Gregor started to stomp forward, ready to claim his victory.
Then, he stopped.
The crowd quieted.
From Arthur's clenched, empty fist, a tiny, brilliant blue spark suddenly crackled into existence. Then another. And another. The air around his hand began to smell of ozone, and the low, sharp crackle of raw, untamed lightning filled the silent arena.
"What is that?" Gregor grunted, his triumphant grin faltering. "A trick?" He didn't care.
Whatever it was, he would smash it. He roared and charged, raising his giant axe for a final, decisive blow.
Arthur's eyes snapped open, and they seemed to glow with a faint blue light of their own. He didn't dodge. He met Gregor's charge head-on, his own body moving forward, his fist drawn back.
He channeled all the mana he could muster, following the chaotic, explosive pathways the scroll had described. The lightning around his hand intensified, coalescing into a blinding, crackling ball of pure energy.
"Thunder Punishing Fist: First Form—" His voice was a low growl, almost lost in the sound of the crackling energy. "Crashing Thunderclap!"
He thrust his fist forward.
Gregor's axe came down.
Fist met axe.
For a split second, there was no sound. Only a flash of blinding blue light that washed over the entire arena. Then, the sound hit. A deafening BOOM, like a real thunderclap, echoed through the stadium, shaking the very stone seats.
Gregor's massive axe, a weapon of solid steel, blew out of his hands, thrusted away. The force of the impact didn't stop there. It slammed into Gregor's chest, his eyes going wide with pure shock. His reddish, protective aura flickered and died.
He was thrown backward like a broken doll, flying completely out of the arena and crashing heavily into the wall of the lower stands with a sickening thud.
Silence.
The entire stadium, all one hundred and fifty thousand people, was utterly silent. They stared at the empty space where Gregor had been, then at Arthur, who stood alone on the platform, his fist smoking slightly, his breathing heavy.
In the VIP section, Maelon Virestone was on his feet, his usual unreadable composure completely gone. His eyes were wide with disbelief.
"Impossible..." he thought, his mind reeling. "To grasp the first form in a single month… Impossible."
He slowly sat back down, forcing himself to look calm, but his hands, hidden in his sleeves, were clenched tight.
Next to him, the headmasters and the other VIPs were too enamored with the results to notice their guest of honor so flabbergasted.
On the platform, the judge finally found his voice. "W-winner… Arthur Greymark!"
The crowd erupted. It wasn't just cheers; it was a roar of shock, awe, and confusion.
The announcer quickly declared that the tournament's combat portion was over. The top four had been decided. They would not fight each other. Instead, they were to proceed to the victor's hall for their final rewards.
Alaric, Seraphina, Orion, and Arthur were led away from the roaring crowd and into a quiet, ornate chamber deep within the arena complex. The four headmasters and Maelon Virestone were already waiting for them.
Orion immediately moved to Arthur's side, his face pale. "Are you okay? What was that?!"
"Just a new skill I've been working on," Arthur said quietly. He glanced at Alaric, who was staring at him with a look of undisguised hostility, no longer bothering to hide his disdain. Arthur felt his own fist clench at his side. Seraphina watched them both, her expression cool and analytical.
Maelon stepped forward. "Congratulations, champions. You have proven yourselves to be the finest talents of your generation in this city. You have earned the right to face the trials."
He gestured to a nearby table, where four embroidered pouches sat.
"Your rewards. Not for victory, but for the journey ahead. Each of you receives three vials of Soul-Nourishing Mana Elixir. They will aid you in your preparations and your travels. Use them wisely."
When the rewards were distributed, Maelon's expression turned serious.
"Now, listen carefully," he said, his gaze sweeping over the four of them. "The invitation you have earned is merely a key to a door. The trials beyond that door are unlike anything you have ever faced. Do not go in with the confidence that your status here will carry you through."
He looked directly at Alaric and Seraphina. "I have seen proud Rooks, talents much like yourselves, fail their tests. The Imperial Fate Academy does not care for your titles, your family names, or the power you hold here."
He then looked at Arthur and Orion. "And for you, know that the trials will push you far beyond your limits. But remember that talent is not everything. Even the gap between a Pawn and a Rook has been closed more than once by will and tenacity alone."
The weight of his words settled in the quiet room. The excitement of the tournament faded, replaced by a heavy, profound sense of the true challenge that lay ahead.