"You're arrogant. And reckless."
The leader of the Tusk of the Wild Boar lit up when Rowan finished speaking. If they could attack together, five against one, then maybe—just maybe—they had a real chance.
Two of them were knocking on Saint-class territory. The other three were veterans who'd survived countless battles. Mage squads existed for a reason. Different magic, layered properly, multiplied strength. When coordination clicked, one plus one stopped being two.
Against an ordinary Saint-class mage, they might even win.
"Move!"
Afraid Rowan would reconsider, the leader barked orders. The five split smoothly into formation, closing in from all sides.
A magic circle flared in the leader's hand.
"Equip: Earth Dragon Lance!"
A massive earthen spear materialized, its surface etched with ancient runes. He'd spent two decades of hard-earned rewards crafting it. This was his trump card, saved for moments like this.
With the lance, his strength crossed into Saint-class territory. Earth also dampened lightning. Perfect.
He vanished behind Rowan and thrust forward. Jagged stone spikes erupted in a wave, following the spear toward Rowan's back.
Gasps rippled through the stands.
So that was what he'd been hiding.
Before Rowan could turn, another mage slammed both hands to the ground.
"Ice Magic: Coffin!"
Frozen walls surged upward, sealing Rowan in solid ice.
At the same time, a control-type mage blew a kiss through the air.
"Charm."
Mental interference. Physical restraint. Fire and wind spells spiraled in behind them, timed to strike the moment the earth lance landed.
The coordination was flawless.
Applause broke out. Even seasoned mages leaned forward, breath held.
Rowan didn't.
"With enough strength," he said calmly from within the ice, "all of this is decoration."
The ice shattered outward as if struck by a cannon. Rowan stepped free without a scratch.
His gaze flicked toward the control mage.
Her spell rebounded.
She froze, eyes glassy, body locked in place.
Rowan's mental defenses were no longer what they once were. His will had sharpened alongside his magic. Tricks like charm magic simply slid off him.
At the same moment, the earth lance tore itself from its owner's grip.
The crowd didn't even understand what they were seeing.
The weapon reversed mid-air and smashed down like a falling mountain.
The leader was driven straight into the platform, stone buckling beneath him. He went limp instantly. The earth spikes vanished with him.
Rowan caught the lance in midair, swatted aside the fire serpent and wind blades, then let the weapon spin once around the arena.
Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
Four bodies dropped in sequence, each knocked unconscious with surgical precision.
From the first crack of ice to the final collapse, less than a second passed.
"Next guild."
The arena inhaled as one.
Even the other defending platforms fell silent. That wasn't victory. That was erasure.
No grand spell circles. No visible casting. No explanation.
"How did he take control of the weapon?"
"What kind of magic was that?"
"How do you defend against it?"
No one had answers.
"Fairy Tail defeats all five challengers at once and earns fifteen points!" the announcer shouted, barely containing his disbelief.
The crowd erupted.
"Fairy Tail!"
"Fairy Tail!"
"Fairy Tail!"
The next challengers climbed onto the platform with shaking legs.
"He must've burned a lot of magic," their leader whispered, forcing confidence. "We still have a chance."
He stopped mid-sentence.
A magic circle flared in front of Rowan.
"Dragon-Slaying Magic: Verdant Flame Dragon's Roar."
Tri-colored fire flooded the platform.
Five mages collapsed before they could finish speaking.
"Next," Rowan said, waving a paw.
Another guild stepped up.
Same result.
Another.
Same.
Instant. Instant. Still instant.
Rowan didn't move from his spot.
While the other five platforms were still grinding through their first challengers, Fairy Tail's platform was already done. Four guilds erased. Sixty points secured.
The difference wasn't tactics.
It was scale.