Direct combat sessions were always unpredictable. No two scenarios were ever the same. Conditions were kept unknown to the participants until the moment the match began, which made the anticipation all the more intense. No one ever knew exactly what to expect. That was the point. It simulated real-world combat situations—chaotic, uncertain, and full of surprises.

  Mark walked into the waiting room, scanning the familiar faces of his classmates. A quick head count told him that he and Reyna were the last to arrive. His brow furrowed in thought. Perhaps everyone else had been overly excited and rushed to get here early. He couldn’t blame them—he’d been looking forward to this day too.

  A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Finally," he muttered under his breath.

  As they moved farther into the room, Reyna was quickly waved over by a few of their classmates. She hesitated for a moment before joining them, throwing a glance back at Mark as she left his side. Reyna was a good friend. Not as close as they could be, perhaps, but close enough to share the excitement of the day with.

  "Who do you want to be paired up against?" Mark asked, watching as Elizabeth, another classmate, approached.

  Elizabeth let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling her eyes in mock exasperation. "Definitely Arran. He has a better record than me in straight-up combat. So, obviously, he’s better."

  Mark raised an eyebrow, not quite agreeing. "Records don’t always tell the whole story."

  It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought that way once, especially back when Arran first started racking up wins. But over time, Mark had come to realize Arran wasn’t just lucky with combat conditions. Arran’s wins were no fluke. He was talented—more than talented.

  "Usually, I’d agree with you," Mark continued, turning his gaze to the viewing window where the combat arena could be seen. "But Arran’s different. He’s not just strong; his battle IQ is insane. His ability to reinforce his body with mana? Easily high B-Class level. He’s great, Elizabeth. Really great."

  Elizabeth shrugged but didn’t argue. She knew Mark had a point, even if she hated admitting it.

  As they stood at the viewing window, the first duel was about to begin. The yard outside had a rugged, natural design—a deliberate choice by the professors to mimic real-world environments. Large trees dotted the edges of the field, while boulders and patches of thinning grass filled the central area. Here and there, patches of dirt and dead grass stood out like scars on the land. A pond shimmered off to the side, reflecting the midday sun.

  Today was special. The combat situations had been designed by a mysterious professor, someone who had remained invisible to the students all semester. After setting up the conditions, this professor would hand the student pairings to two other professors, who would call out the names of the combatants. The matches weren’t just about brute strength; they were meant to simulate life-and-death situations with unknown variables. It was a real test of adaptability.

  Mark felt a shiver of anticipation run down his spine. In situations where the number of students didn’t line up, ace students from the lower classes would be invited to fill the gap. The best of the best. Everyone here had something to prove today.

  The professors’ voices rang out from the front of the room, snapping everyone’s attention back to the present. The next names were called.

  "Combat Scenario: Blade Work. Mana Transfiguration. Weapon Enhancement Skills Only."

  A murmur spread through the room. It was a challenging combination, one that demanded precise control over mana and combat technique.

  "Combatants: Jon Karuma vs. Aaron Peniton."

  The two students stepped forward, and the buzz of conversation faded to a hush. Jon Karuma was tall and lean, his eyes sharp with focus. He carried a katana, a sleek weapon known for its speed and precision. Across from him, Aaron Peniton gripped a longsword, his broad shoulders and heavy build a stark contrast to Jon’s lithe frame.

  "Interesting match-up," Mark muttered, turning to Annabeth, who had come to stand beside him. "Jon’s got speed and agility. Aaron has strength. This should be good."

  Annabeth nodded, her eyes glued to the arena. "Jon’s faster, but Aaron’s not slow by any means. And he’s got more reach with that longsword. Jon’s going to have to be quick if he wants to get past it."

  Mark hummed in agreement. "And the mana transfiguration element... That’ll make it more complex. They’ll have to keep adjusting their weapon enhancements on the fly."

  The viewing window darkened slightly as the protective barrier came into effect, signaling that the match was about to begin. Jon and Aaron took their positions on opposite ends of the arena, their weapons drawn.

  A soft chime echoed across the field.

  The chime rang through the air, signaling the start of the match. Jon wasted no time, darting forward with lightning speed. His katana glowed faintly with mana transfiguration, a technique that allowed him to strengthen the blade with each movement. His feet barely touched the ground as he closed the distance between himself and Aaron, slashing toward his opponent’s side in a quick, fluid motion.

