After the astonishing clash between Serena and Isabella—one that demonstrated the power of perception and control against masterfully crafted illusions—Professor Phoenix's voice gave the students only a few moments to catch their breath or exchange awed whispers.
"The next match," her cold, decisive voice rang out, "Drake Mallory… versus Leonard von Falkenhayn."
The tension in the arena surged. This was another high-level confrontation—two sharp minds, each wielding unique abilities.
Drake, with his ever-present smile that concealed unreadable intentions… and Leo, with a calmness like the surface of a frozen lake, hiding unfathomable depth beneath.
Drake Mallory stepped into the center of the arena, his movements carrying that familiar serpentine grace. He raised his right hand slightly, as if offering a mocking greeting, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement.
Opposite him, Leonard von Falkenhayn stepped forward steadily, his stance exuding solidity and confidence. His face remained expressionless, but his steel-blue eyes were locked onto Drake—watching every breath, every subtle movement.
Another performance of intelligence and cunning begins, I thought, preparing to watch this dangerous dance.
Both rely on the mind as much as the body—but their methods couldn't be more different.
"Begin!" Professor Phoenix ordered.
There was no hesitation.
Drake moved first—fast and sudden. His body dipped slightly before he lunged forward, his left fist shooting toward Leo's abdomen. It wasn't meant to overwhelm—it was a probe, testing Leo's reactions and defenses.
Leo, who seemed to anticipate the move before it even began, didn't retreat. Instead, he pivoted precisely to the side, letting the punch pass by with barely an inch to spare.
In the same instant, he rotated his body and drove a sharp elbow toward Drake's exposed side.
"Bam!"
The strike connected. Drake grunted softly, stepping back as his smile briefly faltered.
One point for Leo, I thought.
He turned defense into an effective counterattack. That "Fortress of the Mind" isn't just passive.
Drake quickly recovered. His smile returned—wider now, but his eyes held something sharper.
"Not bad at all, von Falkenhayn," he said calmly.
"But can you keep up with this pace?"
Then his movements changed.
"Whoosh!!"
He stopped relying on direct attacks. His motions became fluid, evasive—like a snake coiling and preparing to strike from an unpredictable angle. His hands rose and fell, his posture shifting in strange, disorienting ways.
And with each movement… something subtle changed in the air.
There was no visible aura like Ethan's, no illusions like Izzy's. Instead, it felt like a faint distortion—reality itself bending ever so slightly.
So he's using his ability now, I realized.
Not offensively—at least not directly. He's creating chaos.
Suddenly, Drake lunged again, unleashing a rapid three-hit combo—left, right, left—aimed at Leo's head.
Leo blocked the first two strikes cleanly.
"Bam—boom!"
But the third…
Something was off.
The punch seemed to shift trajectory at the last moment—almost as if Drake's arm had unnaturally extended—slipping past Leo's guard and grazing his temple.
"Boom!"
"—gh!" Leo staggered back slightly, touching his temple. The hit wasn't powerful—but it was unsettling.
Impressive…
He can distort space around him just enough to make impossible strikes connect.
Drake didn't let up.
He continued his assault, mixing punches and kicks. A high side kick forced Leo to duck—only for a follow-up palm strike to target his back.
But Leo anticipated the sequence, twisting mid-motion to evade again, then attempting to grab Drake's extended arm for a counter.
Yet at the moment of contact—
Drake's arm slipped away unnaturally, as if space itself rejected Leo's grip.
He's not just fighting physically, I thought, noticing the faint frustration creeping onto Leo's face despite his composure.
He's manipulating the battlefield itself—turning every interaction into a puzzle.
If Leo failed to understand the nature of Drake's ability soon… defeat would be inevitable.
And Drake knew it. He was toying with him.
The fight continued like this for several minutes—
"Thud!"
"Boom!"
"Whooosh!!"
Rapid exchanges, evasive maneuvers, precise counters.
Leo analyzed constantly, trying to adapt to the distortions.
Drake, meanwhile, seemed to enjoy the game—layering deception upon deception, steadily draining Leo's focus and stamina.
This wouldn't be decided by brute force.
**
After several minutes of probing exchanges, both fighters paused, a few meters apart, breathing heavily.
No serious injuries—but the strain was evident.
Drake realizes now—Leo isn't easily deceived, I thought, watching that sly smile deepen.
Something had changed. His eyes were sharper. More serious.
Leo remained calm—but tension coiled beneath the surface. His mind was working at full capacity, analyzing every movement, every hint.
Then—without warning—Drake attacked again.
This time, his movements flowed like a continuous chain—each strike leading seamlessly into the next.
A feint punch turned into a palm strike—dodged.
A low kick followed—barely avoided.
Then—
"Bam!"
An elbow struck Leo's chest, forcing him back.
This is different, I noted.
He's combining distortion with relentless physical pressure—overloading Leo's analysis.
Drake pressed on. A faint dark-purple aura—like void-smoke—formed around his hand.
[Devouring Void Echo]
Rank: A+
Description:
An advanced tactical ability allowing the user to manipulate localized "void distortions" to affect energy, perception, and matter with precision. Not true emptiness—rather, a distorted echo of it.
His hand looked… unstable.
Phantom Grip application.
Drake threw a punch—
Leo raised his guard.
"Whoosh!"
