The crowd was deafening, a sea of bodies packed into the stands beyond capacity. People jostled and strained to get the best view, their collective roar rising to a level that surpassed any sporting event I’d ever attended. From the arena floor, the intensity was overwhelming. My pulse quickened, anxiety creeping in as the sheer energy of the crowd threatened to unnerve me.

  I arrived early to see the schedule and scout the competition. There was even a massive banner displaying the rules for everyone to see. It was a short list, the first being that killing your opponent would disqualify you from the contest. Also, skills that would endanger the crowd got you disqualified as well, so at least they cared about safety.

  And last fights would be decided by forcing your opponent to stay down longer than ten seconds, very reminiscent of a sport back home.

  The board displaying the matchups was swarmed with eager contestants and onlookers. After some jostling and a few muttered apologies, I managed to elbow my way close enough to find my name. My opponent’s name, however, barely registered before my attention zeroed in on his class: Paladin.

  My knowledge was embarrassingly patchy, but one thing stuck out in my mind: Alira had once mentioned her former betrothed was a Paladin, and she’d casually let slip that they were good at countering mages. Just my luck.

  He’d know my class, of course, and probably come prepared. I could already picture him striding in with adamantite-lined underwear, fully geared to shrug off whatever I threw his way. Okay, maybe I was exaggerating, but his shield? That would definitely block spells.

  My match was set for just a few hours in, a small relief. I wouldn’t have to wait all day and let the tension fester.

  The arena itself was split into ten smaller venues, making it impossible to follow every fight. Still, patterns began to emerge. Matches dragged on longer than I’d anticipated. It made sense. A single loss meant the end of the tournament, so you had to make it count. As such competitors were cautious, baiting each other into overextending rather than risking an early mistake. Melee classes dominated the roster, a diverse group armed with a dizzying array of weapons and techniques. Unsurprisingly, casters were few and far between. Barely half the competitors used any magic, and for most, it was limited to support spells.

  By midday, only one other mage had fought. He had a strong offensive game, landing spells with precision. Unfortunately for him, they were all absorbed by his opponent’s armor. He had a few spells to keep his opponent at bay, trying to control the distance, but it was only a matter of time. Once the gap closed, the crowd erupted in cheers as yet another fighter hit the ground.

  As I made my way to the preparation area, my mind churned with indecision. Should I go all out or keep my spell repertoire under wraps? The idea of revealing just enough to win, saving my more impressive spells for later rounds, had its appeal. It could keep my future opponents guessing, always wondering what else I might have up my sleeve. In theory, it sounded perfect. In practice? I wasn’t so sure.

  When I arrived, spotting my opponent wasn’t exactly difficult as he clad head-to-toe in polished silver armor, sword at his hip and shield leaning against the wall. With a sigh, I walked over, determined to at least start on a polite note. “Good luck in the match,” I offered.

  His visor was off, and I caught a glimpse of a man in his forties. His neck armor looked stiff, restricting his movement—a potential weakness, if I played this right. He turned his entire body slightly toward me and frowned. “Are you a fan? How did you get in here?”

  Was he serious, or just messing with me? “Not a fan. I’m your opponent for the first round… the mage,” I said, emphasizing the last part.

  He gave me a once-over, his visor making the gesture look even more dismissive. “You don’t look like a mage,” he finally said.

  I suppressed a groan. “Those bright-colored robes you’re imagining? Not mandatory. Thank god for that.”

  He scoffed, a sharp sound that grated against my nerves. “Just my luck. I was hoping for a real fight, but instead, I get a first-year mage who thinks he’s special for ignoring traditions.”

  “Traditions are just peer pressure from dead people,” I shot back without missing a beat.

  He paused, probably fishing for a decent retort, but all I got was a low growl: “Better hope the healer’s close when I’m done with you.”

  Ah, so he was an asshole. Great. It was going to take every ounce of self-control I had to stick to the plan—play it safe, take it slow, and not go all out. But damn, was it tempting to wipe that smug look off his face.