  Aaron reacted immediately, his longsword already in motion. The sheer size of the weapon didn’t stop Aaron from moving with precision. The blades collided with a deafening *clang*, sending a ripple of energy through the arena. Mana-enhanced steel meeting steel, and for a moment, the two fighters were locked in a clash of power.

  Aaron grinned as he pushed Jon back. "You’re faster, Jon, but you won’t get through this time."

  Jon spun away, light on his feet, quickly repositioning himself to Aaron’s blind spot. He slashed again, this time aiming for Aaron’s shoulder. But Aaron was prepared—his mana-infused defense was already in place. The longsword moved with deadly accuracy, intercepting Jon’s katana in mid-air. Sparks flew as the blades connected.

  "Same old strategy," Aaron taunted, forcing Jon to retreat a few steps. "You think speed alone can take me down?"

  Jon didn’t respond, his face remaining focused and composed. He circled Aaron slowly, eyes locked on him, katana raised, ready for the next strike. He knew brute force wasn’t going to win this fight. Aaron was stronger and more durable. Jon had fought him too many times to not know this. His strategy would have to be clever, precise.

  From the stands, Mark and Annabeth observed the unfolding battle with sharp attention. Mark’s brows furrowed as he watched the movements.

  "Jon’s playing it cautious," Mark said, his voice thoughtful. "He knows Aaron can break through his guard in a second."

  Annabeth crossed her arms, nodding. "But cautious won’t win him this match. Aaron’s just waiting for Jon to tire himself out."

  Aaron pressed the advantage, swinging his longsword in a wide arc. The sheer force of the blow was enough to send tremors through the ground. Jon leaped back just in time, his agility saving him from a devastating hit. He darted to the left, aiming for Aaron’s exposed side again. His katana moved like lightning, but Aaron’s defense was near-impenetrable. His armor, reinforced by mana transfiguration, absorbed the blow, leaving only a minor dent.

  Jon didn’t let up. He attacked again, aiming a downward slash at Aaron’s shoulder. Aaron, with his longsword buzzing with energy, met Jon’s katana with a powerful parry. The impact sent a shockwave through Jon’s arms, forcing him to stumble back.

  Aaron smirked, his confidence only growing. "You’re just as fast as ever, Jon, but you can’t break through. You never could."

  Jon’s jaw tightened as he felt the frustration building inside him. His attacks weren’t landing with the impact he needed. Aaron was stronger, and his mana defense was making up for the slowness of the longsword. Jon had faced Aaron’s brute strength countless times, but this was different. Aaron had grown, too.

  "He’s toying with Jon," Newt remarked, joining Mark and Annabeth at the viewing window. His eyes were fixed on the arena, watching the back-and-forth between the two combatants. "Aaron’s letting Jon think he has a chance, but he’s just waiting for the right moment."

  Mark’s fists clenched as he watched. "Jon’s fast, but he needs to think bigger. Aaron’s not just a brute anymore—he’s been refining his mana transfiguration with every fight."

  Back in the arena, Jon lunged again, his katana aimed for Aaron’s wrist in a bid to disarm him. The strike was fast, precise, and aimed to slip through Aaron’s defense. But Aaron was ready. His longsword moved in a wide arc, deflecting Jon’s blade with a deafening clash. Aaron wasted no time, bringing his longsword down in a crushing overhead strike. Jon barely raised his katana in time, the impact nearly driving him into the dirt.

  "You’re good, Jon," Aaron said, his breath steady despite the intensity of the battle. "But I’ve won more of our fights for a reason."

  Jon’s jaw clenched as he felt the weight of those words. He was running out of options. Aaron was too well-defended, and Jon could feel the fatigue setting in. His speed was still there, but his strikes weren’t making a dent in Aaron’s reinforced defense. He needed something more, something Aaron wouldn’t expect.

  Jon backflipped out of Aaron’s range, landing gracefully a few feet away. Sweat dripped from his forehead as he tried to catch his breath. His katana still vibrated in his hands, humming with mana. But Jon knew it wasn’t enough. Not if he was going to break through Aaron’s defense.

  A thought crossed his mind. It was something he had been practicing in secret—a technique that could change the fight, but at a great cost. It wasn’t just a physical maneuver; it was a *binding vow*, a dangerous last resort. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling his mana swirl inside him. If he could pull it off, it might give him the edge he needed. But if it failed...

  "Is he stalling?" Annabeth whispered, noticing Jon’s sudden stillness.

  "No," Newt said, his eyes widening. "He’s up to something."

