The Hage Village square, usually a quiet expanse of sun-baked dirt and scattered potato carts, had been transformed into a crude, circular arena. A perimeter of heavy ropes had been staked into the ground, and the ancient stone of the Grimoire Tower loomed over the proceedings like a silent, judging colossus.
The air was thick with the scent of ozone, sweat, and the underlying metallic tang of nervous mana. Nearly fifty teenagers from the surrounding region had gathered, their grimoires clutched to their chests like shields. For most, this was a funeral for their dreams. For Lencar, it was a data-harvesting mission masquerading as a hurdle.
He stood at the edge of the ropes, his plain, brown grimoire tucked into a leather holster at his hip. His eyes, cold and analytical, scanned the "Contestant Pool."
Data Point: Participant 01 (Asta). Adrenaline: Peak. Mana Signature: Absolute Zero. Hazard Level: High (Unpredictable physical output).
Data Point: Participant 02 (Yuno). Mana Signature: High. Hazard Level: Extreme (Efficiency constant).
Data Point: The Mob. Average mana capacity: 1.5 units. Combat experience: Negligible.
"Listen up!" Tower Master Drouot shouted, standing on a raised wooden platform. "This is a simple elimination bracket. Two losses and you're out. The final two standing get the travel passes and the recommendation. No killing, no permanent maiming. If I see a spell that looks lethal, I'll stop it. Begin!"
Lencar didn't move. He watched the first few bouts with clinical detachment. They were messy, inefficient displays of raw emotion. A boy with Earth Magic tried to build a wall, only to have a girl with Water Magic turn the ground beneath him into mud. They exhausted their meager mana pools in minutes, leaving them panting and pathetic.
"Next match!" Drouot called. "Lencar Abarame versus Rekka of Sosie!"
Lencar stepped over the ropes. His opponent was a tall, broad-shouldered boy with a sneer and a three-leaf grimoire that radiated the heat of Fire Magic. Rekka was a local bully, someone who had spent his youth using small sparks to intimidate others.
"The kid with the blank book," Rekka laughed, opening his grimoire. A jagged, orange flame flickered around his fists. "This won't take long. I'm going to the capital, peasant. You're just a speed bump."
Lencar didn't respond. He dropped into a slight crouch, his weight distributed with mathematical precision.
Analysis: Rekka's mana centers in his upper body. Telegraphs his attacks with his shoulders. Probability of a frontal fire-blast: 88%.
"Fight!"
Rekka roared, thrusting his palms forward. "Fire Creation Magic: Burning Burst!"
A cone of flame erupted, searing the air as it rushed toward Lencar. To the crowd, it looked like a wall of unavoidable heat. To Lencar, it was a slow-moving wave of inefficient energy.
Toggle: Mage Mode. Attribute: Wind.
Lencar didn't cast a spell. Not yet. He used the high-pressure mana now flooding his system to perform a Mana-Forged Burst. He didn't move like a mage; he moved like a piston. He blurred to the left, the heat of the flames brushing past his tunic but failing to touch his skin.
He was inside Rekka's guard before the fire had even dissipated.
"What—?" Rekka gasped, his eyes widening.
Lencar's fist was already moving. He didn't want to show the world the "Towering Tornado." It was too much, too loud. Instead, he channeled a tiny fraction of the siphoned wind into his knuckles, creating a high-pressure "shroud" around his hand.
Command: Wind-Enhanced Kinetic Strike.
The punch landed squarely in Rekka's solar plexus. The impact wasn't just physical; the compressed wind exploded upon contact, a localized "pop" of atmospheric pressure that acted like a secondary concussive wave.
Rekka didn't just fall; he was launched backward. He hit the ropes, flipped over them, and landed in the dirt ten feet outside the ring. He didn't get up. He didn't even groan. He was simply... out.
The square went silent.
"Winner: Lencar Abarame," Drouot announced, his voice tinged with surprise. "Time: 4.2 seconds."
Lencar stepped back, closing his grimoire. He could feel Yuno's eyes on him. The golden-eyed prodigy was leaning against a tree, his expression unreadable, but his mana was flickering—a sign of curiosity.
Lencar ignored him. He walked back to his spot, his mind already recalculating the tournament's progression.
The Round of Sixteen
As the morning wore on, the heat of the sun began to match the intensity of the battles. Asta was a whirlwind of chaos, swinging his massive black sword with a violence that terrified the other contestants. He didn't use magic, but he didn't need to—his sword simply deleted whatever spells were thrown at him. Yuno, conversely, was a surgeon. He stood in the center of the ring, his four-leaf clover glowing softly, and ended every match with a single, elegant flick of his finger.
Lencar's second match was against a girl named Sela who used Vine Magic.
"I saw what you did to Rekka," she said, her voice trembling but determined. "You're fast. But you can't hit what you can't reach!"
She slammed her grimoire open. "Vine Creation Magic: Thorny Labyrinth!"
Green, barbed vines erupted from the dry earth, weaving together to form a dense, suffocating cage around Lencar. They moved like snakes, their thorns dripping with a paralytic sap.
Lencar stood in the center of the tightening circle.
Analysis: Vine density is highest at the base. Weak point: The anchor nodes. Strategy: Area denial.
He opened his grimoire. This time, he needed to show "Wind Magic" to justify his presence.
"Wind Creation Magic: [Towering Tornado] - Output: 5%."
He didn't release the full spell. He held it in his palm, "throttling" the mana so it didn't form the massive column of destruction he had used against Revchi. Instead, he turned it into a horizontal disc of spinning air—a Wind-Scythe.
He spun in a circle, the disc of compressed wind expanding outward. It wasn't a beautiful spell; it was a mechanical saw. The vines were shredded instantly, the high-velocity air cleaving through the thick plant matter like it was wet paper.
Sela gasped, her mana connection severed as her creation turned into green confetti. Before she could cast again, Lencar was behind her. He didn't strike her; he simply placed a wind-shrouded hand on her shoulder. The sheer pressure of the mana he was leaking was enough to make her knees buckle.
"Yield," Lencar said quietly.
"I... I yield," she whispered.