The noise in the dining hall was deafening. Everywhere, people talked about the morning fights, Maria's surprises, and Damian's show of power. The semi-final chart shone on the large magical board at the end of the hall:
Semi-Final 1: Maria Alessandra (Class F) vs. Elizabeth Van Hall (Class A - Ice Magic Specialist).
Semi-Final 2: Arthur Valerion (Class S) vs. Damian Von Taurus (Class S).
But in a corner of the hall, away from the crowd's excitement, Sarah sat twirling her fork aimlessly in a plate of pasta.
Maria put her tray in front of her and sat down.
"Not eating? We need energy for the semi-finals." (Maria tried to sound playful).
Sarah didn't lift her head. Her curly hair covered her face.
"Energy for what? For cheering?"
Her voice was hoarse.
"I was eliminated in the first round, Maria. Couldn't even last 10 seconds. The guy just cast a simple wind spell and I was thrown out."
She dropped the fork.
"Maybe I'm not cut out for this. I'm not a fighter... I'm just a merchant's daughter who bought her way in."
Maria stopped eating.
She looked at Sarah. At the girl who stayed awake at night to charge wristbands. The girl who stood up to the guards.
Maria rolled up the sleeve of her tactical suit and showed Sarah her shining silver wristband.
"Look at this."
Sarah looked reluctantly.
"So what?"
"This morning... when that Class B mage wanted to attack me, I used 'Mana Burst'. My speed was so high he couldn't even see me."
Maria stared straight into Sarah's wet eyes.
"That speed wasn't mine, Sarah. My mana isn't enough for such a move. That was your mana."
Sarah asked doubtfully:
"Seriously? Or just trying to cheer me up?"
"I'm a strategist, Sarah. I don't sugarcoat things. In war, the one who swings the sword is as important as the one who sharpens it. We won together."
A faint smile settled on Sarah's lips. Her shoulders, slumped since morning, straightened a bit.
"So... we're a team?"
"Always have been."
Suddenly, a shadow fell on the table, and another food tray was placed next to them.
"Room for one more? Or is your team full?"
Maria and Sarah turned their heads.
It was Arthur.
Maria smiled and pulled out a chair.
"Always room for the Prince."
Arthur sat down and took a deep breath. He looked a bit pale.
"Tired of the VIP box. All flattery, all politics. Wanted to be with my friends."
Sarah, still unable to believe the Crown Prince was sitting at their table, stammered:
"Your Highness... I mean, Arthur. Are you nervous? About the game with Damian?"
Arthur tore his bread. His hand trembled slightly.
"Damian... he's terrifying. Did you see his game? Defeated his opponent with a mix of fire and lightning. He has no mercy."
Maria said coolly:
"Lack of mercy is his weakness. Makes him reckless. You're smarter, Arthur."
Sarah, to change the mood, said:
"By the way, did you see Brook? He changed! He knocked that guy out without getting angry."
Arthur nodded.
"Yeah. He even respected Maria when coming out. This Academy is getting weird... Feels like everything's shifting."
Maria looked at the two people next to her.
A merchant girl who thought she was weak, and a Prince afraid of his own power.
A weird team... but I wouldn't trade them for the world.
Maria clenched her fist and put it on the table.
"Let's show them. Today... is our day."
Arthur and Sarah bumped their fists against Maria's.
***
Silent pact before the afternoon storm. A silence pressed over the stadium, heavy enough to choke the wind.
On one side of the field stood Arthur Valerion. He held his light, aristocratic sword, and a warm, golden aura swirled around his body.
On the other side stood Damian Von Taurus. Weaponless. Hands in his pockets, and an unstable purple aura danced around him like dangerous sparks.
In the VIP box, Edward perched on the edge of his seat. His hands were locked together, knuckles gleaming bone-white. He knew Damian's lethal, ruthless nature all too well. Unlike the nobles around him, the Commander of the Royal Guard saw no reason to mask his anxiety.
A few paces away, the fathers of the two combatants sat in heavy silence. Yet, their outward composure stemmed from entirely different roots.
Duke Gideon Von Taurus leaned back into his velvet chair, completely at ease. His cold eyes tracked Damian's every move—not with a father's fear for his son's life, but with the cold calculation of a grandmaster evaluating his deadliest piece on the board. To him, this bout was nothing more than a demonstration of House Von Taurus's absolute might.
Beside him, King Leonard Valerion wore a mask of impenetrable stone. He knew perfectly well that under the hawkish gaze of the nobles and political rivals, the slightest flicker of emotion would be branded as a weakness of the Crown.
But unlike the Duke, the King's apathy was entirely manufactured.
A closer look would reveal his rigidly clenched jaw. His fingers dug into the wooden armrests of the throne, gripping them with crushing force just to suppress the hidden tremors of a terrified father.
Both men waited for the bloodshed to begin. One anticipated the sheer dominance of his pawn; the other was trapped in a bitter war between a monarch's pride and a father's dread.
The referee slashed his hand down.