  Jon took a deep breath, focusing every last drop of his mana inward. With a burst of power, he poured everything he had into his katana. The blade glowed brighter, more intensely, the edge sharper, but it didn’t stop there. The energy split, and suddenly, in his left hand, a second blade materialized. This one was made entirely of mana, a transparent, glowing katana formed from Jon’s own energy.

  A murmur rippled through the crowd as they realized what Jon had done.

  "He created another sword," Newt breathed in awe. "He’s using all his mana to conjure it."

  Mark’s eyes widened. "That’s... dangerous, a binding word on oneself, If it fails Jon won’t have any mana left."

  Jon stood now, dual-wielding two katanas—one physical, one made entirely of raw energy. His heart pounded in his chest as he faced Aaron. He had sacrificed almost all his mana for this. If it didn’t work, Aaron would crush him.

  Aaron narrowed his eyes, sensing the shift in Jon’s aura. "Desperate, aren’t you?" he said, raising his longsword. "This ends now."

  With a shout, Aaron charged. The two clashed again, but this time, Jon’s speed was almost blinding. His twin blades danced through the air with an agility that caught Aaron off guard. Aaron swung his longsword with all his might, but Jon ducked, weaving around the powerful strikes. His mana katana slashed through the air, aiming for Aaron’s torso. Aaron brought up his longsword to block, but the mana blade was faster, slicing through the gaps in Aaron’s defense.

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  Aaron grunted as the blade connected, cutting through his reinforced armor. Blood dripped from the wound, but he wasn’t down yet. Aaron’s expression darkened as he realized the fight was far from over.

  Jon pressed his advantage, his movements growing faster, more unpredictable. The physical katana clashed with Aaron’s longsword, while the mana katana sliced at Aaron’s sides, each strike chipping away at his mana defense. Aaron’s armor flickered, cracks forming where Jon’s blades had landed.

  "I’m not done yet!" Jon shouted, his voice filled with determination.

  With a powerful leap, Jon aimed both katanas at Aaron’s exposed leg. Aaron blocked the physical blade, but the mana katana bypassed his defenses, cutting deep into his side. Aaron staggered back, pain flashing across his face for the first time in the fight.

  Mark leaned forward, his heart racing. "He’s getting through!"

  Annabeth’s eyes were wide with realization. "But Jon’s burning out. He’s losing mana fast. If Aaron survives this, Jon’s done."

  Jon’s breaths came in ragged gasps, his body starting to slow. He had given everything he had, but it still wasn’t enough. Aaron’s defenses, though weakened, were still too strong, and Jon’s mana reserves were dangerously low.

  Aaron, sensing Jon’s exhaustion, took a deep breath, his mana surging around him. His longsword glowed brighter as he poured raw power into it, his aura expanding with renewed strength. Aaron steeled himself for the final blow.

  "You fought well, Jon," Aaron said, his voice steady and resolute. "But this ends now."

  With a roar, Aaron charged forward, his longsword cutting through the air with deadly force. Jon raised his katanas to block, but the impact was too much. The mana katana shattered, disappearing into thin air, and the physical katana cracked under the pressure. Jon was thrown back, hitting the ground hard.

  He gasped for breath, his vision swimming as he tried to stand. But his body refused to move. He was out of mana—out of options.

  Aaron stood over Jon, his longsword raised high, the blade glinting in the harsh sunlight. But instead of delivering the final blow, Aaron slowly lowered his weapon, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

  "You always push yourself further than I expect, Jon. Good match. Maybe next time," he said, his voice calm but carrying a trace of respect.

  The training grounds were utterly silent. Everyone had heard the words, and the weight of them hung in the air. Mark, standing on the sidelines, felt a pang of pity for Jon. It wasn’t entirely his fault, after all. The match had been stacked against him from the start. Not only was the pairing a poor one in terms of their combat styles, but Aaron was every bit the prodigy Jon was—and perhaps even more.

  This academy was for the elite. Every student here was exceptional, and the gap between the first and twentieth rank was often less than nine percent in most metrics. Yet even with such narrow differences, a match between the number one and number twenty would always be a mismatch. There was simply no way it would yield any growth for either combatant.

  Mark watched quietly as the medics arrived, helping Jon off the platform. The young fighter was dazed but unharmed—physically, at least. His pride was another matter. Jon had been outmatched from the beginning, and there was little he could have done to change the outcome.

