The morning sun beat down on the amphitheater of the Imperial Academy. The place was packed; not a single seat remained free in the marble stands. Nobles had gathered to witness what everyone considered a public execution disguised as a "duel of honor."
At one end of the arena, Julius Sterling was already prepared. The heat radiating from his fifth-circle body made the air tremble, creating a mirage-like distortion over the sand.
He stood surrounded by his followers, laughing and showing off his salamander-scale armor, which gleamed under the sun.
"There's the 'ornament'!" Julius shouted the moment he saw me emerge from the tunnel, his voice amplified by magic. "I hope you brought a will, Varkas, because today your bloodline ends in ashes!"
I walked toward the center of the arena with my hands in my pockets, wearing nothing but my school uniform—no armor, no magic staff. The crowd's jeers were deafening, a tide of contempt that would have broken any ordinary noble.
In the upper stands, however, the gazes were different. Valeria Astaford watched with her arms crossed, analyzing my stride; Cassane Windsteel maintained her icy mask, though her fingers tightened slightly around the railing. And in the darkest corner, Princess Elara stared at me with such deep terror that she looked on the verge of fainting, remembering what that "useless" man had done to her the night before.
I stopped five meters from Julius. The heat of his fifth-circle aura struck my face—dry and arrogant—making the air ripple between us.
"I'd like to clarify something before this duel," I said calmly. "Since you requested it with the clear intention of killing me, you'll at least accept one request of mine in the hypothetical case that I win, won't you? After all, I accepted this duel even though I had no obligation to do so."
He looked at me as if the idea had never even crossed his mind.
"What do you want, Varkas?" he spat with disdain.
"It's simple: if I win, you won't bother me or anyone close to me ever again."
"Fine. It won't matter anyway," he replied dismissively.
"Well, it's rather brave of you," I said, my sharp irony echoing throughout the amphitheater, "to attempt a 'duel of honor' against someone who doesn't possess aura or even a single circle of magic."
The people in the stands caught my words immediately. A murmur of disapproval spread among the nobility; even by the capital's standards, an elite mage massacring a defenseless "useless" person bordered on the pathetic. Social pressure began to weigh on Julius's shoulders.
"Hmph! Don't try to justify your weakness with words, Varkas," Julius growled, though his face flushed red with embarrassment.
"Mmm, it is indeed my fault for being so… limited," I replied, walking calmly toward the side of the arena. "But I assume I'll be allowed to use a sword in this duel, correct?"
I pointed to the pile of wooden practice swords. I had no intention of revealing the true extent of my abyssal power—just enough to crush Julius and make everyone shut up with that ridiculous nickname of "useless."
"Of course you can, if you think that piece of wood will be of any use," Julius mocked, igniting his fists with flames that spread across the ground. "Take it and prepare to be reduced to ashes!"
I picked up one of the wooden swords. It was light, almost insignificant in my hand—but the moment my fingers closed around the grip, the structure of the weapon felt different. To everyone else, I was still a young man without mana; to me, that piece of oak had become an extension of a will that had once cut through constellations.
In the Astaford box, Valeria leaned forward, narrowing her eyes. As a sword expert, something in the way I held the weapon put her on alert for the first time that morning.
If there was one thing I had perfected in my previous life, it was the sword. Make no mistake—I had many interests over the centuries (an eternal life tends to refine them), but the path of the swordsman was one of the few things I could still perform without thought. Defeating a mere seventeen-year-old brat who only knew a few fire tricks didn't require even a fraction of my true power.
To the eyes of everyone present, I would go from being "useless" to a sword genius—yet still considered "worthless" within the magical hierarchy of the Demor Empire.
After all, what could a swordsman do against the great mages of the higher circles?
Or so they wanted to believe.
Growing impatient with my silence, Julius roared and launched a compact blast of fire that hissed through the arena air. The heat was intense enough to burn the skin of any nearby spectator.
I didn't move until the flame was mere inches from my face. Then, with a motion so fluid it seemed like nothing more than a blink, the wooden sword traced a perfect arc through the air. There was no aura, no mana—only pure technique that displaced the air pressure with such precision that the fireball split in two, extinguishing harmlessly at my sides.
The silence that fell over the amphitheater was absolute. Julius stood there with his arms still outstretched, a stunned expression frozen on his face.
"Is that all, Julius?" I asked, lowering the tip of the wooden sword toward the sand. "I thought the Sterlings had more to offer than just light and smoke."
In the Astaford box, Valeria shot to her feet, her eyes gleaming with a dangerous light. More than anyone, she knew that what I had just done wasn't luck—it was mastery that defied the logic of this world.