"Begin!"
Arthur didn't waste a single second. He knew he stood zero chance against Damian's devastating firepower in a long-range magic duel. His only shot was close quarters.
"Step of Light," he whispered.
In a fraction of a second, Arthur blurred into a streak of golden light. Kicking up a cloud of arena sand, he surged toward his opponent at blinding speed, raising his blade for a swift, decisive strike.
Damian didn't even bother taking his hands out of his expensive uniform pockets. Wearing a mask of utter boredom, he tracked the golden streak with only his eyes.
"Too slow," he sneered.
Before Arthur's sword could fall, a roaring wall of blistering fire erupted from the earth right in front of him. The terrifying wave of heat forced Arthur to drag his boots against the dirt, vaulting backward to escape the inferno.
In that exact moment, Damian freed one hand and snapped his fingers with an air of total apathy.
CRACK!
A deafening thunderclap shook the arena. A bolt of violent purple lightning crashed down from the clear sky, striking the exact spot where Arthur stood.
Arthur barely dodged with a frantic roll. The stench of scorched earth and ozone flooded the air. He triggered "Step of Light" once more, but this time, he scrambled forward in erratic, unpredictable zigzags, making it impossible to lock onto him.
To the crowd, the battlefield was a breathtaking spectacle. The arena floor was painted with a tangled web of glowing trails, marking Arthur's frantic path.
Standing completely still, Damian unleashed an endless barrage of fireballs and lightning spears. The arena had turned into a living hell of light, fire, and shattering explosions.
Relying on his peerless swordsmanship, Arthur danced through the blasts. He evaded the lightning spears and cleaved the incoming fireballs in half with his blade, scattering searing sparks everywhere. But he never stopped pushing forward.
The gap closed: Ten meters… five meters… two meters.
Finally sensing danger, Damian tried to leap back, but Arthur unleashed House Valerion's signature technique:
"Solar Flash!"
A blinding radiance, like the detonation of a miniature star, erupted from Arthur's body. Damian instinctively shut his eyes. For one vital fraction of a second, his guard was wide open.
Arthur seized the opening. He drove his sword forward with everything he had.
SWISH-RIIIP!
The sound of parting air and tearing fabric echoed across the arena.
Arthur dashed past Damian, skidding to a halt a few paces behind him.
Dead silence fell over the stadium. The crowd held its breath.
A single drop of crimson blood stained the arena sand.
In the last millisecond, Damian had managed to dodge a lethal strike—but not completely. A thin, bleeding line was etched across his cheek, and the flawless collar of his uniform was now cleanly sliced open.
The real battle had just begun.
The crowd exploded.
"He hit him! The Prince hit him!"
"He's wounded!"
Arthur's breath came ragged, but a smile tugged at his lips. He had managed to break the genius's guard.
Damian raised his hand. Ran his tomb over his cheek and fixed his eyes on the blood on his fingertip.
His expression didn't change. It emptied.
His gaze turned from the blood to Arthur.
"Hmm... so your sword isn't just decorative."
He calmly licked the blood.
"Good. Now I can be serious."
Suddenly, the mana pressure in the stadium became heavy. So heavy that the front-row spectators felt suffocated.
Pebbles on the ground floated around Damian's feet.
Damian opened both hands.
In his right hand, a white, dense flame formed.
In his left hand, a ball of black, roaring lightning.
Maria stood up unconsciously in the waiting area. Her eyes widened.
What is he doing? Combining two opposing magics? That's madness! Unstable!
Damian brought his hands together.
"Magical Fusion: Plasma Sphere."
The two spheres collided. No explosion occurred; instead, they melted into each other and became a big (one meter radius) purple and white sphere of energy that sounded like the howling of a thousand wolves.
Arthur sensed the danger. Gathered all his mana into his shield.
"Sacred Shield of Valerion!"
A thick golden dome formed around him. His strongest defense.
Damian gave a soulless smile.
"Goodbye, Arthur."
And fired the sphere. It lunched with sonic speed.
BOOOOOOOOOOM!
The impact of energy on the shield created a sound that deafened ears.
Blinding light swallowed the entire arena.
Arthur tried with all his mana and strength to stop the blow, lasted a few seconds, but finally cracks appeared in his golden shield and it shattered.
The plasma explosion wave hit Arthur's body.
Zzzzt!
Before the Prince's flesh and bone burned, his protective necklace activated.
Red light enveloped him, but the impact was so severe that Arthur was thrown into the air like a doll and slammed violently into the arena wall twenty meters back.
He fell to the ground and remained motionless. His necklace had turned to dust.
Dust settled.
The arena ground was burnt and vitrified.
Damian remained at the center of the cratered field without a single drop of sweat.
He walked slowly toward Arthur's unconscious body.
Stood over him. His shadow fell on the Prince's face.
He looked down at the fallen "Sun of the Academy."
Under his breath, as if reading last rites, he said:
"The sun has set."
Then he turned and, without looking at the referee, walked toward the exit.