Pinyata raised his arm high once more.
Woooong—A torrent of mana surged instantly toward the center of the arena. The sudden rush sent the hair of every student in the audience fluttering wildly.
“The duel will begin the moment the shield spell at the center of the arena is lifted! The shield will only remain active for two minutes.”
Pinyata, standing on the platform in the center of the circular arena, suddenly shot up into the air.
As the platform rose, a faintly opaque magical shield sprang up from the arena’s center, forming a curtain-like barrier that split the circular arena in half. In place of the platform, a massive hourglass conjured by magic now stood tall.
Shhhk—Sand began to trickle slowly from the top chamber, and the entire student body in the stands waited for the two minutes to pass.
So he’s planning to do the commentary from up there? Adrian lowered his gaze from the sky and confirmed that Mikhail and Catherine were standing upright, facing each other, separated by the shield.
Then—
“But… why wait two minutes to start? Why not just begin right away?”
A student sitting near the back of the stands, clearly tense, whispered while staring at the hourglass in the middle of the arena. It was a reasonable question regarding the rules.
“In a duel between a mage and a swordsman, the opening move is everything.”
A firm voice answered with conviction.
Whoosh— All the students nearby turned their heads toward the source of the voice.
“As soon as the duel begins, it’s standard for the mage to create as much distance as possible, while the swordsman tries to close that gap immediately. By the time you’re in the finals, it usually comes down to who successfully claims the ideal spacing in that very first move.”
—explained Jonathan, who had been eliminated back in the preliminaries, speaking seriously to the students seated on either side of him.
They seemed to understand now, nodding in agreement.
Meanwhile, the sand in the hourglass was nearly depleted.
As the moment of the match approached, Catherine began murmuring to herself, quietly chanting a spell. On the other side of the shield, Mikhail was casually swinging his sword, stretching.
Exactly two minutes later, the magical shield that had veiled the center of the arena vanished like a curtain being drawn aside. The hourglass, too, disintegrated into shimmering motes of mana.
Mikhail gripped his sword more firmly and, without the slightest hesitation, began advancing.
Catherine’s indifferent expression was visible even from a distance. Yet her eyes shifted slightly as she registered Mikhail’s bold approach.
Contrary to the common expectation in duels—to wait a moment with one’s weapon drawn to assess the opponent’s skill—Mikhail completely disregarded that idea.
“Oh my, it seems His Highness intends to finish this match as swiftly as possible. Catherine, if you don’t prepare to counter now, the duel might end in a single blow!”
As Pinyata spoke, Mikhail sneered coldly at Catherine and raised his sword high.
Shaak! The sharp blade sliced through the air with a threatening hiss. Catherine’s dark hair lifted slightly as her fingers twitched.
“Rise!”
A towering soldier made of sand surged up in an instant right in front of her.
It extended its arms, catching Mikhail’s sword at the wrist.
Hmph?
Mikhail pulled back his blade, then struck horizontally.
The sand soldier’s metal joints screeched as they scraped against the sword’s edge.
So that was what she had been preparing during the countdown.
“You think this is enough to stop me?”
Due to the slight disparity in their strength, the sand soldier Catherine had summoned was slowly pushed back under the force of Mikhail’s attack.
Tch.
Catherine furrowed her brows at the sight.
“…It would be nice if it were… but I guess these alone won’t cut it. Rise!”
At her command, a new sand soldier materialized, kneeling as it was summoned.
It began marching across the arena, blocking Mikhail’s path before he could reach her.
As she closely observed Mikhail’s swordsmanship—something she’d only watched from afar until now—Catherine found herself seriously questioning how she could possibly win this duel.
Sensing this moment of hesitation, Mikhail tilted his head, then leapt high into the air.
To stop him, the sand soldier lunged forward, but Mikhail sliced through its extended arm. The severed limb crumbled, only for a new one to instantly regenerate. But in the blink of an eye, Mikhail had already closed the distance to Catherine’s side.
“Of course. It’s unfortunate, but the moment a swordsman gets this close, the match is over.”
Mikhail’s voice was calm, composed—his breathing not even slightly disturbed.
When did he get this close?