  The tension in the air grew as the next selection loomed. The eyes of every soon-to-be graduate were once again drawn to the teacher at the center of the training ground. He stood with a clipboard in hand, ready to call out the next combatants and lay down the conditions for their battle.

  "Newton Bridge will face Arran Atkins," the instructor announced, his voice echoing across the arena. "Conditions: Weapon usage disallowed. Mana constructs allowed. Channeling allowed. The combat scenario will end when one opponent is incapacitated."

  Mark’s head snapped towards Newt so fast that he almost felt a strain in his neck. His heart sank. "Forfeit," he muttered urgently to Newt. "You can’t win this."

  Mark’s tone was as stoic as ever, but his eyes betrayed his concern. It was a dangerous fight, and the stakes were high. Arran wasn’t just any opponent. He was ranked second in their class, a powerhouse whose mastery of kinetic mana conversion was unmatched. Newt, ranked fifth, would have to rely on his intellect and strategy to stand a chance.

  Newt, however, didn’t seem fazed. He waved dismissively at Mark, a confident smirk tugging at his lips. "Oh, come on. You really have so little faith in me?" he quipped, his tone light, though there was a spark of seriousness in his eyes. "Relax. Just watch me work. I’ll surprise you."

  With that, Newt made his way toward the platform, leaving Mark and Annabeth in stunned silence. Annabeth, who had been watching quietly from the sidelines, leaned in closer to Mark, her brow furrowed in thought.

  "This is suspicious," she murmured, almost to herself, as she watched Newt’s retreating figure.

  Mark nodded in agreement, his gaze shifting toward Arran, who was already entering the field. "Very suspicious," he echoed. "Why would they pair Newt against Arran now, of all times?"

  It was an unspoken rule, almost a tradition, that the top two students would face each other on the final day of the academy. Their rivalry would be a grand spectacle, a display of power and skill to prove who truly deserved the top spot. But now, Newt was being thrust into an arena where the odds were heavily stacked against him. If he lost, not only would it damage his standing in the upcoming profession awakening trial, but it would also cast a shadow on the reputation of the royal family, of which Newt was a member.

  Arran, on the other hand, was ready. His gaze was locked on Mark as he entered the field, and for a brief moment, their eyes met. Mark could see the fire in Arran's eyes—he was eager, maybe too eager. Mark clenched his fists by his side, forcing himself to trust in his friend. Newt wasn’t a fool. He could have forfeited the match and faced lesser consequences, but he hadn’t. That could only mean one thing—he had a plan.

  Down in the arena, the air was thick with mana. The atmosphere felt heavy, almost suffocating, as the power coursing through the students began to saturate the space. This wasn’t just a fight; it was a test of who could best manipulate the flow of mana, who could bend it to their will.

  Mark's mind raced as he analyzed the situation. Newt was ranked fifth in their class, while Arran was ranked second. The gap between them was significant—at least seven percent, if not more. It wasn’t just a matter of combat ability. Arran’s talent in converting mana into kinetic energy gave him an overwhelming advantage. He could burn through mana reserves at an alarming rate and convert that energy into raw physical force, making his strikes nearly impossible to block.

  The matchup seemed lopsided, almost cruel. But Newt wasn’t backing down. That meant he had something up his sleeve, something Mark hadn’t thought of yet.

  "You’ve decided to engage me," Arran’s voice broke through the silence as he settled into a combat stance, his legs spread apart, arms raised, every muscle in his body taut with anticipation. He was ready to unleash the full force of his Inherited technique, Mark could feel the tension from where he stood.

  Arran was a force of nature when it came to raw physical prowess. His ability to convert mana into kinetic energy made him a living weapon. Each strike he delivered could be amplified to inhuman speeds and strengths, a dangerous skill that few could counter. But the flaw in his approach was obvious—he burned through mana quickly at least he used too. If Newt could drag the fight out long enough, force Arran to waste energy on futile attacks, he might stand a chance.

  Newt, on the other hand, was a different kind of fighter. He wasn’t as physically dominant as Arran, but he was proficient with mana manipulation. Where Arran relied on speed, agility and power, Newt could shape and control the flow of mana with precision. His ability to craft complex mana constructs allowed him to create barriers, traps, and even projectiles that could disrupt an opponent’s rhythm. It wasn’t about strength with Newt—it was about strategy.

  Mark’s mind whirred as he considered the possible ways Newt could approach the fight. One possibility was that Newt would try to bait Arran into expending his mana reserves early. Arran, being the more aggressive fighter, might be tempted to end the fight quickly with a series of devastating blows. If Newt could dodge or deflect them just long enough, he could turn the tide.