  Fortunately, our names were called, signaling the start of the match. We stepped into the arena, and the energy hit me like a tidal wave. From the stands, the roar of the crowd was deafening; on the ground, it was exhilarating. Somewhere nearby, a previous fight must have just ended, and the audience’s wild cheers were both awe-inspiring and nerve-wracking. Any lingering anxiety dissolved as adrenaline surged through me.

  The arbiter met us in a corner of the arena. “I hope you know the rules. Don’t make me repeat them. If I yell stop, you stop. Is that clear?” His stern gaze flicked between us. We both nodded.

  “Take your places on the marked area,” he commanded. As soon as we did, he wasted no time. “Fight!” he shouted.

  My opponent snapped his sword to his shield in one smooth motion, a classic move I almost laughed at—until his entire body was suddenly enveloped in a golden glow. The sight stopped me cold. My instincts screamed to activate Slow Time, expecting an immediate attack, but I forced myself to stay calm. For now, he seemed content to follow the tried-and-true strategy of staying defensive.

  Patience wasn’t my strong suit. Testing the waters, I sent a low-intensity Lightning Bolt his way. He raised his shield, and just as I suspected, it absorbed the spell with no visible effect. I followed up with a stronger version to see if there was any difference. The shield absorbed it again, but this time the impact staggered him, forcing him to take a step back. So, it had limits. Good to know.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  As I extended my hand to cast an even more powerful bolt, he suddenly shifted. Planting his back foot, he sprang forward like a coiled spring. Despite his heavy armor, he barreled toward me with his shield leading the charge. Consciously not activating Slow Time ironically made me lose valuable time. That hesitation cost me, I couldn’t dodge in time. The impact hit me square in the chest, knocking me to the ground.

  Before I could fully recover, he swung his sword, the blade striking my arm as I instinctively raised it to defend myself. He didn’t let up, unleashing a relentless barrage of slashes that forced me to scramble backward. I needed space, and fast. I waved my hand, creating a small patch of quicksand under one of his feet. It didn’t sink his foot, but the sudden change in ground density made him stumble, giving me just enough for me to get some distance.

  With some breathing room now, it was time to see how far that golden shield spell could be pushed. Unleashing Lightning Bolt after Lightning Bolt, I didn’t hold back. Each impact rocked him, breaking his balance again and again. After the fifth strike, the yellow aura finally flickered and vanished.

  He froze for a moment, clearly surprised, and hesitated as he fumbled to align his sword with his shield. That hesitation was all I needed. I sent a low-powered Lightning Bolt his way—nothing lethal; I mean I didn’t want to be disqualified but enough to deliver a jolt. The metal of his armor amplified the effect, and he dropped to the ground, dazed.

  The crowd erupted in deafening cheers, their enthusiasm distracting me as I instinctively turned my head away from my opponent. I was lucky he stayed down, otherwise it might have cost me. I would have to remember that in the future with all the games happening at the same time.

  Despite my initial disdain for the idea of fighting for the entertainment of others, the adrenaline coursing through me and the crowd’s infectious energy began to shift my perspective. Before I knew it, I raised my arms in triumph, letting the moment carry me. To punctuate the victory, I fired a Lightning Bolt into the sky. The crowd roared even louder in response.

  I couldn’t help but smile. Flashy displays were a mage’s specialty, and clearly, the audience loved it.

  ─── ????? ───

  Dusk settled as I made my way back to the resistance’s dilapidated hideout by the docks. A few resistance members recognized me, offering congratulations on my match. It was strange how the arena seemed to bring people together, even briefly.

  “Congratulations,” a familiar voice called. I turned to see Isla approaching with her usual calm demeanor. “How did you celebrate the victory?” she asked, her tone light but curious.

  I let out a sigh. “By heading to the library and reading up on different classes and their likely abilities.”

  She stifled a laugh. “I’ll be sure to tell Alira about your wild celebrations.”

  “Oh yes, the party never stops with me,” I replied dryly. After a beat, I shifted the conversation. “So, I heard you’ve been working on some plan of your own?”

