk, as if amused by a joke only he understood. His voice dropped to a low drawl.
"You're wrong. No one is higher than a Thornevale in this entire empire."
The words struck like a hammer. Sarina flinched inwardly—she had no retort. Because what he said… wasn't false. Even the Emperor treaded lightly around the Thornevale name.
Her frustration became visible—tight shoulders, flushed cheeks, narrowed eyes. But she held it in.
She took a slow breath. "I didn't stop you to lecture you on conduct," she said, voice stiff but even. "I stopped you because I needed to know something."
Ace didn't respond, but his eyes flickered—curious.
She continued. "What's your rank?"
He remained silent.
She clarified, "Your swordsmanship rank, Thornevale. I'm not asking to offend—only to understand. If you're truly a First-Rate Warrior, then I have nothing left to teach you. You're a prodigy."
Her voice dropped.
"But if your power stems from that demonic sword…" She glanced at it, still strapped to his hip. "Then I'm obligated to warn you. That thing will corrupt your soul from the inside out. Use it long enough… and you'll become something else."