‘A mage apprentice, huh...’

The universally acknowledged strongest apprentice profession is the knight.

Next is the martial artist, with the mage ranking quite far behind.

This is because, at this stage, a mage's mana is barely enough to cast a few spells, making them easy to defeat, especially in the confined space of an arena.

For Ogre to challenge after defeating a knight shows he has absolute confidence in himself.

This kind of demeanor and composure can't be faked.

"I like your aggressive style. Are you interested in working for me?" Foucault's words carried the arrogance typical of a nobleman, yet his tone was inexplicably likable.

"I'm used to being carefree," Ogre replied, adjusting his grip.

He didn't like restrictions, which is why he didn't follow his father's last wishes to try joining the Church of Truth or the Church of Dawn, the top choices for commoners.

If nothing unexpected happened, he wouldn't stay in this small city for long.

Foucault wasn't upset by Ogre's refusal; he was merely suggesting it out of appreciation for talent, having noticed Ogre's solid martial skills.

"Do you need a break? Can your left hand still hold a weapon?" Foucault pointed out Ogre's problem.

Others hadn't noticed, but he had been aware of it for a while.

"No problem, I still have one hand." A short rest wouldn't make much difference, and Ogre hadn't expended much energy.

"Thank you for holding back."

The ring on Foucault's left middle finger glowed slightly, and he reached into his Void Pocket to retrieve a potion.

'A Spatial Ring! This guy's got some serious backing...'

Ogre was slightly taken aback. Such portable spatial items were extraordinarily expensive, and not many low-level professionals owned one.

"Catch."

Foucault tossed the potion, and the red liquid in the glass bottle landed steadily in Ogre's good hand, aided by some mysterious force.

'Impressive mana manipulation, this guy's a control-type mage apprentice...' Ogre's attention was fully on the opponent's control over the potion bottle.

Mages generally divided into two paths—control and shaping.

The former focuses on spellcasting for guidance, primarily honing mental power, and can perform many precision-type spells.

The latter focuses on mana cultivation, emphasizing mana shaping, with stronger mana resulting in more powerful spells.

While the differences aren't obvious in normal times, their combat styles vary greatly. Control-type mages specialize in intricate spells like elemental golems, rock manipulation, and fire serpents, and later excel in spirit and soul magic, with high attack accuracy.

Shaping types focus on large-scale spells like Flame Storm and Chain Lightning, with the differences becoming more pronounced later on.

Shaping types require greater elemental affinity and mana perception, while control types demand higher mental power.

Of course, there are also versatile mages, but a mage's energy is limited, and trying to master everything often means mastering nothing.

"But I don't like bullying the wounded," said the nobleman-like mage apprentice.

Hearing this, Ogre shifted his focus from the opponent's control precision to the potion in front of him.

He recognized the potion; it was the famous Healing Potion, a classic concoction made by potion masters.

It could heal most injuries, whether applied externally or taken internally.

Such a bottle was worth a gold coin, and most professionals wouldn't use it lightly, as a gold coin could cover a month's living expenses for a typical family.

'Generous indeed, I should have asked for more earlier.' Ogre didn't hesitate to pour half the bottle onto his hand, the red liquid seeping through the bandages and skin to help mend his hand, though the effect was slightly reduced due to his magic resistance.

The internal effect would be better, especially since Ogre had enhanced digestion.

But Ogre didn't want to remove his mask in front of everyone, even if it was just a fake face.

"Let's go."

Handing the remaining potion to a nearby squire, Ogre picked up his staff and faced the nobleman.

Apprentice-level duels prohibited the use of professional-level items, but such fairness was quite limited.

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A non-professional's low-level item or a set of Adamantine Armor could create a significant gap.

However, most who came to the arena didn't have good equipment, as non-professional items were usually just transitional.

With a nod from both sides, the second defense match began immediately.

This time, Foucault initiated the magic.

In an instant, Foucault's body flickered, and when it stabilized, four identical Foucaults appeared.

Then, the five Foucaults ran around the arena, surrounding Ogre in a pentagon.

Low-level spell—Mirror Image.

'Silent casting? Or a magic item?'

Ogre held his staff, but his eyes behind the mask remained fixed on Foucault's true body.

This was thanks to the Demon Claw Falcon's ability, which granted Ogre dynamic vision and the power to see through low-level magical illusions.

