The so-called outdoor training ground wasn't truly outdoors.
Rather, it was an indoor coliseum—an enclosed arena built with enchanted stone and reinforced dome panels—designed to simulate open-air sparring without compromising safety. It sat behind the west wing of the academy grounds, and though the sky couldn't be seen from within, the vastness of the space gave a sense of freedom rarely found inside walls.
It was outside the classroom, at least. And that distinction was enough.
Forty students were gathered, seated in staggered rows along the upper terraces of the arena. The class was a careful balance: twenty males, twenty females—a deliberate policy implemented by the Academy to foster equilibrium not only in numbers, but in energy, magic affinities, and overall classroom dynamics.
Among them sat Sofia, watching from above with a quiet intensity.
She had calmed since before, but a restless pulse still echoed in her chest.
He won't go overboard… right? she told herself. An instructor wouldn't hurt a student.
Down below, Soren and Kevin were already standing face-to-face at the center of the field, separated by a measured distance.
Kevin's eyes drifted briefly toward Soren's left side—specifically, the absence of his arm.
"Mister Soren," Kevin began, his tone edged with false courtesy. "Why don't I fight without my left hand too? Just to even the odds. After all, it would be a shame if you lost and blamed it on your… shortcomings."
The title he used didn't go unnoticed.
Mister, not Instructor. A subtle defiance. A refusal to recognize authority.
Soren's expression didn't change. "You will? Then let's do that."
"What?" Kevin blinked. He'd expected indignation, a wounded ego, maybe even a sharp rebuttal—but not this. The man accepted the insult with frightening ease.
Was he that composed? Or just a coward willing to cling to any advantage?
"What are the rules of this spar?" Soren asked plainly.
Kevin folded his arms. "Surrender or inability to continue. No mediums—no staff, no wand, no codex. Instructor Elara taught us to channel through our bodies first. She said if we master that, reinforcement through a medium becomes far easier later."
"Instructor Elara is… remarkable," Soren said, pausing just enough to give the word weight. "What she taught you is absolutely right."
He then turned his head toward the edge of the arena, addressing a student who stood poised like an official.
"So, miss Noa is it? Will you be the jury?"
The girl with short, shoulder-length hair and rectangular glasses gave a small bow. "I'm a Vice Class Rep of that man you will face, sir. I will gladly do it."
Soren nodded. "Then I leave the signal to you."
Soren already barely knew the fact that Kevin Hart was the class leader. A top-ranking student and the pride of Class B.
The vice rep turned toward the academy staff standing near the edge of the training floor. "We're ready for the sparring match as agreed."
The staff member gave a brief nod and activated a switch embedded in the platform beside him. A soft hum echoed through the space as the arena lit up with pale blue runes. A moment later, a shimmering dome of translucent magic rose around the platform—encasing the field in a defensive barrier.
It was a standard precaution. Spars among magic users often carried the risk of stray attacks escaping the field—and no one wanted a spell veering into the spectator seats.
The signal was given.
A hush fell over the coliseum as the barrier dome fully solidified, humming faintly with warding enchantments. Inside, the silence was heavier—almost sacred.
Then, without warning—
Kevin burst forward.
His foot slammed the stone floor, launching him ahead like a cannonball. Flame spiraled up his right arm in a sudden roar—twisting and dancing around his clenched fist. A trail of scorched air followed as he closed the gap in a single heartbeat.
"Firefist!"
With a sharp exhale, Kevin threw a blazing punch.
Soren sidestepped, fluid and precise, allowing the fiery blow to graze past his mantle with a whisper of heat. He could smell the burn singe the edge of his cloak—but he remained unfazed.
Kevin spun, his heel dragging in a curve to launch another punch mid-motion. But Soren was already gone.
Too fast…
The instructor's movement wasn't flashy. It wasn't dramatic. But it was efficient—practiced, honed, almost surgical. He wasn't simply reacting to Kevin's attack. He was reading him.
A second later, Kevin twisted his stance and exhaled sharply, punching downward—this time with intent.
A jet of fire burst from his knuckles, launching toward the floor but ricocheting with controlled force toward Soren's flank like a whip of flame.
Soren didn't flinch.
His fingers moved subtly, guiding his mana not into a spell—but into the air itself.
Fire follows air.
A moment before the flames could reach him, he pushed a surge of wind mana sideways. Just a breeze—light, precise.
The fire bent. Warped.
