His eyes darted to the hand on his shoulder. In his mind, he saw the flash of a point-blank explosion. He saw the magic Cedric could have cast, blowing his arm off, incinerating his chest. He realized the "slow" sword was just a distraction to let the greatest mage in the class get within touching distance.
He… he spared me.
The lightning around Rank Sixteen's blade fizzled and died. He dropped his sword into the sand and fell to his knees, his head bowing low.
"I forfeit!" Rank Sixteen shouted, his voice cracking with relief. "Thank you… thank you for showing mercy!"
Arthur looked down at the kneeling boy, keeping his expression impassive.
It worked, Arthur thought, suppressing the sigh of relief that threatened to escape. He defeated himself.
"Stand up," Arthur said gently, offering a hand. "It was a good match."
Rank Sixteen took the hand, shaking. As he looked at the Saint—who smiled at him despite the violence he had threatened—a knot of guilt loosened in his chest.
I was so focused on hurting people to prove I belonged here, Rank Sixteen thought, looking at his own trembling hands. But he could have destroyed me, and he chose to teach me instead.
I need to go to the infirmary later. I need to apologize to Kian for what I did yesterday.
Arthur turned and walked away, the victor of a battle he never actually fought.
"Hehe."
Arthur imagined the sound, a playful lilt that seemed to match the permanent expression plastered on Celeste Devreux's face. She stood over the unbalanced swordsman, forcing him into submission with two primed Magic Circles—one a swirling green, the other a volatile red—held mere inches from his temple.
Vicktor had tried to end it. He had staked everything on a final, sweeping slash, his blade screaming with Fiery Sword Aura. But before the steel could graze her, a blue ellipsoid barrier had materialized. It arrested his blade instantly, reacting with a speed so sharp it seemed less like a reflex and more like an autonomous defense.
"Shit."
Arthur imagined the curse on Vicktor's lips. Desperation ignited. A violent shroud of fire erupted around Vicktor's form—a desperate, defensive cloak of his own aura—milliseconds before Celeste discharged her spells.
When the haze cleared, Vicktor lay unconscious on the ground. Celeste stood over him, her shield gone, entirely unscathed.
How brutal… Arthur thought.
He could not look away when she turned her gaze directly to him. She didn't scowl. She didn't glare. She simply mouthed the words, her expression never wavering from the disarmingly goofy smile she had worn the entire time.
"You're next."