'Coincidence? No, he's not affected!' Foucault noticed this too, realizing that the masked defender was coming straight for his true body!

Now it was the nobleman's turn to panic; his foolproof opening tactic had failed.

Rumor had it that professional-level martial artists could see through low-level illusions, but wasn't this guy just an apprentice!

He didn't want to engage in close combat with this guy.

The staff in Ogre's hands danced fiercely. While a staff wasn't the best weapon, almost all weapon techniques could be applied to it.

In just a few steps, using the staff as a spear, Soaring Rainbow Strike!

Boom!

The Refined Iron Staff struck the Mana Shield, creating some cracks. A few more hits, and it would break through.

'How is his strength so great! Was he concealing his strength before?' Foucault was surprised, knowing well the limits of his Mana Shield. This strike's power was close to that of a typical professional.

Of course, Ogre hadn't been concealing his strength; the reason for the powerful strike was simple.

He used a martial skill—Leaping Fish Spear.

This technique mimicked the Arrow Nose Fish leaping out of the water, merging body and spear for a powerful advance.

'Do you know the biggest difference between a martial artist and a knight?' This was the first question the martial artist teaching Ogre spear techniques asked him.

'Isn't it because they can't become knights...' Back then, Ogre didn't really understand the differences between professions.

He simply thought martial artists lacked the innate talent.

Professional-level knights could use Battle Qi, while martial artists could only release their vitality—some called it Rage Energy—at the veteran level.

'You're wrong, Ogre. Martial artists are inheritors of martial arts, and martial arts are used by the weak to fight the strong!'

The emergence of martial artists was similar to that of wizards, both paths explored by those without the corresponding talent seeking power.

But martial artists were different from wizards.

Martial arts were the fruits of self-cultivation.

Whether martial skills or martial arts from the east, the goal was to defeat the strong with the weak!

Seeing his attack fail to break through, Ogre withdrew his spear, took a deep breath, stepped back two steps, and leaped into the air!

Jumping made Ogre unable to dodge, but he knew he had to end the fight quickly!

He couldn't afford to drag it out with a control-type mage.

Using the momentum of his leap, Ogre brought his staff down with all his might, launching his strongest attack like a mountain crashing down.

Shattering Spear!

"Lightning Bolt!"

At the same time, Foucault completed his spell, two balls of lightning crossing in his hands, shooting out blinding light.

He hadn't chosen the faster-casting, wider-range Fireball Spell for a simple reason.

Because Lightning Bolt didn't require targeting effort, Ogre's Refined Iron Staff was the perfect anchor!

At this distance, Lightning Bolt dealt more damage!

At this moment, martial skill and magic collided.

Lightning Bolt first passed through the Mana Shield, climbing onto the Refined Iron Staff.

It looked as if Ogre was wielding a spear of lightning, commanding the thunder in his attack.

At a glance, it did seem like a transcendent battle.

As the dazzling light effects faded, the outcome was clear—Foucault's Mana Shield shattered, and Ogre's staff was pressed against the nobleman's throat.

Ogre's Shattering Spear had precisely struck the spot he had hit before, ensuring a breakthrough with this charged attack.

"You lost."

At this moment, small golden sparks still lingered on Ogre's body.

With Ogre's crisp shout, the audience erupted in cheers.

Ogre always delivered, resolving one challenger after another with the fastest and most unexpected combat style.

"No... this can't be."

Foucault raised his head, feeling the cold contact of the staff against his skin, his expression changing dramatically.

He understood his squire's feelings now—a sense of defeat when one's ultimate move failed, resolved by basic combat skills.

How could such an ordinary move lead to defeat!

Why didn't Lightning Bolt paralyze the opponent?

"The Gourmet wins!"

As the other mirror images shattered, the referee announced the result.

"Yes, I lost."

As Ogre withdrew his staff, Foucault had no choice but to acknowledge the outcome.

"Just a fluke," Ogre's voice came from beneath the mask, extending his hand in a gesture of reconciliation.

No one would notice the changes in Ogre's body when struck by the electric attack.

The faint blue beneath his skin was the reason for his victory—basic magic resistance.

This was a power inherent in every ogre's skin, and it was also why Ogre was insulated from the path of a mage.

