The finalized schedule came out after a day of training.

The warlocks and knights would be going first, in traditional Magisterium Tournament manner, each knight facing their respective warlock by placement in the first three spots.

Feiden’s petition passed through as well, so he would be facing Grace. Tana would move up a position in the matching and face the third place warlock. If they won their battles, they technically would have the opportunity to face Umara, but they all knew how that would go; they would just forfeit if it came to that point.

After they were done, I would be facing six people in total, and none of them would be my friends.

Six handpicked individuals would be my opponents, and no doubt all of them would be hellbent on either thrashing or killing me. Thankfully, none of them could match my friends. After all, they weren’t on the leaderboard.

Ponteck was still my biggest concern, especially now since I would be fighting him last after several other battles that would no doubt wear me down.

Well, that was exactly why I was doubling down. Nothing less than my full effort would be required if I wanted a chance to win. There was too much stacked against me to hold back.

However, I had just one card to rely on.

Umara still had to battle Ponteck, and I could count on her to wear him down for me. Hell, if she could win then I’d forfeit and let her have the champion title. But, from her own words, she didn’t believe she could.

I hadn’t thought much about what the clash between Umara and Ponteck would look like, but I wasn’t optimistic. Ponteck was freakishly talented. My training sessions with a mimicry had made that clear.

And I couldn’t even hate him, unlike most of my other adversaries. He was a pretty decent person from what I’d been told, and I couldn’t rely on anecdotal evidence to disprove it; I had never actually interacted with the man.

But saying that he was obsessed with the art of the blade was a good way to describe him. It seemed the Gulliard family in which he was raised had been rising in prestige recently, and Ponteck was supposed to be some prodigy that would bring them up another level.

How true it all was I didn’t know. But nevertheless, he was skilled, and Umara hadn’t been enlightened for long. She still had a lot of learning to do regarding some of the more advanced spell formations while integrating what scientific knowledge I could provide her. That took time.

Technically she was a full step ahead of Ponteck in regard to power. She was enlightened and he had yet to be. But unlike knights, who received an immediate boost in power, warlocks didn’t. So in practice they should be pretty even.

I would be rooting for her, and I knew she would do her best. But whether she would come out on top was something I couldn’t say for certain. I just didn’t know enough about Ponteck.

Either way, I was in for some ball-busting work. And I would have quite the audience.

For one, Plex left me a message saying that he would be watching, which meant the others from Divine Distribution would too. I even got a message from Patriarch Tavera telling me he would be attending. I didn’t realize he had the time, but the situation in the black market must have been in his favor if he could leisurely spend the day watching me.

Included alongside them were Vetsmon’s parents and Umara’s friend Shadowbane. Her parents would also be there.

It seemed I would need to put on a performance.

With all these thoughts and expectations swirling about in my head, the morning of the battles came.

……

…

Ladies and gentlemen! I give you all the debut battle for the day, 3rd place knight Tana Choron against 3rd place warlock Alfred Hollock!”

The stadium burst out into cheers, tens of thousands of people filling the stands to the brim and thousands more within the building watching. There were even projectors above the stadium displaying the battles high in the sky for the denizens of the city outside to watch.

These were the most impressive battles the Magisterium could present. All cities needed communal entertainment, and these great demonstrations of power by the students served well to both excite the masses as well as display the might of the Kingdom’s future. All eyes in the Capitol were on the event. It was almost like a holiday.

Tana moved into the arena for her battle, her face calm as she faced her opponent.

She had made it through Feiden, given it her all and left him so battered he couldn’t even show up for his next battle. She was proud of herself, and in hindsight, substantially grateful to John for pushing her to fight.

And she could now face her opponent with confidence. Because, no matter what, even if she lost, she would be the 6th strongest individual within the Magisterium, with the proof to match. 7th if she counted Vetsmon, which she did. Still, she was in the top 10 and that was worth all the pain she faced.

She glanced at her parents in the stands before her battle started.

Once the referee’s hand dropped, she dashed forward and started her all-out assault. Alfred was proficient in fire, so she couldn’t kite him. Her only chance was an unrelenting head-on attack.