Instead of striking true, the fire lashed outward, veering off-course in a wide arc.
Soren stepped through it.
With his right hand raised, he summoned a thin layer of translucent energy—a self-generated barrier. What little flame remained fizzled harmlessly against it.
From above, Sofia gasped. The others leaned forward.
He hadn't countered with fire or even another element—just airflow, used with uncanny timing.
Was this the kind of magic control a true battle mage had?
Kevin clicked his tongue, frustration mounting.
This man is unbelievable.
Wasn't both of his eyes closed?
How the hell is he fighting like the entire radius around him is his domain?
Kevin had been using repel force—a subtle trick of reinforcement magic to constantly distort scans directed at him. It should've made him harder to read, harder to track. A natural counter to someone with lesser perception.
But this… wasn't normal.
He hadn't even felt a scan. No probing mana. No detection flow. Nothing.
It's like… he doesn't need to see me at all. What is he using?
For the first time, the thought creeped in:Maybe I'm not the one with the upper hand here.
Kevin grit his teeth. He leapt back and exhaled through clenched jaws, reigniting his fist.
"You're hesitating," Soren said calmly. "That's fine. Most students do."
This duel wasn't just for show.
For Soren, he intend to use it to practice—an application of idea.
During the Wrath incident, something had clicked. Amid the flood of rage and destruction, he'd caught a glimpse—no, a revelation—of how the Eye of Ruin responded to intent. Wrath's Amplifywasn't just raw power. It was alignment. Resonance.
And now, without opening the Eye, without invoking Wrath directly, he sought to imitate a fraction of it.
A lesser amplification. A faint mimicry of that overwhelming surge.
It was difficult. It required focus, restraint, and above all—control.
The crimson arcs dancing faintly along his arm were the result: not Wrath's rage, but a spark of its essence, channeled under Ruin's restraint.
Crimson sparks flickered in his palm.
Kevin noticed it then. The air around the instructor was changing. There was a subtle distortion in the atmosphere—like something hidden was starting to vibrate through the space. Not heat. Not flame. But pressure.
From within Soren, a faint red glow sparked to life—tracing veins of arcane energy up his arm in crackling patterns. It looked like lightning, but it wasn't. The color was off—too deep, too crimson.
Kevin's instincts flared. "What—"
Soren flicked his wrist.
A sharp crack of compressed air exploded, and in the same moment, a bolt of red arcane lightning zipped toward Kevin like a spear. It wasn't fire. It wasn't even raw lightning.
It was something else entirely.
Kevin barely had time to form a guard. His flaming arm came up, meeting the blast—but the impact rattled his bones. He slid back five meters, his boots dragging scorch marks on the floor.
"What was that!?" he hissed, regaining his balance.
Soren didn't answer. His left eye remained closed, but the pressure rising from him told another story. He was tapping into something—something dangerous.
This… is a lesser version.The words echoed in Soren's mind. I won't open the Eye. But I can use the echo of Amplify.
It wasn't Wrath in full—but it was enough.
Each spell he cast now carried that weight. His arcane blasts cracked with sharp recoil, his movements sparked with red afterimages, and the very air around him trembled with suppressed power.
Kevin growled, pushing his mana even harder. His flames expanded, rising like wings behind him.
"Don't underestimate me!"
He charged again—this time mixing close and ranged attacks, throwing short jets of flame while weaving flaming punches with enhanced speed.
Soren deflected the first. Evaded the second. Parried the third.
The pressure from Soren's presence was mounting—those crimson arcs of power, that eerie control, the sheer precision of every move. Kevin launched forward again, his flames roaring louder than before, fists glowing with molten intensity.
This time, Soren countered hard.
A blast of red arcane lightning met his charge. Kevin blocked it instinctively—both arms crossed.
Both arms.
His left hand, which he swore not to use, was raised without thought.
The moment passed in a blur. Kevin tried to follow up with a dual-fist assault—but before his left punch could reach, a flicker of red magic wrapped around his limb.
It froze mid-air.
Soren had disabled it. Not with force. With a bind. Arcane locking magic.
He tilted his head slightly, casually.
"Didn't you say you wouldn't use your left hand?"
The words hit harder than any spell.
Kevin froze. His mind raced back to the promise he'd made—not to Soren, but to himself. The prideful declaration. The show of superiority.
And he broke it.
Like ice water dumped over burning flames, his fighting spirit snuffed out.
He took a step back, stunned—not by pain, but by shame.