The fist passed through his arms like a ghost—
Then re-solidified and struck his chin.
"BOOM!"
Leo's head snapped back, his eyes widening in shock.
So that's its direct application…
It doesn't make him intangible—but distorts contact points just enough to bypass defenses.
Even so, Leo didn't panic.
He adapted—abandoning direct blocks in favor of wider evasive movements, maintaining distance to limit the technique's effectiveness.
[Fortress of the Mind]
Rank: A
Description:
A high-level mental and defensive ability that turns the user's mind into a rapid-processing system and an impenetrable fortress against mental interference. Enhances analysis, decision-making, and composure under extreme pressure.
A truly remarkable skill.
As long as there were clues—he would find the answer.
But Drake's distortions interfered with his sensory input, complicating everything.
The battle turned into a complex hunt.
Drake pressed forward—using phantom strikes and void distortions.
Leo evaded, adapted, searched for an opening.
At one moment, Drake suddenly stopped mid-charge—and created a localized "void pull" beneath Leo's rear foot.
"Fwoooosh!!"
Leo nearly lost balance—
Drake leapt, delivering a spinning aerial kick—
But Leo ducked at the last instant, then grabbed Drake's ankle mid-air.
"Not so easy, Mallory."
But Drake twisted free, landing gracefully.
"You're impressively stubborn," he said, breathing heavier now.
"But even the strongest fortress cracks under pressure—from the right angles."
Both fighters were clearly exhausted now. Movements slowed, breathing grew heavier.
Their E-rank limitations were showing.
This is the endgame, I thought.
Who has the final trick?
Drake began circling—light, probing strikes, waiting.
Then—
He struck.
"Whoosh!"
A rapid barrage—targeting Leo's left leg.
"Bam-bam-bam!!"
Low punches, sweeping kicks—focused pressure.
Leo reacted instinctively—reinforcing that side, shifting weight onto his right leg.
Obvious trap, I thought, heart racing.
Drake's smile widened.
Then—
He stopped.
"Whoosh!"
In a flash, he struck—not the left—but beneath Leo's right foot.
He missed—
Or so it seemed.
For a split second, a faint purple flicker formed beneath Leo's shoe—then vanished.
Enhanced Void Slip.
Damn… he did it again.
Leo's right foot—his anchor—
Slipped completely.
"—What?!"
His body tilted violently backward, arms flailing.
Drake moved instantly.
Like a serpent striking—
He slipped past Leo and drove a precise palm strike into his back mid-fall.
"BOOOOM!!"
Leo was sent crashing out of bounds.
"Thud!"
He landed on his hands and knees, breathing heavily.
Silence fell.
Then—
The arena erupted.
"The match… is over!" Professor Phoenix announced.
"Winner: Drake Mallory."
Drake stood in the center, breathing hard—but smiling victoriously.
Drake wins, I thought, closing my eyes briefly.
What a fight.
**
After Drake's cunning victory over Leonard, the duels continued.
The atmosphere remained charged, students analyzing every match, debating strategies, predicting outcomes.
Professor Aurora Phoenix stood as cold as ever, noting results on her tablet.
"The matches will continue," she announced.
"The goal is to evaluate as many of you as possible today. Prepare yourselves."
Names were called. Battles followed.
Not all were as spectacular—but each revealed something.
"Allison Carter versus Marcus Lee!"
The slender Allison relied on agility, dodging Marcus's heavy blows—but was eventually cornered and struck out of bounds.
"Jake Stone versus Sophia Reynolds!"
A tactical battle—Jake's defense versus Sophia's speed. She won with a clever feint.
"Rex Barnes versus Kenneth Asher!"
A second-year opponent. Rex fought ferociously—but Kenneth's experience secured the victory.
The matches continued…
Then—
"Jonas White versus… Adam Lester!"
Silence.
"…Where is he?"
"I don't see him…"
"Did he run?"
Jonas stepped forward nervously, pale as a ghost.
No Adam.
"Adam Lester," Professor Phoenix called again, impatience creeping into her voice.
"To the arena. Immediately… or face severe consequences."
Still nothing.
Her eyes closed briefly.
When they opened—cold fury burned within them.
"Someone," she said quietly to the instructors,
"check his dormitory. Others—search nearby corridors. I want to know where that student disappeared to. Now."
He will fight.
Elsewhere—
In the quiet administrative wing—
"Click."
"Click."
"Come in."
The door opened.
Adam stepped inside.
His messy black hair was even more disheveled—likely from his escape—and his gray eyes gleamed strangely.
A wide, perfectly fake smile spread across his face.
"Good evening, Dean Hargrove!" he said cheerfully.
"Or… is it still morning? I've honestly lost track of time lately."
The dean looked up, eyes widening in surprise.
"Student Lester? What are you doing here? Weren't you supposed to be at training?"
Adam approached calmly, closing the door behind him.
Then leaned casually against the desk.
"Indeed, sir. I was there. But something urgent came up—something that simply couldn't wait. As a loyal student… I felt it was my duty to report it to you personally."
The dean frowned.
"Urgent? Does this have anything to do with that Masked Lord?"
Adam's smile widened.
"Could we speak… in complete privacy?"
"…I have some very sensitive information… that I believe will interest you."
The dean looked at him—then at the closed door—then back again.
Confusion. Suspicion. Curiosity.