  Another possibility was that Newt had developed a new mana construct specifically for this fight. It wouldn’t be out of character for him to spend weeks perfecting a technique tailored to counter Arran’s kinetic strikes, he had a tactic for everyone, Perhaps a barrier that absorbed kinetic energy, or a trap that locked Arran into place, limiting his mobility.

  Annabeth, who had been quiet until now, suddenly spoke up. "Do you think Newt has a counter for Arran’s mana conversion?" she asked, her voice thoughtful.

  Mark hesitated before responding. "If anyone could come up with one, it would be Newt. But that’s a big if."

  Annabeth nodded, her eyes fixed on the two combatants below. "Still, I can’t shake the feeling that something’s off about this whole thing. Why pair them?

  Mark didn’t have an answer. All he could do was watch as Newt and Arran prepared to face off. This fight was going to be different from any they had seen before. Newt might be outmatched, but if there was one thing Mark had learned, it was never to underestimate him.

  Mark’s eyes never left the arena. Every breath seemed to echo in his ears as Newt stood at the center, his posture loose but charged with readiness. Across from him, Arran looked like a coiled spring, his body taut with energy, ready to explode into action. The two of them stood in stark contrast: Newt, the calculating tactician, versus Arran, the overwhelming force of nature.

  The moment the instructor signaled the start, Arran moved, a blur of motion so fast that Mark almost missed it. The raw speed was startling. In the blink of an eye, Arran was within striking distance, his fist flying toward Newt’s head.

  But Newt was ready. With a graceful shift of his weight, he ducked under the blow, his body moving fluidly as if he’d anticipated the strike. Arran’s momentum carried him past, but he pivoted sharply, his foot slamming into the ground, sending a shockwave through the floor as he spun around to face Newt again.

  Mark felt a bead of sweat roll down his temple. Arran’s speed was already impressive, but something about it was… wrong. It wasn’t just his natural speed; it was increasing with every second, as though he was drawing from some inexhaustible well of energy. Mark's stomach twisted at the thought.

  Newt, meanwhile, remained composed, his eyes narrowing as he analyzed Arran’s movements. He extended a hand, and Mark could feel the hum of mana in the air as Newt began to channel energy into a complex spell. Mark recognized the formation—a full-powered mana binding. If Newt could finish the casting, it would restrict Arran’s movements, giving Newt the control he needed to turn the fight in his favor.

  But Arran wasn’t going to let that happen.

  Before Newt could complete the spell, Arran was on him again, faster this time. His body blurred as he closed the gap, his hand darting out to interrupt the flow of Newt’s mana. The sheer force of his strike was enough to disrupt Newt’s concentration, and the spell shattered before it could fully form.

  Mark clenched his fists. Arran was too fast, his strikes too relentless. Newt was barely managing to keep up, forced into a defensive position. Every time he tried to channel mana for a counterattack, Arran would rush in, disrupting the flow and forcing Newt to retreat.

  Arran’s fighting style was brutal and efficient. His attacks were not wild or reckless; they were calculated bursts of speed and strength, each one designed to keep Newt off balance. His movements were sharp, precise, like a predator wearing down its prey.

  Newt, on the other hand, had adopted a more fluid style. His body moved like water, constantly shifting and adapting to Arran’s relentless barrage. Mark could see the influence of Newt’s training in every dodge and parry. He would slip past Arran’s strikes with minimal movement, using his elbows and knees to deflect attacks whenever he was too close for comfort.

  But no matter how skillfully Newt evaded, Arran was gaining ground. His speed was increasing exponentially with each passing minute, and Newt was running out of space to maneuver. Every strike from Arran was faster, every impact heavier. It was as if he were drawing mana directly into his muscles, fueling his movements with raw power.

  Mark’s heart pounded in his chest. He could see the toll the fight was taking on Newt. His breathing was becoming more labored, sweat dripping down his brow. He was being forced to fight on Arran’s terms, and that was a losing battle. Arran’s ability to convert mana into kinetic energy was overwhelming, and there was no sign of him slowing down.

  Then, in a sudden shift, Arran lunged forward with a devastating punch aimed at Newt’s chest. It was too fast, too powerful—Newt couldn’t dodge it this time.

  But instead of trying to evade, Newt did something Mark hadn’t expected. He stepped into the blow.