Catherine grit her teeth in frustration and moved her fingers. The sand soldier darted between them, shoving hard against Mikhail’s blade to push him back. Just as his gleaming sword once again closed in and Catherine reflexively tilted her head to dodge—everything inside the circular arena froze.
It was magic.
Neither of the two participants standing in the arena could move. Mikhail rolled his eyes upward toward the sky.
Pinyata’s platform glided forward, closing the distance until it hovered directly in front of the frozen Mikhail and Catherine. He checked the position of Mikhail’s blade and then spoke.
“Yes! We’ll pause here for a moment. In the final match, each participant is granted three opportunities. A clean hit earns a point, and the one who fails to score must then decide whether to continue the duel or surrender. One point goes to Challenger No. 209! Oh, and of course, the first to reach three points wins. No. 38, do you surrender?”
Silence blanketed not only the arena but even the furthest corners of the stands untouched by the spell, as everyone waited for No. 38’s reply.
Catherine glanced sideways at the sharp blade pressed against her neck and hesitated.
It was resting against the left side of her throat—if she turned her body to the right the instant the spell lifted, she might be able to dodge it.
Not completely, of course.
“…I’ll continue.”
At Catherine’s answer, Pinyata gave a small nod. “Very well. The match will resume in ten seconds.” With that, he floated back up into the air above the arena.
“Ooooooh!” The crowd roared, cheering Catherine on at Pinyata’s announcement.
Exactly ten seconds later, the time-freezing spell binding the two participants unraveled.
The moment she felt it dissolve, Catherine clenched her eyes shut and twisted her body sharply to the right, trying to get as far as possible from Mikhail’s blade. She let out a breath she’d been holding, inhaled quickly again, and brought her hand up to her neck.
As expected, she hadn’t dodged it perfectly.
Drip.
At some point, blood had begun trailing down, soaking the back of her neck.
“Heal.”
Mikhail heard her softly muttered incantation and casually tilted his head from side to side.
It was nothing more than a stalling tactic.
He scoffed and rushed toward Catherine, who was once again shouting, “Rise!”
“…Whatever you’re planning, it won’t work. It’s pointless!”
Mikhail closed the distance in just a few steps, charging directly at Catherine, who still stood tall with her arms raised. Despite his aggressive approach, she appeared entirely unfazed—eyes closed, lips steadily moving.
“Rise!”
Shrrrk—
Two more sand soldiers emerged in the center of the arena.
Catherine snapped her head up and confirmed it: five sand soldiers total now stood in the arena. A glint of triumph flickered in her gaze.
At last, the conditions were met.
“Scatter, and be reborn!”
A pale glow radiated from a magic circle forming around her.
BOOM—!
A surge of mana rippled violently through the air.
“Oh no, Mikhail…”
Adrian, who had been closely observing the two from the stands, murmured softly.
Something was off—the flow of mana was far from ordinary.
“You can’t forget… Time is always on the mage’s side.”
With a sly grin, Adrian crossed his arms and comfortably crossed his legs.
At this point, the outcome was far from certain. His gaze shifted back to Mikhail, who had just let a brief opening show. Mikhail’s hair danced wildly, whipped about by the flow of mana stirred by Catherine’s movement.
“Devour one another and rise anew!”
WOOOOONG—The entire floor of the arena blazed with light in an instant.
All five sand soldiers Catherine had summoned until now dissolved like collapsing dunes and returned to the earth. But instead of vanishing, the scattered particles of sand swirled together into one massive vortex, sculpted by the flow of mana.
This was the finals. A clash between the best fighters among the Basamiel Academy’s elite. Underestimating her power would be a mistake.
Catherine’s piercing, glacial eyes flashed as she looked upward.
Ha.
Mikhail let out a dry laugh, lips curled but not amused, his burning red eyes locked on the giant sand vortex spinning in the air.
“You really… came here to go all out, didn’t you?”
Catherine’s magic took a long time to manifest, but it was a masterpiece of precision. The spell was now complete.
The mana still churned furiously, sending her robe whipping in the wind—and behind her, a sand dragon the size of a small fortress exhaled, letting out a searing breath as it glared down at Mikhail.
“Oh no, Mikhail” OMG ADRIAN IS WORRIED????