There was no mockery in his tone, only echoes of past regrets, formed by countless tests with unqualified applicants. After saying this, and before he could preserve his stern image, he let out a loud belch, shattering the seriousness he'd tried to convey.
An awkward silence followed. The staff member's expression turned to clear disapproval, while Emilia's face showed pity at the man's pitiful state. Ace, however, stood firm, his face unreadable, eyes locked on the man with unwavering resolve.
It was then the man noticed something odd—perhaps the boy wasn't as he seemed. His stance, his features—there was no hesitation in him. Even his eyes glowed with quiet determination. Finally, Ace spoke, his voice calm and resolute:
"Thank you for your concern, sir. But I have no intention of backing down."
Hearing this, the man's eyes gleamed with a strange mix of admiration and sorrow. He had seen many who stood before him with determination, but he also knew how those stories often ended. Tilting his head slightly, he replied with a softer tone, but one that still carried a warning:
"Alright, as you wish. But don't blame me if you get hurt."
He turned and walked to one of the worn barrels, rummaged inside, and pulled out two wooden swords—scarred, cracked, and stained with dark spots that looked like dried blood—evidence of past trials that didn't end cleanly. With a swift motion, he threw one sword toward Ace. It sliced through the air and landed precisely at his feet. Turning, he gave a faint, unreadable smile and said in a quietly challenging voice:
"Listen, kid. You're not required to use that sword. You can use any real weapon you find around you—even your magical power, if you have any. In this test, anything goes. If you can land a clean hit on me, you'll pass."
After stepping forward a few paces, he raised his hand dramatically and assumed a battle stance. In that instant, the man transformed completely—his features, his posture, everything screamed of a seasoned warrior who would not go easy, not even on a beginner.
Ace bowed and picked up the wooden sword, gripping it tightly. He felt its rough texture against his fingers. Outside the arena, the staff member and Emilia watched intently.
Emilia clasped her hands to her chest, trying to stifle her anxiety. Hope flickered in her eyes, though it was wrapped in uncertainty. Meanwhile, the staff member raised her slender hand. A moment of silence fell, as if she were holding time itself, and when her hand dropped, her voice rang out to declare the start of the duel.
In the blink of an eye, the man charged at Ace. His movement wasn't just an attack—it was a blend of precision and agility that hinted at his true skills. He aimed straight for Ace's waist. His wooden sword sliced the air with a sharp hiss, like a real blade craving flesh.
The strike was blisteringly fast, giving no time to think. But in that critical moment, Ace raised his sword and blocked it with unexpected finesse. The crack of wood clashing against wood echoed through the air as their eyes met—Ace's calm gaze facing the man's astonished one. He hadn't expected the boy to parry his blow so swiftly and accurately.
Still, he wasn't one to underestimate an opponent. He launched into a flurry of rapid, forceful strikes—each faster and stronger than the last. But Ace matched him with equal speed, anticipating each move, reacting as if he already knew the path of every attack. His eyes held only icy focus—no fear, no hesitation—just patience, melting the weight of each blow.
Meanwhile, the staff member watched with a stunned expression. How could a boy who had exhausted his magical energy move so quickly? Nearby, Emilia watched in breathless silence, her fists clenched, her eyes wide with disbelief.
As the barrage continued, signs of fatigue crept into the man's face. His once-confident eyes now held questions. His movements slowed, his muscles strained, sweat beaded on his brow, and his breath grew uneven.
Ace, by contrast, remained composed. His eyes showed no weariness. Then, the man realized: he wouldn't break through the boy's defense using ordinary methods. He leapt back, drew a sarcastic smile tinged with disbelief, and said:
"You're really skilled... kid." He turned to the staff member and asked, curiosity in his voice:
"Is this the same one who unleashed that magic surge earlier?"
She nodded, unable to speak. The man's excitement grew. He seemed to have found something truly intriguing—something worthy of a real test. He raised his sword toward Ace and said, voice brimming with challenge:
"What do you say we take this to the next level? Let's settle it with one blow. You use your magic, and I'll use mine. If you can withstand my strike, I'll consider you passed."
Silence followed. Then Ace replied calmly:
"Sorry, but I don't know how to use magic. And it seems I used up all I had in the previous test."
His words struck like an unexpected slap—not because the man didn't believe him, but because it felt like an insult to the very principles of combat. How could someone claim to be fully drained, yet stand so firm, as if untouched by fatigue?
Disappointment spread across the man's face. He had thought he'd finally met someone who could awaken his real strength—only to find a liar mocking him. He exhaled slowly, restraining his anger, then assumed a serious stance and said in a low, threatening tone:
"So, you don't want to fight me seriously, huh? Fine. Have it your way."
At that moment, a dark aura formed around his body, flowing with his breath like deep water. It wasn't massive or glowing, but it carried something familiar—something that made Ace's eyes widen and his breath catch.
That energy… it wasn't new. He had seen it before. It was the same power that had once seemed like a dream. Now, it confirmed it was real. A powerful gust of wind burst out, as if an invisible storm swept through the arena, sending sand flying in spirals. Ace raised his arm to shield his eyes.
He knew the next attack would be unlike anything before. No time to think—he assumed a defensive stance. In a flash, the man moved like lightning, his steps roaring across the field. The very air seemed to part for him, and in a heartbeat, he was in front of Ace.
This time, Ace was too slow. He couldn't dodge or block. The man struck his waist with the flat of his sword—at the same spot as before. The blow didn't allow for the slow burn of pain; it launched Ace into the air before he crashed onto the sand.
The man stood panting, chest heaving as though dragging air from the dusty atmosphere. He wiped sweat off his brow, eyes fixed on the motionless body. He scowled and muttered hoarsely, trying to reassure himself:
"Damn… maybe I overdid it a little. But he deserved it. That's what happens when you underestimate a retired gold-rank adventurer."
Then a trembling voice screamed Ace's name. He turned to see Emilia trying to rush into the field, while the staff member held her back, insisting the duel wasn't over. He rolled his eyes and walked toward the barrels, waving a hand dismissively and saying commandingly:
"Get him out of here. Have a healer take a look at him."