Scorching hot air blasted over her head, singeing a few hairs as she ducked down low. Her Aura had accurately reacted in time to inform her of the threat, letting her get close enough to strike out with her sword.

Turns out, she had been too worried.

Alfred had some mobility, afforded to him by a partial air affinity. But it wasn’t enough to escape her. Even as the arena was flooded with flames over the course of their battle, she could simply use her VIgor to tough out the damage and readjust.

She may not have had the power to beat him with brute force. But with her Aura, she was able to harass him without rest, constantly cracking his barrier and forcing him to spend energy to repair it instead of casting spells or recovering.

After five minutes of the futile game of cat and mouse, Tana, wreathed in flames, stood up from her landing stance, and Alfred lay crumpled outside the arena from one of her kicks.

“The winner is Tana Choron!”

The audience exploded as the smoke and flames dissipated. Tana had scorch marks all over her armor and skin, third degree burns scattered across exposed skin, and her hair was a charred and tattered mess. But all that would heal within the day. Such power was the envy of summoners and warlocks alike.

The field was cleared, and the next contestants came onto the field.

Feiden Desmus versus Grace Jetsee.

Feiden was fast, but Grace couldn’t actually display her full power against Umara. Not many in the audience knew what she was capable of. They only knew that she had a perfect water affinity and a working air affinity.

Against that, Feiden could work rather well.

Nobody could use mobility against Feiden. That was his thing. Instead, as soon as the battle started, Grace could only try to suppress him with water while using air to keep the distance.

At first, Feiden couldn’t go anywhere. Everywhere he went, he found unsteady footing as the earth underneath him turned swampy, and constant currents battered him to and fro. All that weight couldn’t be shrugged off or dodged easily, so he was forced into a more passive stance.

But it was clear that once she tried doing any significant damage, she would fail to contain him. Shifting away from suppression would open a window of opportunity, and Feiden knew well to take advantage of it.

That was her first and only mistake. The instant she let up, trying to end the battle early, and Feiden sensed her intentions with his Aura, he dove in and closed the distance before she could even react.

One barrier splintered into innumerable shards before a second one was hastily erected in its place. That too was pierced and turned to glitter as yet another glimmered to life. This one, however, was the end of it; Grace’s surprisingly fast reactions couldn’t keep up with Feiden’s speed, and she was beaten senseless and forced to surrender.

Of course, Feiden was dead tired by the end, but not a speck of blood was on him or his armor. He made the fight look easy as he stood tall, concealing labored breaths underneath his mask.

…

In a large suite containing several high nobles, Talexia Talerria sat with the Raven Chief Ironheart alongside their spouses and children.

Ironheart smiled at Talexia.

“I hear your daughter has had a particularly excellent performance in the tournament. Is she enlightened?”

“She is, somewhat recently.”

“Amazing. I’ve only heard of rumors and tales about prodigies who enlighten at such an age. I never thought I’d know one myself. She was only an advancement past her perfect affinity. I think she will win this battle.”

“I would normally agree, but she hasn’t had much time to fulfill her newfound potential. I still have much to teach her, which will only happen when she enters the military.”

“Understandable. I congratulate you. You’ve raised an amazing girl.”

“Thank you.”

Talexia nodded, but wasn’t necessarily smiling.

She often forgot, but it wasn’t supposedly Umara’s own talent that let her enlighten at such an age. She continued to insist that John was the reason, and Talexia was starting to believe that more and more as she had time to think.

She was learning spells and techniques by herself, many of which were quite advanced — but nothing appropriate for her current level. She had seen the spells personally and knew that she wouldn’t learn such things until she was well within the military, even if enlightened.

It wasn’t anything she hadn’t seen before, but it was clear that John was feeding her some advanced information. It seemed his knowledge was as good as she said. That, or he had gotten the spell formations from elsewhere. She couldn't be sure; his background meant that he could get his hands on things inaccessible to most.

Regardless, she was focused on how this battle with Ponteck would go. There was a lot going on politically and this would be the first time she would see her daughter go all out.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Soon enough, she could see Umara.

