Mordo glanced at Strange; there was no hostility in those eyes, only a serious, almost solemn earnestness.
"Strange, I will not hold back."
Strange nodded. "I don't need you to."
The two turned and walked out of the tea room and into the courtyard.
Seeing them emerge, the young sorcerers stopped their practice and stepped aside. They didn't know what was happening, but they could tell from the expressions on the two men's faces that this was no ordinary sparring match.
The Ancient One stood under the corridor, watching the courtyard. Mavuika walked up to her side and also watched the two of them.
"Who do you think will win?" Mavuika asked.
The Ancient One thought for a moment. "Strange has higher Talents, while Mordo has more experience; it's hard to say right now."
Mavuika glanced at the Ancient One. "Are you not worried?"
The Ancient One smiled. "Worried about what? No matter who wins, they are both my students. The position of Sorcerer Supreme will not change regardless of who is chosen."
Mordo and Strange stood facing each other, about twenty meters apart.
Mordo formed hand seals, and golden magic energy condensed around him, turning into fine, dense runes that covered his body like armor.
His stance was as steady as a rock, and every gesture was precise to the extreme, without a single wasted movement.
Strange's stance was somewhat different; his hands were trembling slightly—a lingering effect of an old injury. But he didn't hide it; instead, he transformed that trembling into a part of his magic.
Every time his fingers twitched, they left a faint trail of magical light in the air.
Mordo made the first move.
He didn't use complicated spells; against Strange, the simplest ones were often the most effective.
He pushed his hands forward, and a wave of golden energy shot from his palms—fast, accurate, and ruthless—heading straight for Strange's chest.
Strange dodged to the side and drew a semicircle in the air with his left hand, causing a magic shield to unfold in front of him. The energy wave struck the shield with a dull thud; the shield vibrated but did not shatter.
Mordo didn't give him a chance to breathe. He strode forward, condensed a golden energy staff in his right hand, and struck toward Strange's shoulder.
This was Kamar-Taj's melee magic, condensing energy into a solid weapon, combining the power of magic with the flexibility of a cold weapon.
Strange didn't have time to manifest a weapon and could only continue to block with his shield. The energy staff slammed into the shield, erupting with blinding light. Cracks appeared on the shield, and Strange was forced back three steps by the impact.
Mordo pursued and brought down a second strike.
Strange didn't block again. He ducked suddenly, the shield dissipated, and the energy staff swept over his head, the resulting air current ruffling his hair.
He slammed his hands onto the ground, causing a golden magic circle to appear. A pillar of energy shot from the center of the circle, forcing Mordo back.
The two put distance between themselves again.
Mordo stood in the distance, looking at Strange, a hint of admiration appearing in his eyes. "Not bad. Fast reflexes."
Strange stood up and brushed the dust off his knees. "You too, you're very strong."
Mordo didn't respond. He formed seals again, but this time, his hands traced complex trajectories in the air—not simple attack spells, but some kind of higher-level array that required a massive amount of magic to support.
On the ground, the golden magic circle began to Swirl, spreading outward like a spiderweb. The lines of the array grew denser and brighter, enveloping the entire courtyard.
Strange's brows furrowed. He could feel that Mordo was using his own magic to "occupy" this space. Once the array was complete, Mordo would become the master of this space, and he would only be able to take a beating.
He had to interrupt Mordo's spellcasting.
Strange gritted his teeth, pressed his palms together, and then pulled them apart abruptly. A line of golden energy extended between his hands, growing longer and brighter, finally transforming into a spear condensed from pure magic.
He raised the spear and hurled it at Mordo.
The spear tore through the air with a shrill whistle, piercing straight toward Mordo's chest. Mordo was forced to interrupt his spellcasting and dodge to the side. The spear grazed his robes and embedded itself into the stone slab behind him, blasting out a fist-sized crater.
Mordo looked at the crater, then at Strange, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"You can actually condense such powerful energy?"
Strange panted, his hands trembling. "I learn fast."
Mordo was silent for a second, then smiled. That smile rarely appeared on his face, but in this moment, it was genuine and warm.
"Good," he said. "Then I won't hold back."
The two clashed again.
This time, Mordo didn't test him but went all out. His magic poured out like a rainstorm—energy waves, magic shields, spatial cutting, Portals—every spell was executed with mastery, without a single hitch.
Strange was forced to retreat constantly. His magic shields were shattered time and again, his counterattacks were easily neutralized by Mordo, and his Portals were interrupted by Mordo's energy waves before they could fully open.
His face, hands, and robes were covered in burn marks from the energy; there was blood at the corner of his mouth, and his breathing was as ragged as a broken bellows.
But his eyes were very bright.
Mordo noticed those eyes. It wasn't the look of someone admitting defeat, but of someone waiting—waiting for an opportunity.
Mordo's offensive slowed for a split second. Not because he was tired, but because he needed to adjust his magic output.
In that instant, Strange moved.
He didn't counterattack but suddenly vanished. It wasn't teleportation, but an illusion he used to create a duplicate exactly like himself. Mordo's energy wave struck the duplicate, which shattered into specks of glowing light.
Mordo realized something was wrong and turned around—
Strange had already appeared behind him.
A short blade condensed from magic was pressed against the back of Mordo's neck.
"You lost." Strange's voice was hoarse, but calm.
Mordo froze.
He looked down at the short blade; there was no energy fluctuation on the edge, which meant Strange had used all his magic to condense this blade, without wasting any. Simple, direct, effective.
Mordo was silent for a long time.
Then he straightened up, turned around, and looked at Strange. On that serious face, there was no resentment, no anger, only a complex, almost relieved expression.
"You won," Mordo said. "The position of Sorcerer Supreme is yours."
Strange put away the short blade and took a step back. His hands were trembling, but not from nervousness—it was from excessive magic consumption.
"You are also very strong; I just got lucky."
Mordo shook his head. "It wasn't luck; it was judgment. You knew what I was waiting for, and I knew what you were waiting for, but your patience was better than mine."
He looked into Strange's eyes.
"You will make a good Sorcerer Supreme."