Roa waved a silly goodbye, but afterwards, turned warily to look at the stage where an apathetic mustached aristocrat was sipping his tea. ‘What does Novreau have to say about this?’ he thought.

Currently, a dispute was going on between Novreau Philitte and someone with features that looked to be a fae from the woodlands like Ariene. Roa assumed he was the supervisor sent by Forest Riviera to observe her.

A few seconds later, they settled on a consensus, and Novreau went and stood at the front of the stage. “Roa Fariche,” he called. “You may start. I pray you deliver a worthwhile performance.”

The air suddenly grew heavier. Roa was left alone in the arena with hundreds of scrutinizing gazes stabbing at his back.

‘Ah, yes. This. I didn’t miss this one bit.’ He shrugged his shoulders and gathered mana towards his palm.

“Quench.”

A few snickers roused from the gray ties’ bleachers as a small ball of water formed from Roa’s left hand, which was understandable. Water was the easiest magic to handle. If one wanted to awe with water magic, then a torrential downpour was needed. 

All that Roa had managed was enough water to fill a cup. Out of the two performances so far, his had the most underwhelming start.

Roa directed the ball of water towards the mana curtain. It flew slow and unsteady, and eventually hit the curtain with a small splash. Mana rippled for a good few seconds before a hand surfaced from the curtain.

Roa’s heart raced as he recalled the words he would say to everyone right before a battle. —”If I were to die and turn into a shade… Strike me down. Don’t hesitate.”

Long, haggard hair; small cuts apparent on its face; drably dressed, with its left side under a dirty cloak, and its right hand carrying a dull-looking blade. 

There was a stark difference between Roa’s shade and the two that appeared before it. The previous shades were akin to smooth stones whereas Roa’s was a weathered rock.

Immediately, those at the gray ties’ area, even those who stopped themselves from snickering initially, couldn’t help but burst out into laughter. Roa’s shade looked every bit like a beggar—at best a vagabond.

Only the audience familiar with the final assessment held onto their seats in confusion. Back at his seat, Novreau Philitte placed his teacup down, paying full attention to the arena. This was the first time that he’d ever seen a shade with such… an aggressive expression.

“Son of a—lich!” Roa immediately dashed forward, brandishing his blade.

In the Spirit Domain, one would never get the chance to meet their own shade. —Wrath-filled vestiges of former friends, colleagues, villains—you name them; if a shade ever appeared in front of others with one’s likeness, then presumably, that person would have already died.

Roa Fariche had already died, once. That was a fact.

He rushed to engage the shade to cut off its head. There was the danger that it would get stronger the more time had lapsed, and his intuition was begging him to quickly dispatch the lookalike.

However, the shade had no plans on just observing. It ran forward at the same time Roa did and crossed with his blade; right arm forward, left shoulder back—as if they were doing a performance, in perfect mirror of Roa’s stance.

Roa pushed back; the shade did the same. A small space opened between them. His gaze met with its eyes and saw a gleam of madness that shook him to his core. He was certain that he was facing a somewhat authentic shade.

Roa lunged and threw in a sharp thrust—his arm was blown upwards, but he used the momentum to follow with a full-body spin in mid-air. Forming a silver wheel, the edge of his blade cut through the shade from below—from its stomach to its left shoulder. 

However, blood wasn’t drawn. Only the dirty cloak draped over the shade’s shoulder was torn off, and the absence of its left arm was revealed.

Roa faltered as he tried to regain his stance. Nobody faced more shades than he did, but engaging one with his own likeness affected his mentality more than he had thought.

‘Am I dead? Am I still stuck inside? —I mean, anything can happen inside the Spirit Domain, right?” Roa began to doubt; to second guess his situation. If this train of thought continued then his mind would have decayed and would have quickly brought him to madness. However… Before any damage was done to his psyche, a refreshing wave of mana pulsed from his left arm, cleansing his mind of the decay.

“Haa…” Roa took a deep breath as he was brought back to his senses. Determined, he said to the shade, “In that case, let’s make it so that you’ll be the last ugly fella I will ever have to fight.”

A declaration. The only loss Roa would face this time around would be his own death. He shot towards the shade and brandished his weapon, bombarding the shade with a flurry of attacks.

Outside, a lot of mouths turned agape. —“How could a person move so eerily fast?” —their faces seemed to say. Ariene, as well, recalled her spar with Roa—how frustrating it was that she could hardly land a hit on him.

Novis Philitte clenched the hems of his lavish coat, asking aloud, “W-What kind of magic is this!?”

“It’s not magic. This is purely physical skill,” Yuria Illyas answered succinctly.

“Impossible! How could this—” Novis turned to refute, but seeing who had answered him, he quickly held his tongue.

Ariene heard them and was surprised. She glanced at the raven-haired young lady, whose lilac eyes glowed bright with mana while observing Roa’s fight.

‘Is she using a spell to watch?’ Ariene wondered. 

Spells that had a function of augmenting the body were rare and hard to execute—especially ones which concerned the eyes. Ariene squinted curiously, as she suddenly found the young lady who she had shared a bed with clouded in mystery.

Back at the arena, a gap had opened once more between Roa and the shade. 

Roa was sweating profusely, his body running on fumes and adrenaline. A few days of conditioning and nourishing his emaciated young body was obviously not enough to bring him back up to his peak. And with the movements he was displaying, it was no wonder he was already gasping for air.

On the other hand, although the shade showed no signs of fatigue or exhaustion, it had suffered some injuries. Only, instead of blood, the numerous cuts around its body leaked a dark, misty haze of corrupt man. It was like a furnace wantonly leaking smoke.

The battle was soon to reach its end.

“Are they satisfied with this? —Am I? Ending it like this?” Roa asked himself, shifting his gaze towards the professors and then back at the shade. He felt the fight with this watered-down version of himself a little underwhelming. 

Make no mistake, Roa was at an advantage. Although odd that it took so long, he wasn’t feeding the shade mana, which meant that the defensive array was gradually leeching away at the shade’s strength. 

Although, this was no different from stalling until time ran out and winning by default—a hollow victory.

“One,” Roa spoke on impulse, aura rolling thinly down his blade. “Just one clean line across the neck.” 

It was a momentary greed. The One-Armed King was never one to let a shade roam freely around the Spirit Domain.

A single cut was all he needed to accomplish before the shade could gain any strength, however, this decision… would incur repercussions that Roa wouldn’t have ever imagined, and one he would come to regret heavily.

In the future, strings of curses would flow from the unwitting Roa’s mouth, eventually stacking enough words to fill the pages of an incredibly thick book.