Unshockingly, she was with John. It seemed he was still busy telling her something. Interestingly, she just shook her head when her name was called and walked up the arena without looking back at him. They didn’t even kiss.

It seemed they had a disagreement. About what, she couldn’t guess.

Before long, the battle started.

A gust of wind cradled Umara’s body, darting her beyond Ponteck’s reach as he drew his longsword and lunged forward. His speed was almost as blinding as Feiden’s, perhaps just barely slower.

To Umara’s comparatively lethargic gusts, there was no practical difference.

But he wouldn’t be able to beat her with just speed. Umara was smart and had prepared for this battle with John’s help. She also had some cards up her own sleeve.

She lifted her hand alongside her staff. From her open palm came a burst of flame. And from the staff came a raging tornado.

With a wave the tornado was sent forth, Ponteck slowing his pursuit in wariness. Then, everyone’s eyes widened as the flame above Umara’s palm shot forward in a stream and fed into the tornado, creating a cyclone of flame.

And it continued to grow even as it pursued Ponteck. Talerria leaned forward, curious, sensing the mana being used, noticing how it was being almost entirely driven by the air magic.

Umara maintained her control of the superheated whirlwind as it grew from a tall tornado to a low and flat hurricane. Ponteck tried to dodge, but it grew so fast and with such intensity that he could do nothing but be enveloped.

He no doubt thought his Vigor would be enough to carry him through it. But he failed to account for Umara’s creativity and paid for it when a barrage of air blades tore through the swirling flames. Some were attacks, wearing Ponteck down and exposing the white-hot flames enveloping his defensive stance. Others only sped up the fire, making it burn hotter and brighter.

However, Umara’s inexperience proved her downfall. Her crude efforts at combining the two spells, coupled with an incomplete affinity for the fire element, had her try to grow the scale too fast. Her stream of fire Mana flickered as she lost concentration while trying to compensate for an overeager blast of air, and whatever was in the conflagration rapidly disappeared as it oxidized.

The firenado scattered into various embers as her spells suffered a catastrophic collapse, their effects dissipating as fast as they grew.

The smoke puffed aside, revealing Ponteck darting straight for Umara, almost completely unscathed within his scorched armor.

She was already dodging by that time though, relying on the rapidity of her sudden bursts of wind to avoid his momentum and keep distance. In fact, her proficiency made it seem like she was baiting him, keeping close enough to ensure consistent effort from Ponteck but far enough to not get hit.

Volleys of pressurized air bombs and invisible blades laced Ponteck’s body as Umara resorted back to what she was good at, leaving cuts and angry purple bruises scattered across his flesh.

He had emerged from the vortex with nearly no injuries, but not because of his raw strength. He had instead expended Vigor to keep himself whole, and the intensity of the flames no doubt consumed prodigious amounts of it in his attempts to keep himself from incineration.

Now, he didn’t have so much. Of course, Umara was also running through her Mana, even if at a better than equal rate.

Now he was receiving wounds that bled out energy every second. His Vigor would decrease even faster as the injuries tried to heal. Some blood soaked his pants and shirt as the minutes passed. His armor was dented and any gaps in it received air blades whenever possible.

Ponteck was still throwing his weight though, and occasional dashes and bursts of energy kept Umara on her toes and spending more Mana than she would like. Some particularly close calls made the audience gasp in anticipation and anxiety.

But she could keep her distance. That was a warlock’s specialty, and with an enlightened air affinity, Umara was perfectly suited for mobility.

But Umara’s one-sided peppering couldn’t continue forever. Ponteck would win in the Magika race; he still had his sword to rely on, while Umara needed Mana for all her attacks.

15 minutes in, both contestants growing more and more tired by the second, Umara decided to try for a decisive move.

She clenched her teeth, and suddenly, her barrier dissolved into particles of Mana. She stopped dead in her tracks, prompting Ponteck to halt dead in his tracks and drop into a defensive stance, wary of a firestorm or volley of attacks, his Aura screaming danger.

