When Ibarin spoke, his voice carried perfectly across the arena. He was doing the same thing Raze had done earlier, enhancing his words with wind magic so that every syllable echoed through the air. His voice wrapped around the stadium, pressing into every ear, ensuring that no one missed a word.
The crowd reacted instantly. The Grand Magus wasn’t just fighting; he was addressing them directly, turning the duel into a spectacle. To them, it was thrilling, and his words added even more weight to what they were witnessing. He was truly showing his level, how far above he stood, not only over this Wilton student, but over nearly everyone present. The audience could feel it in their bones.
Yet, at the same time, Raze’s presence could not be denied. The boy was only a student, at least on paper, but now everyone understood why he had been chosen to represent Wilton. A seven-star mage standing in place of teachers. It wasn’t arrogance. It wasn’t madness. It was ability.
The fight raged on. Raze increased the pace of his attacks, layering his spells and pushing his creativity to its very limits. From the ground beneath, enormous tombstone-like slabs of earth rose up, shooting toward Ibarin like catapults of stone.
Ibarin barely shifted his stance. He formed several pact orbs of earth, condensed to the size of fists. Then, using wind magic, he propelled them forward like bullets. The smaller projectiles met the giant slabs mid-air. Yet Raze had already anticipated such a move. Before the slabs even left the ground, he had coated them in ice magic, reinforcing their density until they were harder than steel.
The first impacts were thunderous. Ibarin’s earth orbs cracked against the ice-hardened stone, splintering but not shattering them. Murmurs of surprise rippled through the crowd.
"He predicted the counter!"
"He strengthened the slabs before they were even fired!"
It wasn’t enough, though. Ibarin’s expression didn’t flicker. Without hesitation, he summoned massive slabs of his own, driving them forward with overwhelming mana. The collision shattered Raze’s creations, fragments scattering like glass through the air.
Again and again, the exchange repeated. A relentless back-and-forth, spell colliding with spell. From fire to water, ice to lightning, Raze pulled on every affinity he had mastered. His hands blurred as he weaved attack after attack, spells chaining seamlessly one into another.
The audience couldn’t believe what they were seeing.
"That kid... he’s incredible."
"Seven stars, yes, but to bine so many affinities like that, it’s beyond anything I’ve seen from someone his age."
"Such creativity. Such adaptability. It’s no wonder he dared to stand here."
But admiration didn’t erase the obvious truth. Ibarin wasn’t losing ground. Not once. For every trick, every layered spell, he had a counter. He didn’t match creativity with creativity, he met it with sheer force, overwhelming mana, and mastery that left no room for weakness.
"That’s the difference," a mage in the stands muttered. "Raze is brilliant, but brilliance can’t close the gap between seven stars and nine. The Grand Magus isn’t just stronger, he’s more experienced. He’s seen every trick before."
It was the harsh reality taught in every academy. At lower star levels, technique, creativity, and cunning could close the gap. A three-star with perfect control and refined skill could outwit a four-star who relied only on raw mana. But at the upper tiers, those rules bent and broke.
A nine-star mage wasn’t just a reservoir of power. They had perfect control, vast knowledge, and spells beyond imagination. Between seven, eight, and nine stars, the differences became walls. Walls few could ever climb.
Unless... someone possessed an affinity so specialized, so rare, it could tilt the scales.
Raze understood this truth. That was why he pushed through every affinity he had, attacking in different ways, layering his strikes, refusing to be predictable. Yet Ibarin blocked them all.
At last, the Grand Magus spoke again. "It seems you mand every affinity. Just like myself." His tone was casual, yet sharp, echoing through the stadium. "Many are praising your creativity. Your cleverness. But creativity has limits. Tricks run out. And not one of your spells has touched me. Isn’t that enough proof of the difference between us?"
He raised his hand, mana gathering at his palm. The crowd leaned forward, breath catching as they felt the pressure shift.
A large sphere of condensed wind magic began to form. It started broad, the size of a man, swirling violently, a storm pressed into a ball. Then, with surgical precision, Ibarin condensed it further, pressing the storm into a sphere no larger than his fist, yet radiating enough pressure to make the air tremble.
And with his other hand, he spun a vortex of wind, pulling the currents into alignment. His core had always been wind, this was his element, his natural weapon.
"I suppose it’s time I show you," Ibarin declared, "why I am the Grand Magus!"
With a sharp thrust, he hurled the sphere. It tore through the air, faster than most could follow, a pressed storm designed to annihilate everything in its path.
But Raze didn’t flinch.
His fingers brushed the ring on his hand. In an instant, a sword materialized, gleaming under the arena’s light. With a fluid motion, he swung.
The blade met the sphere. A single flash, and the spell split cleanly in two, sheared apart as though it were paper. The halves screamed past him, crashing into the arena walls. The protective barrier flared, and several nearby mages instantly cast reinforcement spells to contain the impact. Even then, the ground shook, cracks spidering across the stone.
The crowd gasped. Raze had cut through the Grand Magus’ spell.
"Oh... I didn’t even know you’d given him your sword," Dame murmured, stunned.
"Yeah," Liam admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "Raze said he wanted to borrow it."
The realization rippled outward. Raze had just done the impossible, splitting the Grand Magus’ spell with steel and willpower.
*****
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