  Her shoulders slumped slightly, and her expression clouded. “It was a good idea, but the logistics are just too complicated,” she admitted, frustration flickering in her eyes. “There are so many moving parts—literally and figuratively—and way too much that could go wrong.”

  As she stared off, lost in her thoughts, I nudged. “Are you going to keep me in suspense, or is it classified?”

  She seemed to weigh her answer before speaking. “Not exactly. The king’s armies recently conquered a neighboring kingdom. At the end of the games, they’re planning a triumph—a big celebration where they’ll parade the loot and captured slaves through the streets.”

  “And you’re planning to free the slaves?” I guessed.

  “Unfortunately, no. We have to be realistic,” she said, shaking her head. “The resistance got intel that the gold they plundered is traveling with the baggage train.”

  “That does sound like a tempting opportunity,” I said, mulling it over. “Although I imagine the protection on it will be substantial.”

  “It is,” she said, nodding. “Right now, half the army is with the baggage train. But that’ll change once they cross the border.”

  A pat on my back startled me, and I turned to see Bendis grinning. “Saw your fight. Not bad, but do you only have one spell or what?”

  I bristled slightly, trying not to let my irritation show. Here I was, feeling pretty clever for taking down a Paladin with just Lightning Bolt. Well, the little quicksand trick didn’t really count. No one likely noticed it.

  “That was the strategy,” I said smoothly. “Keeping them guessing about what I’m capable of.”

  Bendis raised a brow. “They might not know your full spell repertoire, but to break through a Paladin’s shield with just a few spells? That takes serious juice.”

  “Well, they were going to figure out I’m powerful eventually—no way around that,” I said, shrugging. “At least I get to keep a few tricks up my sleeve.”

  She grinned. “Loved the little flair at the end,” she said, raising her hand dramatically in imitation of my celebratory pose. She even mimicked the sound of the lightning, her attempt surprisingly enthusiastic.

  I groaned, covering my face with one hand. “It wasn’t too much, was it? I kind of got caught up in the energy of the crowd.”

  Her laughter spilled out, light and genuine. “Are you kidding? You’re already on track to becoming the crowd's favorite. A mage winning is rare enough as it is.”

  “See you later,” Isla said, waving as she moved away. “I see Amra’s here, I need to talk to her.”

  Turning back to Bendis, I barely had a moment before she hit me with, “While you did win, please tell me you’re not usually that uncoordinated.”

  I explained my hesitation during the match, and she let out an audible breath of relief. “Good. Power is great and all, but if you were as slow as a turtle, Sedeus would’ve wiped the floor with you.”

  It was the second time she’d mentioned his name casually. “Did you know him personally?” I asked, watching for her reaction.

  She stiffened for just a moment before answering. “I met him during my required service in the army. He was a charismatic, recently promoted, and full of ideas about changing the world.” There was a flicker of something in her voice. Regret, maybe.

  “You might look at the countryside now and think it’s all his fault, but the previous king was almost as bad. Sedeus convinced a lot of people to join his revolution. Including me.” She paused, then added, “I knew him.”

  Her tone shifted, taking on a distant quality. “Word of his powers and ideas spread like wildfire. Armies sent against him often switched sides. The king fell within a month, and we all thought it was the start of something better—a new beginning.”

  “Power corrupts,” I said, the words slipping out.

  Her lips curled into a faint, bitter smile. “That it does. Once he consolidated his power, it all changed. And with his control over the army, there was no way to dislodge him.”

  “It’s admirable you stood against him instead of just staying a yes-man—or yes-woman, in your case,” I said.

  Her expression softened. “To tell you the truth, when I escaped that night, I promised myself I’d start a new life somewhere else. Leave it all behind.”

  “What stopped you?”

  Her eyes met mine, a glimmer of curiosity in their depths. “A man who can open portals by himself, helping a resistance he knows nothing about? I knew you were special—the same way I knew Sedeus was special.”