However, the next spell formation she cast didn’t release a blade of wind or a tongue of fire. Instead, the surrounding air suddenly expanded.

Ponteck’s eyes widened, recognizing the new threat but unable to comprehend what was quite going on. Talexia and several other high-profile spectators followed, more understanding of the principles of the spell, but surprised by its caster. A vacuum domain, Umara as its epicenter, enveloped the two contestants.

Ponteck’s body suddenly glowed as his Vigor expenditure became visible. But that only lasted for several seconds before his wounds exploded, blood shooting out of them like a river.

The vacuum exerted a siphoning force across Ponteck’s entire body. Every fluid in his body was trying to escape through any opening possible. In any other circumstance, he’d be able to fend such things off merely with the strength of his body. But not only was the attack completely novel and unexpected, he was almost entirely drained of energy. It took most of what he had just to keep his eyes from popping out of their sockets.

However, that seemed to kick in his fight or flight response, and suddenly, his blade glowed.

Everyone’s eyes widened further as he let out a slash, a blade of Vigor projecting from the blade and flying toward Umara with blinding speed.

She shuddered before an explosion of wind threw her body to the side, the vacuum collapsing and sending a shockwave through the arena.

It took even more energy to protect herself from the resulting pressure of her own design, and that seemed to be the last straw. Ponteck took the opportunity, his body emaciated, and dashed over to her.

Before she could even raise her trembling hand, his sword was placed against her chest.

Everything froze, and the judge announced,

“The winner of this battle is Ponteck Gulliard!”

The crowd exploded with cheers, yet the people who really knew what happened were silent.

The Raven Chief glanced at Talexia.

“You sure you haven’t started teaching her?”

“...”

She didn’t respond, but her frown made the answer clear.

John ran up the arena, Ponteck backing off a step before outright collapsing.

Of course, Umara wasn’t much better. She couldn’t even hold herself up as her eyes fogged over.

John picked her up as the audience watched.

Umara hadn’t won, but she had given John a much higher chance of winning.

……

…

“Are you sure you want to do this? I’ve seen your opponents. They’re being outfitted with some strong gear.”

“We both know the answer to that.”

John pulled back the bolt on his assault rifle with a click, checking the bullet for the umpteenth time before letting it slide back forward.

Maxwell watched him, silent.

He didn’t sense any anger from John’s emotions. In fact, he didn’t sense much at all.

It was almost like his mind was blank, or simply so focused on the upcoming task that he didn’t have space for anything else, not even his own emotions.

Of course, John wasn’t mad about the battle. In fact, he enjoyed the show. He had never known his girlfriend was capable of such things and she surprised even him with how she utilized his ideas.

But now was the time for business. Umara had lost, so everything hinged on him now. He would be walking into a lion's den. He could already feel the killer gazes on him while outside.

There were people who wanted him dead, and it was good that tens of thousands of people were there, as well as some strong allies. Some of those in the crowd hardly concealed their murderous intent, and would be acting on it if not for the witnesses.

No, they had to send somebody else. Like a conveniently handpicked knight or warlock who would do their best to follow their orders and kill him. This tournament was now nothing more than a killing floor, the arena their cage.

And John was walking right into it.

Many eyes were on the arena, powerful ones with vested interests among them.

Maxwell knew that better than John himself — he himself was one. But the numerous eyes were the only reason he wasn’t grabbing the kid and dragging him out of the city.

“Ladies and Gentlemen! I present to you the final battles of the day! Please welcome John Cooper, a cold summoner who will be contending against the best of the warlocks and knights the Magisterium has to offer! Sir Cooper sits at the top of the Elite rankings alongside the rest of his Elite squad, but that only tells of his prowess with the Scourge! Will he be able to prove himself capable of matching up against the best of his peers?! We shall see as he faces his first opponent, the 8th place knight Ravon Ditten!”

The judge continued with Ravon’s introduction as he walked up the arena in a thick suit of armor.

Maxwell pulled John aside for a last bit of advice before he stepped on the field proper.

“Stay safe.”

“Just get my girlfriend awake. I wouldn’t want her to miss such a spectacular show.”

