Aron no longer took his eyes off Lukas.

Now that he understood what Lukas was capable of, even a single lapse in focus could mean defeat.

In a flash, Lukas vanished.

Light bent, and in the next instant he appeared directly in front of Aron. The blade in his hand reshaped itself into a short, broad sword of light, compact and lethal. Lukas swung without hesitation.

Aron reacted on instinct.

Years of combat training saved him—experience forged as the heir of a noble family that claimed descent from a warrior clan. Mana erupted from his body as he released a fire burst at point-blank range.

Flames swallowed Lukas.

Gasps echoed through the arena.

But before the smoke could even clear, light pulsed once more.

“Light Magic: Heal.”

The burns vanished.

Not faded. No burn traces. Gone.

The crowd froze in disbelief.

Healing magic restored flesh—but it did not erase damage so completely. Burns always left traces. Always.

Whispers spread like wildfire.

“Is that even possible?”
“Is he… noble-born?”
“No—wasn’t he just a country bumpkin?”

Lukas stood calmly, his clothes restored, his expression unchanged. An orphan raised by his grandfather—nothing more, nothing less. Yet what stood before them defied common sense.

Aron stared at him, breath heavy.

“Fight me seriously,” Aron said, voice burning with resolve. “I know you’re still holding back.”

Lukas nodded.

“Then I’ll return the favor.”

Light surged beneath his feet as he took to the air.

“Light Creation Magic: Thousand Arrows.”

A bow of pure radiance formed in his grasp. Lukas drew the string once—

—and when he released, the single arrow fractured into thousands.

A storm of light rained down.

Aron’s eyes widened. There was no time to dodge.

“Fire Magic: Hellfire!”

Flames erupted from the ground itself, roaring skyward in a massive wave. The inferno swallowed the arrows, incinerating them midair—but the spell was vast, draining.

As the fire died down, Aron dropped to one knee, mana nearly exhausted.

Lukas descended slowly, landing a short distance away. For a moment, he turned as if to walk back.

Aron forced himself up.

“I’m not done yet!”

With a roar, he gathered everything he had left.

“Fire Magic: Crimson Annihilation!”

A torrent of crimson flame burst from his mouth like a dragon’s breath, scorching the arena, consuming everything in its path.

Lukas stopped.

“…Fine,” he said quietly.
“I acknowledge your strength. In return—I’ll answer with my best.”

Light gathered, denser than ever before.

“Light Magic: Absolute Lumina.”

A colossal beam of light erupted forward.

The two spells collided.

A deafening shockwave blasted through the stadium, cracking stone, rattling barriers, nearly throwing spectators from their seats. Smoke and dust swallowed the arena whole.

Silence followed.

Then—

A figure emerged from the haze.

Lukas stood tall, one fist raised.

At his feet lay Aron, flat on his back, a peaceful smile on his face.

“I fought well,” Aron murmured, before losing consciousness.

The stadium exploded with cheers.

Not only for Lukas—but for Aron as well.

On the podium, Princess Elisabeth leapt to her feet, joy spilling across her face as she cheered.

Then she froze.

The Knight Commander, Lancelot, glanced at her sideways.

She stiffened, quickly lowering her hands.

Why am I cheering for him…?
I barely even know him.

Yet she couldn’t stop her heart from racing.

Unaware of it herself, Princess Elisabeth had already fallen.