While the battle continued, two suspicious figures stood silently in a dim corner of the gallery—where the shadows t the edge of the light. Their faces were covered by hoods.
Unnoticed by everyone, their eyes were locked on the stage.
"Now do you believe ? I told you he is the one who defeated . But nobody in the sect believed . Rather, they mocked for being defeated by a kid. I told you he is strong."
The person beside him, to whom he was complaining, finally spoke.
"Okay, I agree that he is strong. But are you really telling he is the one who killed our three mages that we sent to investigate?
Open your eyes and see clearly.
He is struggling against a mage who is only Tier 2. And we sent three. One of them was Tier 4. And the others—no weaklings either. Both Tier 3.
If that’s the limit of his genius, then he is definitely not what you were exaggerating about."
"Trust , Elder Edward. He is hiding. And a lot at that. When we fought, he didn’t even use magic. Not a single spell. He surely has so training thod which is unique. If we can acquire that, then our world domination plan will be unstoppable."
"Yeah, yeah, Zereth. It’s alright to lose to a kid. But just to cover your weakness, blabbering this rubbish stuff about training thods and all that—it’s too much, don’t you think? You even brought here. To prove your point.
If he is really that amazing you speak about, then why isn’t he using it?
rcy?
Humility?
Not interested in rewards?"
He narrowed his eyes.
"Co on. What’s your excuse this ti?"
Zereth opened his mouth to argue—but no words ca. He had no evidence. Just mories burned into him from that night—the eyes, the silence, the overwhelming force. He was the only survivor who had seen the monster that wore a human skin.
But while he was trying to find ways to convince Elder Edward, sothing happened.
Not sudden. But slow.
Progressing.
On the stage, Rovan stiffened.
His eyes widened.
And he wasn’t alone.
Across the arena, nobles, mages, and spectators all stared with frozen expressions.
Everyone, except for the Smith family and the Starwind couple, were struck silent.
In the noble balcony, Ardyn chuckled softly.
So the ti has finally co. For my disciple to begin shining the way he was always ant to.
Even now, most of his brilliance remains veiled—restrained beneath layers of caution.
But still, what he is revealing now...
It is already enough to dim the glow of many so-called prodigies.
Rovan could feel it.
His knees trembled—his body struggling to stay upright.
It was like a slab of iron had been placed on his back, crushing him under invisible weight.
Every breath was heavy.
Every movent, delayed.
What is this pressure...?!
He gritted his teeth and forced himself to remain standing.
And then—like the impact of a speeding train—the realization hit him.
"You... you’ve got three affinities?" he gasped.
Logan didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
Around the arena—
In the noble balconies, in the judges’ box, and among the crowd—
There was silence.
Complete and deafening silence.
A twelve-year-old.
Not only awakened before the age of fourteen...
But now confird to have three affinities.
That put him on par with Lilith Starwind—the prodigy of a generation.
And yet... no one had heard of him before this tournant.
Not once.
Then, the silence cracked.
Slowly, the murmurs began—soft whispers passed between wide-eyed mouths.
Then louder.
Sharper.
Until the arena buzzed like a hive of stunned voices, disbelieving and amazed.
Like a wildfire tearing through dry grass.
"Damn! What’s going on with House Smith? Are they trying to raise monsters in secret?"
"They must be! Lord Rudeous’s first son was already a genius. He only lost in the 2nd round because he was up against Zephyr. And now this? Another one? This one’s even scarier."
In the commoners’ section, the energy was no different.
"So that’s how he could beat Lira Wynn... no wonder! His opponents didn’t even know what they were walking into."
"Go, kid! Show that Yale brat what you’ve really got!"
"Yeah! Don’t hold back!"
The crowd wasn’t just watching—they were part of the battle now.
So shouted for Logan.
Others rallied behind Rovan.
"Don’t lose hope, Rovan! He may have three affinities, but you’re still Tier Two! Show him who’s boss!"
The noise drowned the air.
The tension was no longer confined to the stage—it spilled into the stands like a battle of its own.
Rovan snapped back to reality.
He clenched his fists.
"So what if you have three affinities? You’ll still taste dirt!"
He surged forward.
Earth magic enveloped his right arm like a gauntlet—thick, solid, glowing.
He bent his knees, compressed his force like a spring, and launched himself forward like cannon fire.
His punch aid straight for Logan’s chest.
But his fist t nothing.
Logan ducked low, placed both palms against the ground, and used Rovan’s montum against him.
He kicked upward with both legs—driving them square into Rovan’s stomach.
CRACK!
Rovan flew like a thrown javelin and slamd into the ground, bouncing once before crashing with a heavy thud.
But he didn’t stay down.
He snarled, pushed himself up, and charged again—fury burning behind his eyes.
This ti, he launched a fireball from his left hand—ant to force Logan into a dodge.
At the sa ti, he charged with his right, reinforcing his fist once again with earth magic.
A perfect combo.
But sothing strange happened.
The fireball began its path with force—but sothing was off.
As it entered the space around Logan, it visibly slowed.
The fla sputtered mid-air and dropped suddenly, hitting the ground like a deflated spell—lifeless, drained, almost pathetic.
Rovan blinked in disbelief.
What just happened...?
But by the ti he could react, he was already in front of Logan.
And that pressure was back.
Earlier, when Logan kicked him across the stage, it had vanished briefly.
But now, as he crossed within ten ters of him, the weight returned like a wall.
Still—Rovan threw his punch with everything he had.
"RRRAAGH!"
But Logan twisted his body, dodging the blow—and delivered a lightning-charged hook with his left fist.
CRACK!
Rovan flew once again—curving through the air like a broken arc—before crashing hard onto the stone floor.
This ti, he didn’t get up right away.
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