  The impact reverberated through the arena, and for a moment, Mark thought Newt had made a fatal mistake. But then he saw it—Newt had caught Arran’s arm in the crook of his elbow, using the force of the punch to pull Arran off balance. In one fluid motion, Newt pivoted, driving his knee into Arran’s side with a brutal precision that sent the larger fighter staggering back.

  Mark’s eyes widened. It was a high-risk move, but it had worked. Newt had used Arran’s own momentum against him, creating an opening where there hadn’t been one. But Mark knew it wouldn’t be enough. Arran would recover quickly, and his speed would only continue to increase.

  Newt seemed to realize this as well. He took a deep breath, centering himself, and Mark felt the air shift. This wasn’t like the previous mana constructs Newt had used. This was different—more focused, more controlled.

  Arran charged again, his speed almost blurring his form, but this time, Newt was ready. With a flick of his wrist, he cast a mana bind.

  Mark held his breath.

  The invisible tendrils of mana wrapped around Arran, slowing his movements just enough for Newt to strike. Arran struggled against the bindings, but they held firm, giving Newt the opening he needed. He moved in quickly, using sharp elbow strikes and powerful kicks to keep Arran off balance. Each strike was precise, targeting weak points in Arran’s stance and armor.

  But Arran wasn’t going to be held for long. Mark could see the strain on Newt’s face as he poured more mana into the binding, trying to maintain control. Arran was too strong, His muscles bulged as he fought against the restraint, his kinetic energy building to a breaking point.

  With a roar, Arran shattered the mana bind, the sheer force of his mana conversion sending a shockwave through the arena. Newt was thrown back, barely managing to land on his feet as Arran came at him again, faster than ever.

  Mark’s heart raced. This was it. Newt had played his hand, and now he was out of options. Arran’s speed was reaching terrifying levels, and there was no way Newt could keep up.

  But then, Mark saw something. A flicker of determination in Newt’s eyes, a glimmer of resolve. He wasn’t finished yet.

  Newt shifted his stance, planting his feet firmly on the ground as Arran closed in. He was no longer dodging or retreating. He was going to meet Arran head-on.

  Arran’s fist came crashing down, but Newt didn’t move. Instead, he raised his arms, blocking the blow with his forearm, absorbing the impact. The force of the strike sent a shockwave through his body, but Newt held his ground. He had braced himself, using his body like a spring to absorb and redirect the energy.

  And then, in a move that took everyone by surprise, Newt countered. His arms moved like lightning, wrapping around Arran’s outstretched arm. In one swift motion, Newt locked Arran’s arm in place and drove his elbow into the joint, forcing Arran to the ground.

  Mark watched in awe as Newt transitioned seamlessly into a grapple, using his smaller frame to maneuver Arran into a position where his speed was useless. It was a brilliant display of technique, using leverage and timing to neutralize Arran’s overwhelming power.

  But Arran wasn’t done yet. With a guttural growl, he surged upward, breaking free of Newt’s hold. His speed was still increasing, his movements becoming more erratic and harder to predict. He lunged at Newt again, his strikes wild but devastatingly fast.

  Newt was forced back on the defensive, his body moving fluidly as he deflected each blow with his forearms and knees. It was a brutal dance, every strike from Arran threatening to break through Newt’s defenses. But Newt remained focused, his eyes never leaving Arran’s form.

  Then, with a sudden burst of mana, Arran shifted his weight, driving his knee toward Newt’s ribs. The blow was devastating, sending Newt skidding across the ground. He coughed, struggling to regain his footing, but Arran was already upon him.

  Mark’s heart pounded in his chest. This was it. Arran’s speed was too much. There was no way Newt could win.

  But just as Arran’s fist was about to strike, Newt’s eyes flashed. In a last-ditch effort, he channeled every ounce of his remaining mana into a single, focused spell. It wasn’t a bind or a construct. It was raw mana, unleashed in a concentrated blast aimed directly at Arran’s center of mass.

  The force of the blast was enough to stop Arran in his tracks, his momentum grinding to a halt as the wave of energy slammed into him. For a moment, the arena was silent, the air thick with the aftermath of the mana clash.

  Mark held his breath, waiting for the dust to settle, his eyes locked on the two figures at the center of the arena.

  When the dust cleared, Newt was standing, his body battered and bruised, but still upright. Arran, on the other hand, had been forced back several paces, his chest heaving as he struggled to recover from the blow.

  Mark exhaled slowly. It wasn’t over yet. But for the first time since the fight began, Newt had gained the upper hand.