“Tsk, there’s that arrogance.”

Maxwell sighed and walked off as John arrived in the arena.

He faced Ravon as an item appeared in his hand, his coat closed up and boots tied in preparation

His fingerless gloves shifted as he stood there without an obvious weapon, his neutral face staring at Ravon.

His opponent spoke.

“I’m really glad I get to see you like this. I was beginning to think I’d never get the chance to tear out your disgusting tongue.”

“...And I’m regretting not bringing some olive oil.”

“What?”

Ravon looked at John like he was stupid. At the same time, John lifted the item in his hand.

He pulled the gas mask over his head. Its shape and glass eye sockets, along with the metal canister sitting in front of his mouth, gave him an almost inhuman look.

A muffled voice came out, one barely distinguishable if not for a knight’s improved senses.

“Your cooked flesh would taste better deep fried than pan seared.”

“Battle start!”

The judge’s hand went down, Ravon taking a second to assess what John said before shaking his head and running forward.

John placed his hands in front of him, and a pair of large cylindrical containers appeared on his back, connected by a hose to some metal amalgamation he held.

Ravon could swear he saw John smirking underneath the mask.

“Have a taste of German engineering.”

He pulled the trigger.

A long line of sticky flames quickly enveloped the running Ravon, much like Umara’s firestorm. But unlike the Mana-fuelled fire, this burned on tar and gas at nearly 2000 degrees.

Ravon, with no means to extinguish it, was left at the tender mercies of the Psyka-enhanced inferno.

And the mixture within those tanks didn’t include any mercy.

As expected, the man halted in his tracks and started flailing about. At first he was silent, his Vigor still holding, letting him try to bat out the flames.

But eventually, some cries started to leak out. John didn’t bother to keep a steady stream on him, but occasionally added some bursts to sustain the sticky napalm.

He even walked closer, circling, dousing him with more fuel that streamed into the gaps in his armor. The heavy armor, thought to be protection against the weapons John had previously demonstrated, turned into an oven that cooked him alive.

Black smoke rose from his body as cries turned to screams and echoed through the arena. The audience, once enthusiastic to witness a unique fight, fell silent.

John finally dropped the hose after letting loose for two minutes, letting the hose and backpack return to their dimension.

There was an inhuman chuckle from underneath the mask.

“What’s this?! Come on, little boy! Come rip my tongue out! Or is the melting skin keeping you occupied? Maybe it’s the warm metal against your flesh? I can certainly smell it. Could use some seasoning.”

Ravon continued to scream as John stepped right to the edge of the puddle of fire pooling underneath his body.

After another agonizing few seconds, what remaining fuel had been expended and the flames went out. Of course. Ravon’s whimpers didn’t stop with them; the red hot metal armor continued to cook his skin long after the flames died out

Finally, once the body at his feet fell quiet, John, comparatively gently, tapped his boot on the charred chestplate.

“I think I won this battle. You go back and tell them that they’ll have to do better than sending some pathetic sack of shit to come face me. Otherwise, all of you will need some skin grafts by the time I’m through. Honestly, it must suck being so tough right now. Fucking knights.”

“...”

The arena was left in complete silence as John turned and started walking away. The judge, deadpan, raised his arm.

“The winner of this battle is John Cooper. The next battle will be in 10 minutes.”

“Tsk, only 10 minutes? Not even enough for a nap!”

His laughter echoed throughout a silent stadium.

“...That was quite… surprising.”

Maxwell muttered as John passed by him.

“Well I’ve got more where that came from. You’re in for quite the show.”

“Hm.”

He still didn’t feel much from John’s emotions, except for a hint of psychotic joy. There was definitely something wrong in the head with him — he could cook a man alive and have fun doing it. Even Maxwell was a bit put off by those desperate screams.

Even now Ravon was being sent back to the medical rooms. Even for a knight, having your skin melted and scorched like that wouldn’t end with some simple recovery. There would be extensive scarring that could take years to properly reshape into anything resembling his previous looks.

To say nothing of the experience of being burned alive.

John was right. It must suck being so resilient. That much Maxwell could agree with.