Logan smiled politely and replied, "That combo attack was aweso, Prince. I would say... ummm... how about 8 out of 10?"
"8 out of 10, huh? So you’re saying I didn’t get a full 10?" Rowan asked, amusent flashing in his golden eyes.
"Well, it would be a perfect 10 if you could stop and dominate ," Logan replied with a smirk. "But I still dodged most of the attacks, didn’t I?"
Rowan chuckled softly. "Well then, let try to get full marks this ti. Ready for the next round?"
"Sure. Ready when you are."
The atmosphere shifted again as the two prodigies resud their duel.
The audience’s eyes darted so quickly in their sockets it seed like they might pop out at any mont. Their widened gazes were locked onto the arena in a desperate attempt to follow the lightning-fast movents. No one could sit relaxed anymore—everyone had leaned forward, holding their breath, unwilling to miss even a mont.
In the noble balcony, Zephyr and Morgan—both eliminated contenders—watched with intense focus, their previous losses montarily forgotten.
"What a match," Zephyr murmured. "Another battle royal with them would have been a great opportunity."
Even Morgan, usually quiet, spoke up. "True. Both of their fighting styles are so unique."
Zephyr nodded. "Yeah. Prince Rowan has already reached Tier Three. And here I thought I was the fastest one to reach Tier Two under the age of twenty."
He wasn’t normally competitive, but Prince Rowan reaching Tier 3 before 20 years of age really shocked him. But it wasn’t the only shocking part.
What stunned him more was that Logan was actually keeping up with the prince.
Battle cries rang out like thunderclaps from the arena floor.
Bam! Bam! Zzzz! Whoosh!
Logan slashed the air with a series of sharpened blades, his arms moving in smooth arcs. Compressed wind tore forward like cutting waves toward Rowan. As gravity manipulation wasn’t helping much anymore because Rowan had adapted, so Logan had to fight the usual way: with precision and wit.
Rowan dodged with fluid grace, sidestepping the air blades as if dancing through them. In the sa breath, he hurled two fireballs back at Logan. Logan raised an air barrier instinctively, the spells slamming into it with explosive force.
Boom!
Despite the defense, he was pushed back nearly ten ters. Dust trailed his feet as he skidded across the scorched tiles. He was still just a Tier One, after all—and Rowan, a Tier Three mage, possibly the strongest in the entire tournant.
Even Lilith, with her four elental affinities, might’ve struggled against this level of pure force.
The gap was massive.
Though Logan wasn’t in a clearly losing position, the outco was becoming more obvious with each exchange. Every attack he launched was either dodged or countered. Every blow from Rowan demanded Logan’s full effort just to survive.
And then—another bolt of lightning streaked across the field.
Logan barely rolled to the side, but a fireball followed imdiately. It slamd into him mid-movent and sent him flying again, crashing hard against the ruined ground.
The crowd exploded. Cheers, gasps, and even criticism echoed like a storm—but none of it pierced the ntal focus of the two fighters.
Logan rose from the crater, gritting his teeth. His uniform was scuffed, hair tousled, and sparks of residual mana clung to his body. But he didn’t stop.
He charged again.
This ti, instead of physical assault, Logan hurled a lightning bolt toward Rowan and then launched himself into the air. As he ascended, he summoned an air wall beneath his feet—like a solid platform. He stepped on it mid-air, using it to launch forward again.
Rowan, already preparing his defense, blocked the incoming lightning with ease and spotted Logan soaring toward him from a different angle.
"Nice trick," he murmured, assuming Logan was aiming for a lee strike.
But just as Logan closed in, he flicked his wrist and released another lightning bolt mid-charge. It flew past Rowan and missed by a wide margin.
Rowan smirked. "You’re getting sloppy," he said, eyes still calm.
Then it happened.
The ’missed’ lightning bolt bounced—ricocheting off a hidden air wall behind Rowan and looping back like a guided arrow. Rowan’s instincts kicked in, and he deflected it with a burst of fire.
But that wasn’t the real attack.
In that split second of distraction, Logan struck.
His fist, enveloped in raw air magic, crashed into Rowan’s chest, sending the prince skidding backward a full ten ters. The impact cracked the ground beneath his boots.
The crowd gasped.
But Rowan didn’t fall. He halted his montum, steadied himself, and instantly dashed back toward Logan with renewed speed. In the blink of an eye, it was Logan who was struck—once, twice, and then again.
Each blow was clean, precise, and laced with elental force. Logan’s clever feints no longer worked.
Still, he didn’t retreat.
He continued to fight, weaving new techniques, dodging with narrowing margins, pushing his Tier One magic to its absolute limit.
Rowan kept increasing his output too. His attacks beca fiercer, more devastating—driven not by arrogance, but curiosity.
He wanted to know.
How far could Logan go?
How deep did this boy’s power run?
Logan dragged himself up from another crater, his chest rising and falling rapidly. The stage now resembled the broken surface of an undiscovered planet—cracked, scorched, and cratered beyond recognition.
Suddenly, he surged forward again, aiming another lightning-infused punch.
But just as he leapt, his leg jolted to a stop. Sothing was wrong.
He looked down—fire magic had coiled around his ankle like molten chains.
Before he could react, a punch, humming with lightning, crashed into his side.
Boom!
Logan flew again, body flipping mid-air before slamming hard into the ground and carving out another crater.
"Was that a perfect 10 now?" Rowan asked, his faint smile returning. The calm, composed aura around him was starting to shift—excitent beginning to stir beneath his expression.
Logan exhaled and nodded, still on the ground. "10. Perfect score this ti."
"Good to hear that you were impressed," Rowan said.
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