This resistance weakened the effects of potions but granted Ogre decent magic resistance.

Perhaps a more advanced Chain Lightning could harm him.

But apprentice-level Lightning Bolt had little effect.

"A loss is a loss. You are indeed the strongest martial artist apprentice I've seen." Foucault graciously took Ogre's hand, offering an olive branch as he stood up. "Let's get acquainted. I'm Foucault Chromie, the second son of Marquis Chromie."

'So he's the second son of a noble family,' Ogre thought to himself.

This guy was probably gathering forces to compete for the family inheritance. Such scandals were common, mainly because Engodo's nobility could only be inherited by one person...

Better not get too involved with someone like that.

"Ogre Kessing," Ogre replied, withdrawing his hand and speaking in a voice only the two of them could hear.

He wasn't too concerned about revealing his name to this outsider, as it was currently clean.

He mainly wanted to show the surname Kessing, something he deliberately exposed—Ogre was curious about the origin of this surname.

Perhaps this noble from another city might have some information.

Of course, Ogre wasn't truly seeking to return to his roots; he simply wanted to find his family, making it easier to access resources and avenge his father!

He would use any leverage he could.

"Are you an exiled noble?" Foucault asked, puzzled.

In this land, commoners had only names, no surnames.

Noble surnames were divided into two types: preceding and surname last.

Placing the surname first was usually reserved for royal and grand duke-level families—unless you were a veteran professional, then you could do it too.

It was said to be a custom from the distant, mysterious east.

Of course, Foucault knew the truth.

It wasn't some custom... it was because Engodo's royal ancestors came from the east!

But due to long-term intermarriage, their appearance was indistinguishable from the Arkans.

As for surname last nobles, they were widespread; as long as one's ancestors were impressive, one could legally have a surname last.

Ordinary commoners wouldn't randomly adopt a surname last—this could provoke certain nobles or other commoners.

Trying to stand out required having the capital to do so; commoners who adopted such names risked being ostracized, so some fallen exiled nobles would abandon their family surnames.

"Sort of."

Ogre neither confirmed nor denied, giving an ambiguous answer.

From the response, he understood that this noble from another city indeed didn't know.

"I'll treat you to a drink at the tavern sometime," Foucault extended another invitation to Ogre.

Exchanging full names often signified establishing a connection, an unwritten rule among nobles.

He felt that since Ogre was an exiled noble, he was qualified to be his friend, which softened his tone considerably.

"I'm free tomorrow." Ogre noticed the referee approaching and lowered his voice to respond. This time he didn't refuse, but he didn't immediately agree either.

He didn't want to openly associate with an outsider under the eyes of many nobles.

But he also didn't want to offend someone casually.

Ogre wasn't willing to sell himself, but making a friend was fine.

Having more friends was better than having more enemies, and it was also a form of leverage.

He wondered how this young master's squire would view him.

It would probably be interesting.

"My uncle and I are at the Professional Association. You can find me there. I'll be here all week; just give your name when you arrive."

Sensing Ogre's lowered voice as a reminder, Foucault also noticed the approaching referee and understood this wasn't the right place for conversation.

Leaving a quiet message, he jumped off the two-and-a-half-meter-high platform.

As a mage apprentice, strengthening the body with mana was part of the curriculum, though it appeared weak compared to martial artists and knights of the same level.

"Congratulations to our Gourmet for successfully defending the platform!" The approaching referee raised Ogre's hand, announcing loudly.

With Foucault's earlier jump off the platform, the cheers for Ogre reached a peak.

The audience couldn't hear their conversation, assuming it was just a heated exchange.

'A member of the Professional Association... perhaps I should make contact.'

Ogre adjusted his mask—he needed to prepare a more detailed human face mask.

This one was too rigid and might reveal flaws.

"Where's my remaining half bottle of Healing Potion?" Ogre asked as he stepped off the platform—that thing was worth at least half a gold coin.

He had deliberately saved half a bottle; he wasn't about to waste money.

"Here it is." The squire cursed him as stingy in his heart but respectfully handed the Healing Potion to Ogre.

Ogre took the remaining potion and casually placed it in his satchel.

Then he touched his chest, where his leather armor concealed his greatest gain this time, a more powerful meditation technique—Withered Tree Revival Meditation.

'Later, I'll check out the black market... I still have work to do.'