Lucas stepped onto the platform, boots tapping lightly against the stone. The ambient hum of mana from the other dueling arenas receded into background noise, blurring into the periphery. All that remained in focus was the wide stage, the space between him and Carl—and the opportunity that lay within it.
He spared a glance at his opponent.
Carl Braveheart.
Solid. Silent. A mountain carved into human form. The kind of presence that didn't demand attention through words, but through sheer immovability. And Lucas… Lucas had never liked fighting people like that.
Not because he feared them.
But because they were difficult to tilt.
'Indeed… this can be a good opportunity.'
Lucas's fingers brushed the hilt of his sword, a casual motion, but deliberate. He wasn't thinking about the crowd. Not about Julia, Irina, or the instructor standing just off the stage.
He was thinking about the system.
The pattern.
The timing.
